Black cats are sometimes thieves

Black cats are sometimes thieves

Black cats are sometimes thieves

Black cats are sometimes thieves. I know the reader would put it in more forcible language, but don’t you expect for a single moment that I will say more against my pets than the exigencies of truth compel me to, so there! I say they are at times just a leetle addicted to appropriating what they have but small legal right to. But there is this to be said in their favour when they are thieves they are swells at it. I have a black cat in my eye at this very moment, and if, my dear lady, you are at all fond of that sort of thing, it would, simply do your heart good to watch that pussy stalking steak. He is such an honest-looking cat, you see, and from the easy way he sits in the doorway opposite the butcher’s, with his half-shut eyes and his dreamy air, you would feel convinced that the house was his home, that all the adjoining property belonged to him, and he had a vote in Parliament and a seat on the municipal bench. But bide a wee till Blocks turns round to serve a customer, when pop! fuss!! honest Tom is round the corner with a pound of beef in his mouth, before you could say “Muslin!” Oh! it’s charming, I assure you, but rather rough on Blocks.