Whup! it went.

Old Man jumped and glared and went on grimly chanting—he had to, you see, because you can’t stop magic once you have started—and all the bubbles drifted to the floor and burst, smicker, smicker, very softly. As each one burst, there was a little tiny pink animal on the floor, running about and calling, “Oink, oink, oink!” in a small squeaky voice. That nearly distracted me, as well as Old Man. I stared out at them with longing. I would have given worlds to jump out of the star and chase those beasties. They looked so beautifully eatable. But I knew I mustn’t try to come out of the star yet, so I shut my eyes and yawned to hold in the third sneeze and thought hard, hard, hard of a Good Thing. Let a Good Thing come! I thought. I thought as hard as you do when you see a saucer of milk held in the air above you, and you want them to put it on the floor—quick. Then I gave my third sneeze.

That reminds me. Milk? Yes, please, or I won’t be able to tell you any more.

Thank you. Keep your knee steady. You may stroke me if you wish. Where was I?

Right. When I opened my eyes, all the delicious beasties had vanished and the light burned sort of dingily. Old Man was beating Boy over the head with a stick. He could do that for once, because Boy was crouched by the wall laughing until his face ran tears. “Pigs!” he said. “Tiny little pigs! Oh, oh, oh!”

“I’ll pig you!” Old Man screamed. “You spoiled my spell! Look at the pentangle—there’s nothing there at all!”

But there was. I could feel the new Thing inside me. It wasn’t hateful at all, but it felt lost and a bit feeble. It was too scared to say or do anything or even let me move, until Old Man crossly broke the pentangle and stumped away upstairs.

Boy stood rubbing his head. “Pity it didn’t work, Brindle,” he said. “But wasn’t it worth it just for those pigs?”

“Master,” the Good Thing said with my mouth, “Master, how can I serve you, bound as I am?”

Boy stared, and his face went odd colors. I always wonder how you humans manage that. “Good Lord!” he said. “Did we do it after all? Or is it a demon?”

“I don’t think I’m a demon,” Good Thing said doubtfully. “I may be some kind of spirit. I’m not sure.”

“Can’t you get out of me?” I said to it in my head.

“No. Our Master would not be able to hear me if I did,” it told me.

“Bother you then!” I said, and started to wash.

“You can serve me, anyway, whatever you are,” Boy said to Good Thing. “Get me some food.”

“Yes, Master,” it made me say, and obeyed at once. I had just reached that stage of washing where you have one foot high in the air. I fell over. It was most annoying. Next minute I was rolling about in a huge warm room full of people cooking things. A kitchen, Boy said it was later. It smelled marvelous.... I hardly minded at all when Good Thing made me leap up and snatch a roast leg of mutton from the nearest table. But I did mind—a lot—when two men in white hats rushed at me shouting, “Damn cat!”

Good Thing didn’t know what to do about that at all, and it nearly got us caught. “Let me handle this!” I spat at it, and it did. I told you, it was a bit feeble. I dived under a big dresser where people couldn’t reach me and crouched there right at the back by the wall. It was a pity I had to leave the meat behind. It smelled wonderful. But I had to leave it, or they’d have gone on chasing me. “Now,” I said, when my coat had settled flat again, “you tell me what you want me to take and I’ll take it properly this time.”

Good Thing agreed that might work better. We waited until they’d all gone back to cooking and then slunk softly out into the room again. And Good Thing had been thinking all this time. It made me a sort of invisible sack. It was most peculiar. No one could see the sack, not even me, and it didn’t get in my way at all. I just knew it was behind me, filling up with the food I stole. Good Thing made me take stuff I’d never have dreamed of eating myself, like cinnamon jelly and—yuk!—cucumber, as well as good honest meat and venison pie and other reasonable things.

Then we were suddenly back in the cellar, where Boy was glumly clearing up. When he saw the food spilling out onto the floor, his face lit up. Good Thing had been right. He loved the jelly and even ate cucumber. For once in his life he really had enough to eat. I helped him eat the venison pie, and we both had strawberries and cream to finish with. I love those.

Which reminds me— Oh. Strawberries are out of season? Never mind. I’ll stay with you until they come back in. Rub my stomach again.

I was heavy and kind of round after that meal. Good Thing complained rather. “Well, get out of me then, and it won’t bother you,” I said. I wanted to sleep.

“In a minute,” it said. “Master, the cat tells me you want to escape, but I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

Boy woke up in dismay. He was dropping off to sleep on the floor, being so full. “Why not?”

“Two reasons,” Good Thing said apologetically. “First, there is a very strong spell on you, which confines you to this house, and it is beyond my power to break it. Second, there is an equally strong spell on me. You and the cat broke part of it, the part which confined me to a small golden ball, but I am still forced to stay in the house where the golden ball is. The only other place I can go is the house I … came from.”

“Damn!” said Boy. “I did hope—”

“The spell that confines the cat is nothing like so strong,” Good Thing said. “I could raise that for you.”

“That’s something at least! Do that,” said Boy. He was a generous Boy. “And if you two could keep on fetching food, so that I can put my mind to something besides how hungry I am, then I might think of a way to break the spell on you and me.”

I was a little annoyed. It seemed that we had got Good Thing just because the golden ball had escaped from Old Man, and not because of Boy’s cleverness or my powers of thought. But though I knew the ball was down a crack just inside the place where Old Man usually drew his pentangle, I didn’t mention it to Boy in case his feelings were hurt, too.

We had great good times for quite a long while after that, Boy, Good Thing, and I, and Old Man never suspected at all. He was away a lot around then, anyway. While he was away, there were always a jug of milk and a loaf that appeared magically every four days, but Boy and I would have half starved on that without Good Thing. Good Thing took me to the kitchen place every day at suppertime, and we came back with every kind of food in the invisible sack. When Good Thing was not around—it quite often went away in the night and left me in peace—I went out across the roofs. I led a lovely extra life on top of the town. I met other cats by moonlight, but they were never as clever as me. I found out all sorts of things and came and told them to Boy. He was always very wistful about not being able to go out himself, but he listened to everything. He was like that. He was my friend. And he was a great comfort to me when I had my first kittens. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Boy guessed and he told me. Then he told me that we must hide the kittens or Old Man would know I had been able to go out. We were very secret and hid them in our cupboard in a nest of pigeon feathers.

I am good at having kittens. I’ll show you presently. I always have three, one tabby, one ginger, and one mixed like me. I had three kittens then, and Old Man never knew, even though they were quite noisy sometimes, especially after I taught them how to play with Good Thing.

When Good Thing came out of me, I could see it quite well, though Boy never could. It was quite big outside me, up to Boy’s shoulder, and frail and wafty, and it could float about at great speed. It enjoyed playing. I used to hunt it all round the house and leap on it, pretending to tear it to bits, and of course it would waft away between my paws. Boy used to guess where Good Thing was from my behavior and laugh at me hunting it. He laughed even more when my kittens were old enough to play hunting Good Thing, too.