So I ran. I have never run like that in my life, before or since. It felt as if everyone in the mansion was after me. Luckily for me, I knew my way around quite well by then. I ran upstairs and I ran down, and people clattered after me, shouting. I dived under someone’s hand and dodged through a crooked cupboard place, and at last I found myself behind the curtains in the Man’s room. He ran in and out. Other people ran in and out, but the Princess really had done something to help me somehow and not one of them thought of looking behind those curtains.

After a bit I heard the Princess in that room, too. “But it’s a nice cat, Father—really sweet. I can’t think why you’re making all this fuss about it!” Then there was a sort of grating sound. I smelled the smallest whiff of fresh air. Bless her, she had opened the Man’s window for me.

I got out of it as soon as the room was empty. I climbed down onto grass. I ran again. I knew just the way I should go. Cats do, you know, particularly when they have kittens waiting for them. I was dead tired when I got to Old Man’s house. It was right on the other side of town. As I scrambled through the skylight in the roof, I was almost too tired to move. But I was dead worried about my kittens and about Boy, too. It was morning by then.

My kittens were fine, but Boy was still lying on the floor of the book room in a trance, cold as ice. And as if that were not enough, keys grated in the locks and Old Man came back. All I could think to do was to lie around Boy’s neck to warm him.

Old Man came and kicked Boy. “Lazy lump!” he said. “Anyone would think you were in a trance!” I couldn’t think what to do. I got up and hurried about, mewing for milk, to distract Old Man. He wasn’t distracted. Looking gleefully at Boy, he carefully put a jar of black powder away in his cupboard and locked it. Then he sat down and looked at one of his books, not bothering with me at all. He kept looking across at Boy.

My kittens distracted Old Man by having a fight in the cupboard about the last of the sausages. Old Man heard it and leaped up. “Scrambling and squeaking!” he said. “Mice! Could even be rats by the noise. Damn cat! Don’t you ever do your job?” He hit at me with his stick.

I tried to run. Oh, I was tired! I made for the stairs, to take us both away from Boy and my kittens, and Old Man caught me by my tail halfway up. I was that tired.... I was forced to bite him quite hard and scratch his face. He dropped me with a thump, so he probably did not hear the even louder thump from the book room. I did. I ran back there.

Boy was sitting up, shivering. There was a pile of books beside him.

“Good Thing!” I said. “That was stupid!”

“Sorry,” said Good Thing. “He would insist on bringing them.” The books vanished into the invisible sack just as Old Man stormed in.

He ranted and grumbled at Boy for laziness and for feeding me so that I didn’t catch mice, and he made Boy set mousetraps. Then he stormed off to the cellar.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” I said to Boy.

“It was too marvelous being somewhere that wasn’t this house,” Boy said. He was all dreamy with it. He didn’t even read his new books. He paced about. So did I. I realized that my kittens were not safe from Old Man. And if he found them, he would realize that I could get out of the house. Maybe he would kill me like the cat before. I was scared. I wished Boy would be scared, too. I wished Good Thing would show some sense. But Good Thing was only thinking of pleasing Boy.

“Don’t let him go into a trance again,” I said. “Old Man will know.”

“But I have to!” Boy shouted. “I’m sick of this house!” Then he calmed down and thought. “I know,” he said to Good Thing. “Fetch the Princess here.”

Good Thing got into me and bleated that this wasn’t wise now that Old Man was back. I said so, too. But Boy wouldn’t listen. He had to have Princess. Or else he would go into a trance and see her that way. I understood then. Boy wanted kittens. Very little will stop boys or cats when they do.

So we gave in. When Old Man was asleep and snoring, Boy dressed himself in the middle of the night in the Man’s finest clothes and looked fine as fine. He even washed in horrible cold water, in spite of all I said. Then Good Thing went to the mansion.

Instants later the Princess was lying asleep on the floor of the book room. “Oh,” Boy said sorrowfully, “what a shame to wake her!” But he woke her up all the same.

She rubbed her eyes and stared at him. “Who are you, sir?”

Boy said, “Oh, Princess—”

She said, “I think you’ve made a mistake, sir. I’m not a princess. Are you a prince?”

Boy explained who he was and all about himself, and she explained that her father was a rich magician. She was a disappointment to him, she said, because she could hardly do any magic and was not very clever. But Boy still called her Princess. She said she would call him Orange because of his hair. She may not have been clever, but she was nice. I sat on her knee and purred. She stroked me and talked to Boy for the whole night, until it began to get light. They did nothing but talk. I said to Good Thing that it was a funny way to have kittens. Good Thing was not happy. Princess did not understand about Good Thing. Boy gave up trying to explain. Good Thing drifted about, sulking.

When it was really light, Princess said she must go back. Boy agreed, but they put it off and kept talking. That was when I had my good idea. I went to the cupboard and fetched out my kittens, one by one, and I put them into Princess’s lap.

“Oh!” she said. “What beauties!”

“Tell her she’s to keep them and look after them,” I said to Boy.

He told her, and she said, “Brindle can’t mean it! It seems such a sacrifice. Tell her it’s sweet of her, but I can’t.”

“Make her take them,” I said. “Tell her they’re a present from you, if it makes her happier. Tell her they’re a sign that she’ll see you again. Tell her anything, but make her take them!”

So Boy told her, and Princess agreed. She gathered the tabby and the ginger and the mixed kitten into her hands, and Good Thing took her and the kittens away. We stood staring at the place where she had been, Boy and I. Things felt empty, but I was pleased. My kittens were safe from Old Man, and Princess had kittens now, which ought to have pleased Boy, even if they were mine and not his. I did not understand why he looked so sad.

Old Man was standing in the doorway behind us. We had not heard him getting up. He glared at the fine way Boy was dressed. “How did you come by those clothes?”

“I did a spell,” Boy said airily. Well, it was true in a way. Boy’s mood changed when he realized how clever we had been. He said, “And Brindle got rid of the mice,” and laughed.

Old Man was always annoyed when Boy laughed. “Funny, is it?” he snarled. “For that, you can go down to the cellar, you and your finery, and stay there till I tell you to come out.” And he put one of his spells on Boy, so that Boy had to go. Old Man locked the cellar door on him. Then he turned back, rubbing his hands and laughing, too. “Last laugh’s mine!” he said. “I thought he knew more than he let on, but there’s no harm done. I’ve still got him!” He went and looked in almanacs and horoscopes and chuckled more. Boy was eighteen that day. Old Man began looking up spells, lots of them, from the bad black books that even he rarely touched.

“Brindle,” said Good Thing, “I am afraid. Do one thing for me.”

“Leave a cat in peace!” I said. “I need to sleep.”

Good Thing said, “Boy will soon be dead and I will be shut out forever unless you help.”

“But my kittens are safe,” I said, and I curled up in the cupboard.

“They will not be safe,” said Good Thing, “unless you do this for me.”

“Do what for you?” I said. I was scared again, but I stretched as if I didn’t care. I do not like to be bullied. You should remember that.