Pussy Black-Face by Marshall Saunders

For some nights I have been so tired that the instant I jumped up on my opera cloak I went right to sleep. No time for thought, no time for a little cat to review the events of her day, and wonder whether she had done right or wrong, and whether she had made a simpleton of herself, or whether she had been very wise.

However, there is no need for me to indulge in wonderment. I am a foolish, light-hearted, selfish, mischievous kitten. I have always heard that from my birth, from dear Serena, and I know it without her telling me. My mother has always praised me, but I see through her. She is so good that she wants to make me good too, and when I hear my mother praising any one, cat, dog, or human being, it always makes me suspicious of that creature. The less it deserves praise, the more she gives it. However, I must not dwell on my badness. I do not imagine it has a good effect upon me. I will think over the one really kind thing that I believe I have done in the course of my short life. Perhaps I did not do it in the best way-however, I did it, and to my great joy I sit here dozing and dreaming, and occasionally opening my eyes to look at that Common cat, who, at the present moment, is under Mary's bed, sound asleep.