Old Tom, the Cat by Madeline Leslie

MY aunt Deborah was the owner of old Tom, who was in my opinion, and especially in that of his mistress, a very respectable right-minded cat. But like some human beings who get characters which they do not deserve, Tom was accused of always being where he should not be.

It arose from a circumstance which I am about to describe. One cold evening in winter, Polly, one of the maid-servants, had gone up to a large garret in which the dirty linen bags were kept for the washing-day. She had to look into one of them for a garment which had been put there before being duly mended. Her candle was a dip; it burned dim. She did not much like going up there at all. She drew open the mouth of the bag, when she afterwards declared-that-out there jumped a monster as big as a bull, and rushed head long downstairs.