Hollyhock, a Spirit of Mischief by L.T. Meade

The kitchen cat was a very gentle beastie, except in the matter of killing birds and mice. She had the usual fascination of her species where these small victims were concerned; and she enjoyed life in the way cats do, eating when hungry, and sleeping the rest of her days. She slept now with the greatest comfort under the silken eider-down quilt. She rejoiced in the welcome warmth and purred softly to herself, not even troubling to regard the saucer of cream until she had had her snooze. By-and-by she would attack her cream, being partial to that beverage; but for the present she would slumber on, a creature without care, without fear; a gentle, admirable kitchen cat. She brought up her families when they arrived with all a mother's rectitude and propriety, and when they were old enough to leave her, got rid of them as quickly as possible -- which means that she took no further notice of them. She regarded them no longer as hers; they were cats, and she preferred them out of the way. At the present time she had just reared and got rid of a large family, and was in that luxurious state of bliss when the good things of life appealed to her. Her purring went on for some time, then ceased, being followed by deep slumber.

Meanwhile Hollyhock and her chosen companions were amusing themselves in various ways downstairs. Supper would be to the minute at a quarter to nine. Supper was a very simple meal, a stand-up affair, consisting in winter of hot bread-and-milk, in summer of cold milk and biscuits.