“I eyed him a little suspiciously; but, for all that, if he hadn’t spoken, I wouldn’t have thought anything about it, for I like cats.  He walked backward and forward on the window sill, his spine and tail nicely arched, and rubbed himself on either window jamb.  I watched him some little time, and finally concluded to make friends with him.  Going over to the window, I put out my hand to stroke his glossy back, when a gust of rain came through the window and the cat vanished into the darkness.

“I went back to the fire, pitying the cat out there in the night’s storm, and was really sorry I had disturbed him.  I didn’t give the matter overmuch attention but sat before the fire, wondering who could have built it and listening to the rain outside, when all of a sudden Mr. Cat walked between my legs, rubbing himself against my boots, purring and singing.  Once or twice I thought of stroking his fur, but checked myself on remembering he had spoken to me on the window sill.  He would walk over and rub himself against the jambs of the fireplace, and then come back and rub himself against my boots friendly like.  I saw him just as clear as I see those pots on the fire or these saddles lying around here.  I was noting every move of his as he meandered around, when presently he cocked up an eye at me and remarked:  ’Old sport, this is a fine fire we have here.’

“I was beginning to feel a little creepy, for I’d seen mad dogs and skunks, and they say a cat gets locoed likewise, and the cuss was talking so cleverly that I began to lose my regard for him.  After a little while I concluded to pet him, for he didn’t seem a bit afraid; but as I put out my hand to catch him, he nimbly hopped into the roaring fire and vanished.  Then I did feel foolish.  I had a good six-shooter, and made up my mind if he showed up again I’d plug him one for luck.  I was growing sleepy, and it was getting late, so I concluded to spread down my saddle blankets and slicker before the fire and go to sleep.  While I was making down my bed, I happened to look towards the fire, when there was my black cat, with not even a hair singed.  I drew my gun quietly and cracked away at him, when he let out the funniest little laugh, saying:  ’You’ve been drinking, Aaron; you’re nervous; you couldn’t hit a flock of barns.’

“I was getting excited by this time, and cut loose on him rapidly, but he dodged every shot, jumping from the hearth to the mantel, from the mantel to an old table, from there to a niche in the wall, and from the niche clear across the room and out of the window.  About then I was some nervous, and after a while lay down before the fire and tried to go to sleep.