Chapter III

Every morning, Moorka would sit near the stove and listen patiently to the quarreling of Little Milk and Little Cereal. He could never understand what it was all about and only blinked his eyes.

"I am Little Milk!"

"I am Little Cereal! Cereal! Cereal!"

"I can't understand a word of it. No, I don't understand it. Why are they angry? If I were to repeat, 'I'm a Cat! I'm a Cat! I'm a Cat!' could any one take offense at it? I can't understand it at all. However, I must confess I prefer Milk, especially when she isn't angry."

When they quarreled, Little Cereal and Little Milk would become so heated, they ran all over the stove. Then there arose a horrible smell. Cook would rush in, wringing her hands, and crying:

"Whatever shall I do now? I can never turn my head away without having something happen."

Setting Milk and Cereal aside, Cook went to market for provisions. Moorka at once made the best of this. He sat down close to Little Milk and said:

"Mistress Milk, please don't be angry."

Little Milk grew calmer as the cat watched her. Moorka walked around the spot several times, fixed his whiskers very gently and said:

"Listen, folks! It isn't nice to quarrel. Choose me for your judge and I'll settle your affairs very quickly."

The black roach, sitting in the crack of the wall, almost choked with laughter.

"A judge indeed! I must say! Ha! Ha! Ha! It took you to think of it, you old rascal."

But Little Milk and Little Cereal were very glad to have someone settle their quarrel at last, for they really did not know why they were quarreling or what it was all about.

"Very well. Very well. I'll unravel this," said Kitty Moorka. "And I'll do it honestly. Let us begin with Milk."

He walked around the pot several times, touched Little Milk gently with his paw, blew upon her again and started lapping her up.

"Help Help!" shouted the black roach. "He will lap up all the milk and I will be blamed for it."

When Cook returned from market and looked for the milk, the pot was empty. Cat Moorka was sleeping sweetly near the stove as if nothing had happened.

"You good-for-nothing!" scolded Cook, pulling his ear. "Tell me, who drank the milk?"

It was very painful, but Moorka pretended not to understand anything. He had suddenly become speechless! Then he was thrown out of the kitchen.

Behind the door, he shook himself, smoothed his ruffled fur, curved his tail and said:

"If I were Cook, all the cats would drink milk day and night. However, I am not angry with my Cook, because this is something she can never really understand!"

BED TIME