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Updated: June 29, 2025
"Decidedly," she added, "this cat is not contented anywhere but in the parlor." She rose and withdrew, preceded by Moumouth, who bounded with joy. A quarter of an hour afterward the steward had prepared a most appetizing hash composed of the breast of chicken, the best quality of bread, and other ingredients justly esteemed by dainty eaters.
Moumouth allowed himself to be enticed into the garden; he followed his treacherous friend with the confidence of the lamb following the butcher, and, at the very moment when he least thought of it, he found himself fastened in the sack that was to be his tomb.
He went stealthily into an adjoining room, walking upon the tips of his toes, and took a covered basket which he had hidden in the bottom of a closet. Then he returned to Moumouth, whom he seized roughly by the neck. The unfortunate animal awoke with a start, and found himself suspended in the air face to face with Father Lustucru, his enemy.
One night, after making an excellent supper, Moumouth curled himself up near the fire in the parlor, at the feet of Mother Michel, and slept the sleep of the just with good digestion. In the midst of this, Father Lustucru came into the room. "Good!" he thought. "The cat sleeps. Let us get the guardian out of the way." "How amiable of you to come and keep me company!" said Mother Michel, politely.
History records that at the moment of expiring he pronounced but a single word, the name of Moumouth! What was it that brought this name to the lips of the guilty man? Was it remorse? or was it the last explosion of an unforgiving hatred? This is what history has neglected to inform us.
Guided by a light, he made his way into the basement of a baker's shop, and, hiding himself behind a pile of bread-baskets, went quietly to sleep. He was awakened by hunger. Moumouth was born of poor parents who had abandoned him in his earliest infancy; he had been brought up in the streets, obliged to procure his own living, and trained in the school of adversity.
His evil genius took possession of him, and whispered into his ear these words of Father Lustucru: "What is a cat?" "Monsieur Lustucru," said he, weeping, "do not send me away, I will do all that you wish." "To-morrow, at night-fall, you will lead Moumouth into the garden?" "Yes, Monsieur Lustucru." "You will put him into this sack?" "Yes, Monsieur Lustucru." "And you will beat it with me?"
At these words, Moumouth, who followed his benefactress with his eyes, gave a melancholy miau. "Poor cat!" resumed the lady, with emotion, "it is necessary that we should be separated! I cannot bring you with me, for my sister has the weakness to hate animals of your species; she pretends they are treacherous. What slander!
The wicked man had expected this result of his movement; it was for him the signal of his triumph and the death of Moumouth. However, when he heard the bust roll heavily on the floor, he was seized by a panic, and, with trembling steps, regained his chamber.
There a new danger awaited him. Surprised by this unexpected apparition, an enormous bull-dog planted himself directly in front of Moumouth.
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