Attacked front and rear, Beautiful Dog was at hideous disadvantage.
He launched himself sidewise; he didn't even have time to howl. He
fell over his own splay feet as he ran, butted into chairs and
tables, twisted, turned, whirled, dodged, but always presented just
the right spot to be clawed. He couldn't dash to the door and
escape: the cats were too swift for him. They kept their bewildered
victim circling around the middle of the room.
I was sorry for Beautiful Dog, for my sleek, petted, purring pussies
had turned into raging black tornadoes edged with a lightning of
claws. If the aristocratic Black Family had been raised in
Hooligan's Alley itself, on the soft side of the ash-bins, they
couldn't have behaved more villainously. Alas! they were _cats_,
just as people are people.
I snatched up the brass-headed poker, the readiest thing to my hand.
I merely wished to shoo off the Blacks with it. But as I rose from
my chair with a _scat_! upon my lips, Beautiful Dog, seeing out of
the tail of his eye a chance to escape, dashed headlong into me. He
came with such force that I fell backward, and the poker flew out of
my hand and came _crack_! upon the sacred tiles of Hynds House
library.
Pages:
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368