the food. He made heaps and heaps of brown, crisp spice cakes, thick with currants, oh, enough to fill a washerwoman's basket.
Well, the cat came, and the parrot set the whole meal before him, keeping only two cakes for himself. The cat ate the meat till he licked the plate, and he picked the fish till the bones were clean, and he sucked the grapes till the skins were dry, and then he began on the cakes; and he ate the whole basketful. Then he looked up at the parrot and said, "Have you any more?"
"Take my two cakes," said the parrot. And the cat took them. Then he looked up at the parrot and said, "Have you any more?"
This was too much for the parrot. Bristling his feathers, he said sharply, "There's nothing left but me." And the cat looked him over, licked his chops, and—gullup, gulloo—down went the parrot, bones, beak, and feathers.
Now an old woman had seen it all, and she was so shocked she picked up a stone, and cried, "You unnatural cat, how could you eat your friend the parrot? Scat! away with you, before I hit you with this stone."
"Old woman," said the cat, "I've eaten a basketful of cakes, I've eaten my friend the parrot, and shall I blush to eat an old hag like you? No, surely not." And—gullup, gulloo—down went the old woman with the stone in her hand.
