were chirruping with bird-song, and all round the house was the beautiful smell of cooked herrings and a noise of purrs. The father and the mother cat sat at the ends of the table, and already the other kittens were guzzling their share, but there was no sign of Pushkin. Then a queer moaning sound was heard on the stairs, and he rushed into the room. He was a sight. His eyes were wild, and green, his fur stood on end, his tail was puffed up with fright. He could not seem to speak, only utter a dreadful yowling. He rushed madly round and round the table until they thought he must have a fit. For that does happen to kittens sometimes, when they first discover how very exciting it is to be alive.
But there was something so desperate in Pushkin's behaviour that they knew it was serious. His mother sprang from her chair and rushed after him. Three times she chased him round the table, until the other kittens were tempted to join the wild pursuit. But the herrings were too good, and they stayed where they were. His mother seized him at last and looked at him.
"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "His teeth are clenched tight together! He can't open his
