KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (_sitting up, his eyes pale from the light and sleepiness_)
Well, you've succeeded in waking me. That's all you wanted, isn't it? My dreams are gone! These flies that you're pursuing--I hardly felt their little teasing feet through my thick fur. The merest touch, like a caress, now and then thrilled along the silky sloping hairs which clothe me.... But then you never act with any discretion. Your vulgar gayety is a nuisance, and when sad you howl like a low comedian.
_ If you woke up just to tell me _that_--
Of course you'll remember 'twas _you_ woke me.
I was so uncomfortable, I wanted someone to help me, to give me a word of encouragement....
Fancy their giving _me_ a bad character when ... Just examine your conscience a bit and compare us. Hunger and heat wear you out and drive you mad; cold makes your blood curdle....
No, I don't mean that. You--you're a monstrous egoist.
Perhaps.... You and the Two-Paws don't understand what you're pleased to call a cat's egoism.... Our instinct of self-preservation, our dignity, our modest reserve, our attitude of weary renunciation (which comes of the hopelessness of ever being understood by them), they dub, in haphazard fashion, egoism. You're not a very discriminating dog, but at least you're free from prejudice. Will _you_ understand me better? A cat is a guest in the house, not a plaything. Truly these are strange times we're living in! The Two-Paws, He and She, have _they_ alone the right to be sad or joyful, to lick plates, to scold, or to go about the house indulging their capricious humors? I too have _my_ whims, _my_ sorrows, _my_ irregular appetite, _my_ hours of reverie when I wish to be alone....
TOBY-DOG, (_attentive and conscientious_)
I'm listening, but I can hardly follow what you say. It's so complicated--a bit over my head, you know. But you astonish me! Are they in the habit of hindering you in your changeful moods? You mew, and they open the door. You lie on the paper--the sacred paper He's scratching on--He moves away, marvelous condescension!--and leaves you his soiled page. You meander up and down his scratching table, obviously in quest of mischief, your nose wrinkled up, your tail giving quick little jerks back and forth like a pendulum. She watches you laughing, while He announces "the promenade of devastation." How then, can you accuse Them--