he said, was the game they had been playing before we came in. That was the very reason Mum had chewed the holes, and it was terrific fun. Why didn't we have a go?
  We were always suckers for that little black pansy face. We did. Within a few seconds the bed was a hilarious mass of kittens charging gleefully up and down the eiderdown and poking paws at us through the blanket while Sugieh, reappearing as if by magic once she knew the danger was past, grabbed Solomon by the scruff of the neck and dropped him lightheartedly off the pillow as a reward.
  It wasn't the only reward she gave him. I nearly fainted on the spot when after supper that night he marched proudly into the living room with his spotted whiskers sprouting on one side as exuberantly as a gorse bush â and the other side completely bare. He was only eight weeks old then and we thought they had dropped out as a result of eating too much rabbit. We didn't know Siamese mothers sometimes did that to their favourite kittens when they were particularly pleased with them.
  The vet told us â rather shortly, we thought, seeing that he was supposed to like Siamese cats â at half past eleven that night.
SEVEN
Solomon the Great
A few days after that the Smiths brought James to tea for the first time since the kittens were born and Solomon assaulted him. We should have anticipated something like that. Ever since the loss of his whiskers, which he seemed to regard as some sort of accolade, Solomon had been quite unbearable. Head of the Family he said he was, and though the head of the family was more often than not seen disappearing ignominiously round a corner on his back to have his ears washed, it was obviously asking for trouble to have a strange cat in the place.
  The snag was, we couldn't ask the Smiths without James. They took him everywhere from the post office to the rectory garden party. If they didn't, they said â and as Siamese owners ourselves we quite understood â he kicked up hell, and the neighbours complained.
  I bet he wouldn't have complained if he'd known what was coming to him that afternoon. I can see him now, stalking elegantly up the garden path in his bright red harness and stopping every now and then to smell the wallflowers. Sugieh greeting him at the door. A little suspiciously, perhaps â but then Sugieh always greeted people suspiciously; it made social occasions so much more interesting. The pair of them walking side by side into the living room where, said Sugieh, her family was simply dying to meet him. And the awful moment when Solomon, his one-sided whiskers simply bristling with hate, shot out from under the table, drew himself up to his full six inches, and spat.
  Before it had even started our polite country tea party was bedlam. Sugieh, screaming that he had Attacked her Son, pitched into James. James, who hadn't done a thing but wasn't stopping to argue, took off through the cucumber sandwiches. And Solomon, completely beside himself with excitement, bit Mrs Smith in the leg.
  Long after James had been driven home shaking like a leaf and we had swept up the remains of the Copeland bowl that used to stand in the window, Solomon was still telling us about Mrs Smith's leg.
  'And after that I bit James ,' he chanted, sitting on the kitchen table where we were wearily cutting up rabbit for their supper. 'And then I chased him up the curtains . And then I bit him again â¦'
  Actually he hadn't done anything of the sort. It was Sugieh who bit James. The moment Mrs Smith screamed Solomon had dived under the bureau like a rocket with the rest of the kittens and all we had seen of him for the next twenty minutes was a pair of eyes as round as marbles gazing dumbfounded at the devastation. That, however, was Solomon all over. To add to our other troubles he had turned out to be a feline Walter Mitty.
  We usually locked the kittens in
  We were always suckers for that little black pansy face. We did. Within a few seconds the bed was a hilarious mass of kittens charging gleefully up and down the eiderdown and poking paws at us through the blanket while Sugieh, reappearing as if by magic once she knew the danger was past, grabbed Solomon by the scruff of the neck and dropped him lightheartedly off the pillow as a reward.
  It wasn't the only reward she gave him. I nearly fainted on the spot when after supper that night he marched proudly into the living room with his spotted whiskers sprouting on one side as exuberantly as a gorse bush â and the other side completely bare. He was only eight weeks old then and we thought they had dropped out as a result of eating too much rabbit. We didn't know Siamese mothers sometimes did that to their favourite kittens when they were particularly pleased with them.
  The vet told us â rather shortly, we thought, seeing that he was supposed to like Siamese cats â at half past eleven that night.
SEVEN
Solomon the Great
A few days after that the Smiths brought James to tea for the first time since the kittens were born and Solomon assaulted him. We should have anticipated something like that. Ever since the loss of his whiskers, which he seemed to regard as some sort of accolade, Solomon had been quite unbearable. Head of the Family he said he was, and though the head of the family was more often than not seen disappearing ignominiously round a corner on his back to have his ears washed, it was obviously asking for trouble to have a strange cat in the place.
  The snag was, we couldn't ask the Smiths without James. They took him everywhere from the post office to the rectory garden party. If they didn't, they said â and as Siamese owners ourselves we quite understood â he kicked up hell, and the neighbours complained.
  I bet he wouldn't have complained if he'd known what was coming to him that afternoon. I can see him now, stalking elegantly up the garden path in his bright red harness and stopping every now and then to smell the wallflowers. Sugieh greeting him at the door. A little suspiciously, perhaps â but then Sugieh always greeted people suspiciously; it made social occasions so much more interesting. The pair of them walking side by side into the living room where, said Sugieh, her family was simply dying to meet him. And the awful moment when Solomon, his one-sided whiskers simply bristling with hate, shot out from under the table, drew himself up to his full six inches, and spat.
  Before it had even started our polite country tea party was bedlam. Sugieh, screaming that he had Attacked her Son, pitched into James. James, who hadn't done a thing but wasn't stopping to argue, took off through the cucumber sandwiches. And Solomon, completely beside himself with excitement, bit Mrs Smith in the leg.
  Long after James had been driven home shaking like a leaf and we had swept up the remains of the Copeland bowl that used to stand in the window, Solomon was still telling us about Mrs Smith's leg.
  'And after that I bit James ,' he chanted, sitting on the kitchen table where we were wearily cutting up rabbit for their supper. 'And then I chased him up the curtains . And then I bit him again â¦'
  Actually he hadn't done anything of the sort. It was Sugieh who bit James. The moment Mrs Smith screamed Solomon had dived under the bureau like a rocket with the rest of the kittens and all we had seen of him for the next twenty minutes was a pair of eyes as round as marbles gazing dumbfounded at the devastation. That, however, was Solomon all over. To add to our other troubles he had turned out to be a feline Walter Mitty.
  We usually locked the kittens in
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