Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-06-19
This and That
By Charles E. TrocetUeH.

Jack Spratt, gentleman, has re.
turned this season to the peaceful
amusements of his first Summer,
when he was a little fellow.
He spends most Of his time In the
back yard, watching the birds and
the shadows cast by the sun, that
flicker across the yard like celestial
song birds.
Jack, his green eyes harmonizing
we'll with the lilac beneath which he
sits, seems to appreciate the poetry OF
the occasion.
Yon noisy dog, intent only on rails
ing racket, its grating bark dis
tressing the ears, sees only the Grass,
material side of existence.
Said dog is only q lackey without
pay, running its fool legs Off at the
behest Of every passing foot in the
alley, intent on its one big idea, that
it must protect, forsooth, the property
of its master.
Jack spratt sees the footprints of
philosopher.
He knows full well, in the depth
of his cat soul, that there is more in
life than passes down the alley.
He, in common with his fellow cats.
seems to see deep into the mysteries
of things, and no doubt could tell US
all about it, If he chose.
n y \ X
He particularly enjoys the fresh
grass with dew upon it. Treading
down the back steps, Jack shifts at the
honeysuckle and at the lilac bushes
and pokes his white nose into the rows
of growing gladiolus.
Everything interests him. He Is not
like some boys and girls, who per.
petually whine, "I don't know what
to do. Tell me something to play!
Pack Spratt sees the footprints Of
strange cats that passed in the night,
and he examines them carefully to see
If he recognizes them.
He quickly spies the little black
bugs that have come out for a touch
of the sun. and he regards them doubt
fully, as if not quite sure whether 1t
would be worth his while to stick out
a white-gloved paw.
He decides in the negative. Cats
mind their own busineSS-bugB are
not part Of their business.
He steps gingerly through the grass.
not caring to get his feet wet. He II
on the search for some juicy grass,
Of the sort fancied by cats as medi'
cine.
Bending his neck, with the four
dark stripes upon 1t, he deftly chews
away at the blades, his pink tongue
lolling out, and his white teeth ap-
pearing ever and anon, as the old
poets say.
So he goes to his favorite nook,
where he crouches with paws be-
meath him. as he watches the tanta-
LIKING birds.
Jack hopes TO catch one, but there
Is not much likelihood OF such an
event, unless some bird. in q moment
Of recklessness, walks sQuarely into
his jaws.
Soon will come the time Of butter
flies, those fitting, gossamer creatures
in Their gorgeous wings. We have
wondered why aviators do not deco
rate their wings with butterfly pat
terms and colors. Surely they would
add to the gorgeousness OF the
heavens.
Jack had great sport with the but
terfiies in his first Summer, four
years ago. Now that he is a digni-
f1ed cat. perhaps he will not pay
any attention to the filters.
Then, however, he spent hours at
a time leaping into the air after
them, often catching them between
two paws as base ball player might
handle a long fly. Butterflies are
such bloodless insects, it did not seem
Druel. And Jack knew no better.
He was, and Is, a cat.