“Who came in and took my cat?”

“I did,” confessed Pat. “I thought you hated cats.”

“Used to,” said Uncle Horace. “Couldn’t bear ’em years ago. Wiser now. Found out they made life worth living. Been wondering why you didn’t have any round. Used to be too much cat here if anything. Missed ’em. Tell you tonight how I come to make friends with the tribe.”

That night around the kitchen fire, while Popka purred on his knee and Bold-and-Bad winked at him from the lounge, Uncle Horace told of the mystery of the black cat with the bows of ribbon in its ears.

“It was the last voyage I made on this side of the world. We sailed from Halifax for China and the first mate had his young brother with him…a lad of seventeen. He’d fetched his favorite cat along with him…Pills was his name. The cat’s I mean, not the boy’s. The boy’s name was Geordie. Pills was black…the blackest thing you ever saw, with one white shoe, and cute as a pet fox. Both that cat’s ears had been punched and he was togged out with little bows of red ribbon tied in ’em. That proud he was of them, too! Once when Geordie took them out to put fresh ones in and didn’t do it for a day Pills just sulked till he had his ribbons back. Everyone on board made a pet of him, except Cannibal Jim…”

“Cannibal Jim? Why was he called that?” asked Rae.

Uncle Horace frowned at her. He did not like interruptions.