Now that Box was dead Grey Puss had only mankind to fear!

She hated mankind, which surpassed even her in cunning and rapacity—and yet, she could never forget that she had once been a member of the human household.

Mankind was her strong, invincible rival! Once for all, on the occasion when it had lured her into the sack and flung her into the water, it had imbued her with such terror of its incredible treachery that she could not bear to hear, smell, or see it. But none the less in the depths of her soul she admired it immensely. . . .

She hated it, so that she could have torn its throat asunder, and yet she loved it so intensely that she erected her tail and purred contentedly at the mere thought of rubbing her back once more against a pair of trousered legs.

This never-ceasing struggle between her own personality and the instinct inherited from a thousand generations of man-serving ancestors was at times so intense that on many a still, dark night she had sneaked home to the farm fully determined to remain; but at daybreak the rough sounds of wooden clogs and men's voices broke the spell, and she had fled again to the fields. . . .