Blacky is a wise old cat. She likes milk very well. She likes potato very well.

Better than these she likes corn. She will gnaw it off the cob. Of course, she is fond of meat. But best of all she likes fish.

Blacky will beg a long time for cooked fish. Once, she even stole a piece. After that mother never left fish where Blacky could get it. Then she could not be naughty.

One day Polly and Peter were playing in the yard. Tim was playing with them. Tim is Peter’s little friend. He lives in the very next house. You can find it on the map shown at the bottom of the page.

Polly said to Peter, “What has Blacky there?”

“Where?” asked Peter.

“In her mouth, Peter. Now she has dropped it. I saw her coming up the road with it.”

“I’ll see what it is,” said Peter.

He ran to Blacky. She was sitting down watching what she had dropped.

“Oh Polly” called Peter. “Come here, come here! It is a fish. It is alive. It wiggles. Where did she get it?”

“I don’t know,” said Polly.

“Perhaps she stole it out of somebody’s kitchen,” said Tim.

“People do not have live fish in their kitchens. Do they, Polly?” said Peter.

“No, I guess not,” said Polly. “It looks like a sucker. What is she going to do with it?”

“Eat it, of course,” said Peter.

But Blacky did not eat it. Instead, she picked it up again. She carried it to the kitchen door.

There she dropped the fish and mewed. Mrs. Howe came to the door. She opened it for Blacky.

Blacky took up the fish once more. She carried it into the kitchen. She put it down where her dish of food was put three times a day.

Peter and Polly and Tim had followed her.

“Where did Blacky get this fish, children?” asked mother. “Did you give it to her?”

“No, mother. We do not know where she got it. It was alive when we first saw it.”

“Perhaps one of the big boys gave it to her. Have any of them been fishing, Peter?”

“I do not know, mother. Maybe Blacky caught it herself.”

“Of course she did not, Peter,” said Polly. “Do not be so silly. Cats cannot fish.”

“She has been in the water,” said mother.” See! Her fur is all wet in front. And underneath it is wet, too.

“I wonder if she could have caught that fish. I have heard of such things. Blacky is a wise old cat. Perhaps she is wise enough to go fishing.”

“If the sucker was close to the bank, she could catch it with her claws,” said Polly.

“Maybe Peter is right, after all. Tell us about it, old Blacky.”

Blacky only purred and rubbed up against mother.

“She wishes something,” said mother. “And I think that I know what it is. She does not like raw fish. Most cats do, but she does not. She is asking me to cook it for her. And so I will.

“Here comes father. He will clean Blacky’s fish. You may tell him about it while he does so.”

In a few minutes, father brought it in to mother.

“I do believe that Blacky is a fisherman,” he said. “I should like to see just how she did it. Perhaps we can catch her at it sometime.”

Then mother boiled the fish and Blacky ate it for supper. She did not offer anyone a bite. But that was just as well. Suckers are not good for us to eat late in the summer.