The parrot followed the movements of
the cat with feverish anxiety: it ruffled its feathers, rattled its
chain, lifted one of its feet and shook the claws, and rubbed its beak
against the edge of its trough. Instinct told it that the cat was an
enemy and meant mischief. The cat's eyes were now fixed upon the bird
with fascinating intensity, and they said in perfectly intelligible
language, which the poor parrot distinctly understood, 'This chicken
ought to be good to eat, although it is green.' We watched the scene
with great interest, ready to interfere at need. Madame Theophile was
creeping nearer and nearer almost imperceptibly; her pink nose quivered,
her eyes were half closed, her contractile claws moved in and out of
their velvet sheaths, slight thrills of pleasure ran along her backbone
at the idea of the meal she was about to make. Such novel and exotic
food excited her appetite.
"All in an instant her back took the shape of a bent bow, and with a
vigorous and elastic bound she sprang upon the perch. The parrot, seeing
its danger, said in a bass voice as grave and deep as M. Prudhomme's
own, 'As tu dejeune, Jacquot?'
"This utterance so terrified the cat that she sprang backwards. The
blare of a trumpet, the crash and smash of a pile of plates flung to the
ground, a pistol shot fired off at her ear, could not have frightened
her more thoroughly. All her ornithological ideas were overthrown.
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