The dog went off growling, its tail between its legs. But when the huge dog chased little Harriet and cornered her behind the garbage can, lunging at her with open, white-toothed jaws, and Harriet with one desperate mew flew straight up into the air and over the dog's staring head and lighted on a rooftop - then Mrs. She washed those silky wings every day, along with chins and paws and tails, and wondered about them now and then, but she worked too hard finding food and bringing up the family to think much about the things she didn't understand. So the children's wings were the least of Mrs. The rats were fierce and dangerous the mice were shy and scrawny. Car wheels and trucks rolling past all day - rubbish and litter - hungry dogs - endless shoes and boots walking, running, stamping, kicking - nowhere safe and quiet, and less and less to eat. It really was a terrible neighborhood, and getting worse. They were beautiful children, well brought up. How is the milk this morning, children?" "It's very good, Mother, thank you," they answered happily. Harriet, when you purr, you should close your eyes part way and knead me with your front paws yes, that's the way. "Maybe they have wings because I dreamed, before they were born, that I could fly away from this neighborhood," said Mrs. "I suppose their father was a fly-by-night," a neighbor said, and laughed unpleasantly, sneaking round the dumpster. Mrs Jane Tabby could not explain why all four of her children had wings.
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