Tom had a cat who was so white that he named her Snow. He loved Snow and thought her the best cat in the world, but she would not come when she was called.

One day Snow went and played in the coal-bin, and when she came out she was quite black.

“See, Mother,” said Tom: “Snow cannot be Snow now, for she is black. What shall I name her?”

“You might name her Soot!” said his mother.

So he named Snow Soot. Snow did not care, and Soot did not care, but neither of them came when she was called.

One day Snow saw a tin pot on the shed floor, and Soot thought there might be cream in it; and Snow went to see, and Soot fell in, and it was green paint, and when she came out she was all green.

“See, Mother,” said Tom. “My cat is not white now, so she cannot be Snow, and she is not black, so she cannot be Soot. What shall I name her now?”

“You might name her Grass,” said his mother, “till you have washed her; but I would wash her soon if I were you.”

So, Tom named the cat Grass. Snow did not care, and Soot did not care, and Grass did not care, but none of them came when they were called.

“How can I wash her,” asked Tom, “if she will not come when she is called?”

“Let me try!” said his mother. So she called, “Puss! Puss! Puss!” and the cat came running as fast as she could.

“Why-ee!” said Tom. “I think her name must be Puss.”

“I think so, too,” said his mother.