“Didn’t I tell ye to feed that cat a pound of meat every day until ye had her fat?” demanded an Irish shopkeeper, nodding toward a sickly, emaciated cat that was slinking through the store.

“Ye did thot,” replied the assistant, “an” I’ve just been after feedin’ her a pound of meat this very minute.”

“Faith, an’ I don’t believe ye. Bring me the scales.”

The poor cat was lifted into the scales. Thy balancd at exactly one pound.

“There!” exclaimed the assistant triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell ye she’d had her pound of meat?”

“That’s right,” admitted the boss, scratching his head. “That’s yer pound of meat all right. But”—suddenly looking up— “where the divvil is the cat?”