But that stub could have twitched, and wanted desperately to twitch, only she would not let it.
She always seemed to think she had a tail, and, if she had had, it would have stuck out so the man could have seen it, the crevice being such a very small one.

You see how _sly_ she was! "Of course, the Little Sly One was lonely for the next few days, but she was kept so busy hunting breakfasts, and lunches, and dinners, and suppers that she hadn't time to fret much.

She was something like a three-quarters-grown kitten now, except for her having no tail to speak of, and curious, fierce-looking tufts to her ears, and pale eyes so savage and bright that they seemed as if they could look through a log even if it wasn't hollow.
"Also, her feet were twice as big as a kitten's would have been, and her hindquarters were high and powerful, like a rabbit's.

Her soft, bright fur was striped like a tiger's--though by the time she was grown up it would have changed to a light, shadowy, brownish gray, hard to detect in the dim thickets.
"The Little Sly One was so sly and so small that she had no difficulty in creeping up on birds and woodmice, to say nothing of grasshoppers, beetles and crickets.

But one day she learned, to her great annoyance, that she was not the only thing in the woods that could do this creeping up.