FullReads

“And who did you get to kill your mouse?”

“Well, I know a youngster who has a terrier. They are a perfect pair. As like as two peas, and equally keen about sport–they would go twenty miles to chase a bluebottle round an attic, sooner than not hunt something. So I told him there was a mouse de trop in my rooms, and he promised to bring Nipper next morning. I was going out hunting myself.

“The meet was early, and my man got breakfast at seven o’clock for me in my own quarters; and the first thing I saw when I came out of my bedroom was the mouse sitting on the edge of my Indian silver sugar-basin. I knew him again by his ear. And there he sat all breakfast-time, twitching his tail, and nibbling little bits of sugar, and watching me with such a pair of eyes! Have you ever seen a mouse’s eyes close? Upon my word, they are wonderfully beautiful, and it’s uncommonly difficult to hurt a creature with fine eyes. I didn’t touch it, and as I was going out I looked back, and the mouse was looking after me. I was a fool for looking back, for I can’t stand a pitiful expression in man or beast, and it put an end to Nipper’s sport, and left me with a mouse in my quarters–a thing I hate. I didn’t like to say I’d changed my mind about killing the mouse, but I wrote to Nipper’s master, and said I wouldn’t trouble him to come up for such a trifling matter.”

“So the mouse was safe?”

“Well, I thought so. But the young fellow (who is very good-natured) wrote back to say it was no trouble whatever, and the letter lay on my mantel-piece till I came home and found that he and Nipper had broken a chair-leg, and two china plates.”

“Did they kill the mouse?”

“Well, no. But I nearly killed Nipper in saving him; and the little rascal has lived with me ever since.”

The ladies seemed highly delighted with this anecdote, but, for my own part, I felt feverish to the tips of my claws, as I thought of the miserable creature who had usurped the place I wished to fill, and who might be the means of my having to fall back after all on the Deserted Cats’ Fund. What bungling puss had had him under her paws, and allowed him to escape with a torn ear and the wariness of experience? Let me but once catch sight of that twitching tail!—-

At this moment the gentleman got up, stretched his long—-

But I will not allude to them! It annoys me as much as the thought of that bungling cat, or of Nipper’s baulked attempt. He put up his hands and lifted me from his shoulder, and my heart sank as he said, “If I am to catch my train, I fear I must say good-bye.”

I believe that, in this hopeless crisis, my fur as usual was in my favour. He rubbed his cheek against mine before putting me down, and then said, “And you’ve not told me, after all, where poor Toots is really going.”

“We have not found a home for him yet, I assure you,” said my mistress. “Our washerwoman wants him, and she is a most kind-hearted and respectable person, but she has got nine children, and—-“

“Nine children!” ejaculated my friend, “My poor Toots, there will not be an inch of that magnificent tail of yours left at the end of a week. What cruelty to animals! Upon my word, I’d almost rather take Toots myself, than think of him with a washerwoman and nine children. Eh, Toots! would you like to come?”

I was on the carpet, rubbing against his–yes, long or short, they were his, and he was kind to me!–rubbing, I say, against his legs. I could get no impetus for a spring, but I scrambled straight up him as one would scramble up a tree (my grandmother was a bird-catcher of the first talent, and I inherit her claws), and uttered one pitiful mew.