y
day he rubs in some new kind of stuff, which smells a little worse than
the last one. It is utterly impossible for me to get within half a mile
of a rat or a mouse. I might as well fire off a gun to let them know I
am coming, as to go about scented up so that they can smell me a great
deal farther off than they can see me. If it were not for this dreadful
state of my fur, I should be perfectly happy, for I feel much better
than I ever did before in my whole life, and am twice as fat as when you
went away. I try to be resigned to whatever may be in store for me, but
it is very hard to look forward to being a fright all the rest of one's
days. I don't suppose such a thing was ever seen in the world as a cat
without any fur. This morning your grandfather sat looking at me for a
long time and stroking his chin: at last he said, "Do you suppose it
would do any good to shave the cat all over?" At this I could not resist
the impulse to scream, and your mother said, "I do believe the creature
knows whenever we speak about her." Of course I do! Why in the world
shouldn't I! People never seem to observe that cats have ears. I often
think how much more careful they would be if they did. I have many a
time to see them send children out of the room, and leave me behind,
when I knew perfectly well that the children would neither notice nor
understand half so much as I would. There are some houses in which I
lived, before I came to live with you, about which I could tell strange
stories if I chose.

Caesar pretends that he likes the looks of little spots of pink skin,
here and there, in fur; but I know he only does it to save my feelings,
for it isn't in human nature--I mean in cat's nature--that any one
should. You see I spend so much more time in the society of men and
women than of cats, that I find myself constantly using expressions
which sound queerly in a cat's mouth. But you know me well enough to be
sure that every thing I say is perfectly natural. And now, my dear
Helen, I hope I have prepared you to see me looking perfectly hideous. I
only trust that your love for me will not be entirely killed by my
unfortunate appearance. If you do seem to love me less, I shall be
wretched, but I shall still be, always,

Your affectionate Pussy.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Letters from a Cat, by Helen Jackson

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LETTERS FROM A CAT ***

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