In our house, the water used for drinking, making tea, and lesser
washing purposes, is kept in large white china tubs, decorated with
paintings representing blue fish borne along by a swift current
through distorted rushes. In order to keep them cool, the tubs are
placed out of doors on Madame Prune's roof, at a place where we can,
from the top of our projecting balcony, easily reach them by
stretching out the arm. A real godsend for all the thirsty cats in
the neighborhood on the fine summer nights is this corner of the roof
with our bedaubed tubs, and it proves a delightful trysting-place for
them, after all their caterwauling and long solitary rambles on the
top of the walls.
I had thought it my duty to warn Yves the first time he wished to
drink this water.
"Oh!" he replied, rather surprised, "cats do you say? they are not
dirty!"
On this point Chrysanthème and I agree with him: we do not consider
cats as unclean animals, and we do not object to drink after them.
Yves considers Chrysanthème much in the same light. "She is not dirty,
either," he says; and he willingly drinks after her, out of the same
cup, putting her in the same category with the cats.
Well, these china tubs are one of the daily preoccupations of our
household: in the evening, when we return from our walk, after the
clamber up which makes us thirsty, and Madame L'Heure's waffles, which
we have been eating to beguile the way, we always find them empty. It
seems impossible for Madame Prune, or Mdlle. Oyouki, or their young
servant Mdlle. Dédé,[J] to have forethought enough to fill them while
it is still daylight. And when we are late in returning home, these
three ladies are asleep, so we are obliged to attend to the business
ourselves.
[Footnote J: _Dédé-San_ means "Miss Young Girl," a very common name.]
We must therefore open all the closed doors, put on our boots, and go
down into the garden to draw water.
As Chrysanthème would die of fright all alone in the dark, in the
midst of the trees and buzzing of the insects, I am obliged to
accompany her to the well. For this expedition we require a light, and
must seek among the quantity of lanterns purchased at Madame
Très-Propre's booth, which have been thrown night after night into the
bottom of one of our little paper closets; but alas, all the candles
are burnt down; I thought as much! Well, we must resolutely take the
first lantern to hand, and stick a fresh candle on the iron point at
the bottom; Chrysanthème puts forth all her strength, the candle
splits, breaks; the mousmé pricks her fingers, pouts and whimpers.
Such is the inevitable scene that takes place every evening, and
delays our retiring to rest under the dark blue gauze net for a good
quarter of an hour; while the cicalas on the roof seem to mock us with
their ceaseless song.
All this, which I should find amusing in any one else,--any one I
loved--provokes me in her.