THE BLACK CAT BRINGS MEASLES
A week after that Auntie May did not come down to breakfast, and Mary
looked fussy and important as if something had happened, and a certain
great carriage came and stood at our door, which mother said was a
doctor's carriage. We heard Mary and the cook talking about it.
'It's measles, sure enough,' said Mary. 'Mrs. Curtis's little boy,
t'other side of the square, died of it last week. It is all over. You
and me'll go next, cook, sure as eggs is eggs.'
'Eggs is often egg powder,' said the cook severely. 'You just sit still
and don't go to meet misfortune half-way. More work and less talk, I
say.'
We told the black cat that he was little better than a murderer,
bringing measles in and giving them to our dear Auntie May, and we made
him so uncomfortable that he left. I don't suppose he would starve
or anything, for he had collected enough strength with us to last him
through the winter, and make him fit to catch as many birds as he could
eat. Besides, I don't think he was going to live long anyhow. To my
certain knowledge he had licked up a whole tube of madder-lake, and
swallowed the cork of a bottle of quick-drying copal.
Mary was not a good cat-maid, though she had acquired what Auntie May
called the cat-tread. She had learned to walk carefully, shovelling her
feet along the floor so as to avoid treading on kittens. Of course, now
that we were older, we oozed away ourselves, and were too proud to call
out if a paw got caught, or so on.
Then an awful thing happened, and while Auntie May was ill too. Perhaps
if Auntie May hadn't been ill it would never have happened. Zobeide
went and lost herself.
We all went out now and then, though it wasn't approved of unless
Auntie May took us herself, and that was all right; it was going alone
that was wrong. Whenever we were missed there was a fine hue and cry,
and Auntie May used to run out without her boots, or her hat, or her
jacket, and hunt the garden. When she had done this in vain, she used
to go out in the street and walk all round the fronts of the houses to
see if she could see a bit of grey cat sticking out anywhere. She got
_me_ that way once. I was sitting on the outside wall looking inwards
and my tail hung down into the street. She came along and took hold,
and wow! but I had to come down backwards along with it! I felt as if
it were being pulled out by the roots, and that all resistance was vain
and painful as well. So I was amenable to persuasion, if you can call
anything so rough as that persuasion.
There was no Auntie May to fetch Zobeide in. She wasn't even told lest
it sent up her temperature. Besides, I fancied some one had stolen
Zobeide, and I remembered that Auntie May once said that one merit of
having valuable cats was that if they got lost or were stolen it wasn't
to do them harm; that the thief would cherish every hair of the coat of
a Blue Persian, and that it was only a question of change of residence
and missing the departed, without the agony of imagining all sorts of
horrid fates that might have befallen them. She said she could never
sleep at night if she had to think of the possibility of our coming
upon the streets and being carried off to be vivisected. Perhaps poor
Charlie got vivisected! Oh dear!
Mother and I and Fred did not break our hearts or care half so much
about Zobeide as poor Mr. Graham did. He took an immense lot of
trouble, and went to the police station about her, and when he came
home he wrote on a great piece of paper, in copy-book hand:
LOST
Valuable Persian Cat
On the Thirty-first instant from
No. 100 Egerton Gardens.
Whoever will bring the same back to owner will receive
the sum of Five Pounds.
This he had printed, and mother says she heard that a copy was stuck in
the window of every shop in the district. Of course that curious Mary
had to go out and spy them all out and come home and tell cook.
We were a great deal in the kitchen at this period, and liked it in
a way. It was warmer than anywhere else in the house, and there were
plenty of odd things good to eat, though Auntie May strictly forbade
Mary or cook to feed us between meals. Our meals were always arranged
beforehand. For instance, Fred could not eat fish--it always made him
sick. He also liked a thing better if he had stolen it. When he was
ill and wouldn't eat his bread and milk they put it on the china-table
to tempt him, and it did. He would eat all quickly, thinking he would
get shooed off every other minute. Mother could not bear lentils; she
had never been brought up to them, she said. Now I loved them, also
cod-liver-oil biscuits. None of us could stand salt meat or veal, but
game, of course, was heaven. We had different ways with the bones. I
like to split mine up and get the juice that is inside the bone out
and suck it. Mother thought it would hurt our teeth, and she only
picked hers. As she was getting a little old, she had raw meat twice a
week to strengthen her, and in the winter Auntie May always gave her
cod-liver-oil. What she really liked best was burnt currants out of a
cake. She used to sit at Auntie May's elbow and pick them out of her
mouth. I have a weakness for anchovy sandwiches, and Auntie May always
gratifies it.
So you see we are rather a nuisance with our various likes and
dislikes; but I am bound to say cook and Mary were very good while
Auntie May's illness lasted, and did not alter the menu in the least.
The measles lasted an age. I cannot count time, so I don't know, but I
remember very clearly the first day when Auntie May was 'safe'--able to
see us, I mean. She had been away to the seaside before that time, and
I heard Mary say that when she came back she might go anywhere and see
who she liked.
Mary tied bows of ribbon on all our necks against her home-coming; she
thought Auntie May wouldn't mind for once, and cook and she thought
that she didn't really ever keep us smart enough.
I tried not to get mine worked round to my chin so as to oblige Mary;
but Fred got his mixed up with sardine-oil about an hour before she
came, and had to have it taken off.
We were all in her study when she came in, and I was determined she
should not complain of the coldness of our welcome this time, so we all
rushed at her.
'Mercy! What a lot of little catapults!' said she. The day was cold,
for it was nearly autumn, and she threw off her coat, not caring how
dreadfully distracting it was to Freddy. He bore it well, though,
and left the most fascinating bobble untouched lest she should feel
neglected.
'Where is Zobeide?' she said suddenly. 'Mary! Mary!' for Mary had
bolted.
'I simply cannot rest till I find Zobeide,' she muttered, going to
cupboard doors and opening them. 'The darling! Where is she, Mary?
Mary!'
It is always the way. She had got _us_, but people always want the one
they haven't got, and then take not the slightest interest in the ones
that have been good and stayed at home; for, of course, as every one
knew, Zobeide was up to no good when she got herself stolen. Auntie May
got quite mad with anxiety, and opened the door of her room and met
Mary on the threshold.
'Mary, please, where is Zobeide?'
'Lost, Miss. Mr. Fox have called.'
Auntie May banged the door and went down to see Mr. Fox. I suppose Mary
told her about Zobeide on the way downstairs, that is if she cared any
more to listen. People are so funny!