The thrilling incident of the stray cat at "Chez Nous" is never likely
to get into the newspapers. On the other hand, lots of incidents which
do get in never deserve to. It's all a question of head-lining, which is
the bluff by which the public is induced to read matter it would
otherwise skip.
The affair began while I was in the City. I learnt afterwards that
Marjorie (my wife) was crooning to her needles the unmetrical jumper
lullaby, "Six purl, eight plain; then the same all over again." Anyhow
she was knitting, when she suddenly found herself looking into the
wistful eyes of a tortoiseshell cat which had appeared--merely appeared.
As she told me, she softly exclaimed, "A cat!" (right first time); then,
because it looked so wistful, she directed the maid to set before the
creature a saucer of milk. In fact--
HOMELESS BLACK-AND-TAN.
LUCKY CHANCE CALL.
TOOTING GOOD SAMARITAN.
When I arrived home, Marjorie ran into the hall to give me one of her
smooth evening kisses. I stepped forward to exchange it for one of my
stubbly ones when--
"Oh, Jack," said Marjorie, "you've trodden on her!"
"'Her,'" I said. "Who's 'her'?"
"The dearest little tortoiseshell stray cat," replied Marjorie. "You
really might have been more careful."
"I say, that's rather unfair," I said. "I stagger home tired to the
teeth after a particularly thin day in the City, followed by a
sardine-tin journey, and my own wife turns on me in favour of the first
outcast cat that comes along. It's enough to drive a man to dope." Or,
as the headlines would have it:--
NEAR BREAKING-POINT.
STRAIN OF BUSINESS LIFE.
ORIGIN OF THE DRUG HABIT.
After a bath and a change I felt better, and came down to dinner humming
a sentimental ballad in Marjorie's honour. But the word "love" died on
my lips when I saw that in the lap of Marjorie's pretty pink gown
reposed the stray cat. The colour-clash and the misapplication of
caresses which should have been my monopoly threw me back with a jerk to
a state of bearishness.
"Surely you're not going to keep that animal?" I asked.
"Of course I am, as long as she likes to stay," said Marjorie. "She's
very fond of me, aren't you, pussy? Fonder than my husband, I 'spect."
"I know these stray cats," I said. "Stiff with microbes. Tribes of mangy
lovers prowling round the house. A nest of kittens in my top-hat. I
know."
"Poor li'l pussy," cooed Marjorie. "Don'tum listen to the big coarse
man."
"Coarse be----"