Jennie. Paul Gallico

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СКАЧАТЬ a while, you will come to understand that people are always doing that. They keep us while we are convenient to them, and not too much trouble, and then, when through no fault of ours it becomes inconvenient, they walk out and leave us to starve.”

      “Oh, Jennie,” Peter cried again, quite horrified at such cruelty, “I would never go away and leave you …”

      “You wouldn’t, perhaps,” Jennie said, “but people do, and THEY did. I remember that morning. I couldn’t believe it at first when the time came and they were not there. I watched at the window. I listened at the door. Time passed. Then I started to shout, hoping perhaps that somehow they had managed to slip into the house without my hearing them.

      “I cried myself hoarse. I threw myself against the door. I tried desperately to open it, but it was one of those slippery doorknobs instead of a latch I might have worked. Morning turned into afternoon and afternoon into evening. I hardly slept at all, but kept pacing the floor of the empty sewing-room the whole night hoping against hope that they would come the next day.

      “On the morrow something much more terrifying occurred. They didn’t come, but the moving-men did. From the window I could see their van drawn up in front of the house. All day long they went in and out of the house, removing the furniture, crates, boxes and barrels. By late afternoon everything was loaded and tied on behind with ropes. Then they climbed into the front seat and drove away. And that night there wasn’t any milk or water left, and I had nothing to eat or drink, nor the next, nor the one after that.”

      “Poor, poor Jennie!” Peter said. “Weren’t you awfully hungry?”

      “The pain wasn’t in my stomach, Peter,” Jennie replied, “it was in my heart. I only wished to die of longing, misery, loneliness and sadness. More than anything, I wanted my Buff to be holding me in her arms close to her and giving me the little squeezes she used to because she loved me.

      “And then suddenly to my horror I found myself hating her. I wanted to bite, scratch, claw and kill her for having abandoned me. Yes, I learned to hate, Peter, and that is worse than being sick, or starved, or thirsty, or in pain. It replaced all the love I had felt for Buff. I had no hope of ever getting out of that room alive, but I swore that if I did I would never again trust a human being, or give them love or live with them.

      “And then one morning, when I was nearly dead, release came. I heard someone at the front door and then footsteps. I knew it wasn’t their footsteps, and yet I hoped that somehow I was mistaken and they had come, and I was all ready to welcome them and purr and even try to reach Buff ’s shoulder to show her I had forgiven her. Oh, I would have put my paws to her face and kissed and kissed her if she had only come back and not forgotten me.”

      Peter said, “I do wish she had, Jennie …”

      “It wasn’t, of course,” Jennie continued. “It was just people, two women, very likely come to look at the house. One of them made sympathetic sounds and picked me up. But I was weak and dizzy from starvation and nearly out of my mind with worry, and didn’t know what I was doing. I bit her. She dropped me, and I was so frightened I found the strength to run out of the door and down the stairs. Or rather I fell more than ran down them and didn’t stop until I got to the bottom and out the front door. That was the beginning …”

      “Of what?” Peter asked.

      “Of being independent of human beings, of never again asking for a favour, of spitting and growling whenever one tried to reach down and stroke me or pick me up, of never again entering a house to live with them.”

      Peter wanted to show her how sorry he was it had all turned out so badly, but he could not think of anything to say, because if it was really true that her family had abandoned her so heartlessly he felt very much ashamed that they were human beings. Instead he arose, went over to her, and bestowed a few licks on the side of her cheek.

      Jennie gave him a winning smile and purred for a moment.

      “That was sweet,” she said, “but I like the life of a stray now, really. It’s a rough one, and sometimes it isn’t easy, but at least no one can hurt me any more. I mean inside, where you can’t get at it and it never heals up. There isn’t much that is open to cats that I haven’t seen or done in the past two years. I found this place months ago. It’s wonderful, because people hardly ever visit here. Come along, and I’ll show you my secret entrance …”

      They left the Highland scenery, walked by the Pyramids and the Sphinx, skirted the rooftop of a penthouse in New York, wound their way in and out of a drawing-room in Mayfair and a castle on the Rhine and retraced their steps down the long, dark, musty corridors.

      But just before they turned the corner to enter that part of the warehouse where Jennie’s home was, she stopped, gave a low growl, and Peter saw her tail fluff up to twice its size. He halted behind her and heard voices, footsteps, scrapings and bumpings, and was all for running around the corner to see what it was, when Jennie whispered – “Get down, Peter! If they see us, we’re in for it. It’s our home! They’re moving it out. Looks like your friend Napoleon has come for his bed.”

      Peter felt it might embarrass her if he were to reveal that Napoleon had been dead for more than a hundred years, and anyway, it did not make much difference; more to the point, it was no longer there, and everything else in the bin was also being moved out either to a sale or an exhibition.

      “Pity,” said Jennie. “It was a nice home. I’d grown rather fond of it, particularly your friend’s bed. Ah well, one can always find another somewhere else.”

      “There must be dozens of storage bins we passed where we might be cosy,” Peter said.

      “Won’t do. Not in here,” Jennie said decisively. “Once people show up, you’ve had it, and if you are wise you will clear out. When the movers get those things into the light they’ll find evidence of our having lived there. Your hairs and mine. And the mouse business. Then there’ll be a hue and cry and a hunt for us all through here – lights up and dust swirling, and men poking about with torches and sticks. No, trust me, Peter, I know. As soon as they have finished we’ll use my emergency exit. There’s still plenty of daylight left to look about for a new place to stay the night. Keep out of sight until I give the word.”

      Peter did as she bade him, for he very well appreciated that Jennie was more experienced and must know what she was talking about.

      And then, what with all the dust about, the washing and the talking and not having had anything to drink after all that running through London, Peter fell prey to a most dreadful thirst and it suddenly seemed to him that he would perish if he did not soon feel something cool and moist going down his throat.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       Always Pause on the Threshold

      “I’M AWFULLY THIRSTY, Jennie,” Peter whispered.

      They had been crouching there around the bend of the warehouse corridor for the better part of an hour waiting for the men to finish the work of carrying out the furniture from the storage bin.

      Jennie flattened herself and peered around the corner. “Soon,” she said. “There are only a few pieces left.”

      “How СКАЧАТЬ