Thomasina. Paul Gallico

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СКАЧАТЬ make plans, or wish, or remember who you were, or what happened to an ancestor thousands and thousands of generations ago, or perhaps think about what there is going to be for supper.

      THEN, suddenly you close both eyes and pretend that you are asleep. Now, this is the most important and delicate part of the entire operation, for now you may rely only upon your ears and the receiving antennae at the ends of your whiskers. For this is when the mouse, if it is out, will try to get in, or try to get out if it is in, and just at the psychological moment when it thinks it has you, you open one eye.

      I can promise you that the effect upon the mouse of finding itself suddenly stared at by that single eye of yours is absolutely tremendous. I am not sure what it is exactly, unless it is to be confronted with the evidence that you actually need only one eye to watch while the other one sleeps that is so upsetting to the mouse, but there it is. A few doses of that and it is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Its nervousness soon communicates itself to its family, they hold a consultation and decide to move away.

      This is the manner in which any responsible member of our species handles the mouse problem in the household, but as you can see it calls for technique, practice and time; above all, time. I managed to keep the house reasonably clear in spite of all the other things I had to do, room and parcel inspection, washing, exchanging news with the neighbours and looking after Mary Ruadh, for which, of course, I got no thanks or appreciation at all from Mr MacDhui, and little more from Mrs McKenzie, from whom I had to listen to such complaints as – “Och, ye lazy Thomasina. The mice have been at the larder again. Do ye then no ken a moosie when ye see yin?” – which was supposed to be very cutting and sarcastic, but, of course, rolled right off my back.

      So there I was, just settled down to put the cap on three solid days of nerve war, when Hughie Stirling came whistling outside the house, and the next thing I knew, Mary Ruadh, in a blue pinafore with blue socks and blue shoes, was picking me up and carrying me off through the town down to the quay. I had never been there before at steamboat time.

      Hughie Stirling was the Laird’s son. He was almost ten, but already tall for his age. He lived in the Manor, whose grounds reached almost to the back of our house, and he was a great friend to Mary Ruadh.

      You can have boys, for my part. I find them nasty, dirty, cruel, in the main, and unkind and heartless to boot, selfish little beasts, but I must admit that Hughie Stirling was different. He managed to keep himself clean and had a kind of noble look about him with a lean face, dark, wavy hair and light blue eyes, the far-seeing kind.

      Mary Ruadh tagged after him whenever she could, or he would let her, which was quite often, for he seemed to like to look after her. Most boys of that age will have no part of little girls at any price, but a few, like Hughie, seem to like having them about, particularly if they have no sisters. They watch over them, picking them up, brushing them off and wiping away their tears when they fall or hurt themselves, and see to it that their noses are blown when it is necessary. Like Mary Ruadh, Hughie was an only child and so he liked to borrow her occasionally and, of course, I went along over Mary Ruadh’s arm, for she would not go without me. Hughie never seemed to mind this and appeared to understand it and not think it curious. Perhaps he appreciated my worth. I am not surprised to find this attitude in one of the aristocracy.

      If I could live my own life, that is to say, if I were not ‘house’, I should move to the waterfront and spend the days sitting on the jetties in the sun, sniffing the tar in the ropes with which the boats are made fast, and when the fishermen’s skiffs came in I would strut along the granite flagstones of the quay with my tail a-quivering in the air and go down to greet them and see what they had brought in from the sea.

      Next to lavender, I think the smells I like best are those of the sea, boats and piles of old oilskins, sweaters, gear and tackle and rubber boots in the boathouses, and the beautiful smell of fish; fish and seaweed, crab and lobster and the green sea-scum that fastens to the grey stone landing steps. And there is a wonderful odour by the sea in the very early morning too, when the sun has not yet pierced through the mists and everything is soggy with damp and dew and salt.

      And so once I was there with the children in the square by the quay where the statue to Rob Roy stands, I was not too ill-pleased for there were many interesting and exciting things going on, except that when the steamer came in and blew its whistle it frightened me so that I fell off Mary Ruadh’s shoulder and hurt myself.

      That wants a bit of explaining, I know, for we always fall on our feet, particularly when we have time to turn over, but this all happened so quickly that I didn’t.

      The steamer was all white with a narrow black funnel, and how was I to know that it was going to make a horrible noise? I was quite fascinated watching the ship come puffing up to the edge of the stone jetty, with bells clanging and orders being shouted, and much white froth of water all about it as it went first forward, then backwards, then even sideways, and suddenly, without warning, the loudest and most frightening shriek burst from the top of the stack and I fell over backwards.

      Well, I suppose I could have saved myself, but it would have meant digging my claws into Mary Ruadh’s neck, for I had been lying across her shoulders. If it had been anyone else I should not have hesitated to anchor my claws, you may believe me. But it all happened so quickly, the awful noise that seemed to split my ears open, and then there was a bump and I was lying on my side, hurting.

      Mary Ruadh picked me up at once and rubbed it, and so did Hughie Stirling, and they made a fuss over me, though Hughie laughed and said – “The old whistle frightened her,” and then to me – “You’ll have to get used to that, Thomasina, if you’re going to be a sea-going cat.” It seems that he and Mary Ruadh were planning a trip around the world in a yacht he was going to have when he grew up and, of course, she had said she wouldn’t go without me.

      The rubbing made it feel better; Mary Ruadh cradled me in her arms and held me tight, and the next time it hooted I wasn’t nearly so frightened, and almost forgot the pain in the excitement of watching the mail sacks being tossed on to the pier, followed by the luggage of the visitors, which was covered with the most interesting-looking labels, after which the visitors themselves came ashore down a wooden gangway that had been run on to the side of the ship from the quay.

      Many of them had children by the hand and that, of course, interested Mary Ruadh and Hughie and Geordie McNabb who had joined us. Geordie is eight and a Wolf Cub and he goes all over the place by himself and sees everything. There were half a dozen or so dogs on a leash that came ashore, and a cat basket; overhead the gulls wheeled and screamed; taxicab drivers honked their horns and shouted at the people and all in all, except for my tumble, it was a most satisfactory landing. And Geordie had some interesting news.

      He told Hughie and Mary Ruadh: “There’s gipsies and tinkers come to Dunmore Field at the foot of the glen, across the river. Lots and lots of them with wagons and cages and caravans and things. They’re camped beside the woods on Tarbet Road. Mr MacQuarrie the constable went out to have a word with them.”

      “Oh!” exclaimed Hughie Stirling. “That’s exciting! I wish I had been there. What happened?”

      Geordie McNabb drew in a deep breath and his eyes became quite as round as his head because of the importance of answering the questions put to him by the Laird’s son. I could see that.

      He replied: “Constable MacQuarrie said as long as they behaved themselves and didn’t give any trouble they could stay there.”

      Hughie nodded his head. “And what did they say?”

      “Oh, there was a big man there and he had on a big leather belt and it had nails in it. And he put his hands in his belt and laughed at Mr MacQuarrie.”

      Hughie СКАЧАТЬ