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37
Letters from a Cat
·
Helen Hunt Jackson
11
I.
My
Dear
Helen:
That
is
what
your
mother
calls
you,
I
know,
for
I
jumped
up
on
writing-table
just
now,
and
looked,
while
she
was
out
of
the
room;
and
I
am
sure
I
have
as
much
right
to
call
you
so
as
she
has,
for
if
you
were
my
own
little
kitty,
and
looked
just
like
me,
I
could
not
love
you
any
more
than
I
do.
How
many
good
naps
I
have
had
in
your
lap!
and
how
many
nice
bits
of
meat
you
have
saved
for
me
out
of
your
own
dinner!
Oh,
I'll
never
let
a
rat,
or
a
mouse,
touch
any
thing
of
yours
so
long
as
I
live.
I
felt
very
unhappy
after
you
drove
off
yesterday,
and
did
not
know
what
to
do
with
myself.
I
went
into
the
barn,
and
thought
I
would
take
a
nap
on
the
hay,
for
I
do
think
going
to
sleep
is
one
of
the
very
best
things
for
people
who
are
unhappy;
but
it
seemed
so
lonely
without
old
Charlie
stamping
in
his
stall
that
I
could
not
bear
it,
so
I
went
into
the
garden,
and
lay
down
under
the
damask
rose-bush,
and
caught
flies.
There
is
a
kind
of
fly
round
that
bush
which
I
like
better
than
any
other
I
ever
ate.
You
ought
to
see
that
there
is
a
very
great
difference
between
my
catching
flies
and
your
doing
it.
I
have
noticed
that
you
never
eat
them,
and
I
have
wondered
that
when
you
were
always
so
kind
to
me
you
could
be
so
cruel
as
to
kill
poor
flies
for
nothing:
I
have
often
wished
that
I
could
speak
to
you
about
it:
now
that
your
dear
mother
has
taught
me
to
print,
I
shall
be
able
to
say
a
great
many
things
to
you
which
I
have
often
been
unhappy
about
because
I
could
not
make
you
understand.
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