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37
Letters from a Cat
·
Helen Hunt Jackson
12
I
am
entirely
discouraged
about
learning
to
speak
the
English
language,
and
I
do
not
think
anybody
takes
much
trouble
to
learn
ours;
so
we
cats
are
confined
entirely
to
the
society
of
each
other,
which
prevents
our
knowing
so
much
as
we
might;
and
it
is
very
lonely
too,
in
a
place
where
there
are
so
few
cats
kept
as
in
Amherst.
If
it
were
not
for
Mrs.
Hitchcock's
cat,
and
Judge
Dickinson's,
I
should
really
forget
how
to
use
my
tongue.
When
you
are
at
home
I
do
not
mind
it,
for
although
I
cannot
talk
to
you,
I
understand
every
word
that
you
say
to
me,
and
we
have
such
good
plays
together
with
the
red
ball.
That
is
put
away
now
in
the
bottom
drawer
of
the
little
workstand
in
the
sitting-room.
When
your
mother
put
it
in,
she
turned
round
to
me,
and
said,
"Poor
pussy,
no
more
good
plays
for
you
till
Helen
comes
home!"
and
I
thought
I
should
certainly
cry.
But
I
think
it
is
very
foolish
to
cry
over
what
cannot
be
helped,
so
I
pretended
to
have
got
something
into
my
left
eye,
and
rubbed
it
with
my
paw.
It
is
very
seldom
that
I
cry
over
any
thing,
unless
it
is
"spilt
milk."
I
must
confess,
I
have
often
cried
when
that
has
happened:
and
it
always
is
happening
to
cats'
milk.
They
put
it
into
old
broken
things
that
tip
over
at
the
least
knock,
and
then
they
set
them
just
where
they
are
sure
to
be
most
in
the
way.
Many's
the
time
Josiah
has
knocked
over
that
blue
saucer
of
mine,
in
the
shed,
and
when
you
have
thought
that
I
had
had
a
nice
breakfast
of
milk,
I
had
nothing
in
the
world
but
flies,
which
are
not
good
for
much
more
than
just
a
little
sort
of
relish.
I
am
so
glad
of
a
chance
to
tell
you
about
this,
because
I
know
when
you
come
home
you
will
get
a
better
dish
for
me.
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