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37
Letters from a Cat
·
Helen Hunt Jackson
17
Even
the
things
Mary
said
I
could
not
understand,
and
I
usually
understand
her
very
easily.
I
passed
a
very
uncomfortable
night
in
the
carrot
bin.
As
soon
as
I
heard
Mary
coming
down
the
cellar
stairs,
this
morning,
I
hid
in
the
arch,
and
while
she
was
skimming
the
milk,
I
slipped
upstairs,
and
ran
into
the
sitting-room.
Every
thing
there
is
in
the
same
confusion;
the
carpet
is
gone;
and
the
windows
too,
and
I
think
some
of
the
chairs
have
been
carried
away.
All
the
china
is
in
great
baskets
on
the
pantry
floor;
and
your
father
and
mother's
clothes
are
all
taken
out
of
the
nursery
closet,
and
laid
on
chairs.
It
is
very
dreadful
to
have
to
stand
and
see
all
this,
and
not
be
able
to
do
any
thing.
I
don't
think
I
ever
fully
realized
before
the
disadvantage
of
being
only
a
cat.
I
have
just
been
across
the
street,
and
talked
it
all
over
with
the
Judge's
cat,
but
she
is
very
old
and
stupid,
and
so
taken
up
with
her
six
kittens
(who
are
the
ugliest
I
ever
saw),
that
she
does
not
take
the
least
interest
in
her
neighbors'
affairs.
Mrs.
Hitchcock
walked
by
the
house
this
morning,
and
I
ran
out
to
her,
and
took
her
dress
in
my
teeth
and
pulled
it,
and
did
all
I
could
to
make
her
come
in,
but
she
said,
"No,
no,
pussy,
I'm
not
coming
in
to-day;
your
mistress
is
not
at
home."
I
declare
I
could
have
cried.
I
sat
down
in
the
middle
of
the
path,
and
never
stirred
for
half
an
hour.
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