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37
Letters from a Cat
·
Helen Hunt Jackson
20
IV.
My
Dear
Helen:
There
is
one
thing
that
cats
don't
like
any
better
than
men
and
women
do,
and
that
is
to
make
fools
of
themselves.
But
a
precious
fool
I
made
of
myself
when
I
wrote
you
that
long
letter
about
Mary's
moving
out
all
the
furniture,
and
taking
the
house
down.
It
is
very
mortifying
to
have
to
tell
you
how
it
all
turned
out,
but
I
know
you
love
me
enough
to
be
sorry
that
I
should
have
had
such
a
terrible
fright
for
nothing.
It
went
on
from
bad
to
worse
for
three
more
days
after
I
wrote
you.
Your
mother
did
not
come
home;
and
the
awful
Irishwoman
was
here
all
the
time.
I
did
not
dare
to
go
near
the
house,
and
I
do
assure
you
I
nearly
starved:
I
used
to
lie
under
the
rose-bushes,
and
watch
as
well
as
I
could
what
was
going
on:
now
and
then
I
caught
a
rat
in
the
barn,
but
that
sort
of
hearty
food
never
has
agreed
with
me
since
I
came
to
live
with
you,
and
became
accustomed
to
a
lighter
diet.
By
the
third
day
I
felt
too
weak
and
sick
to
stir:
so
I
lay
still
all
day
on
the
straw
in
Charlie's
stall;
and
I
really
thought,
between
the
hunger
and
the
anxiety,
that
I
should
die.
About
noon
I
heard
Mary
say
in
the
shed,
"I
do
believe
that
everlasting
cat
has
taken
herself
off:
it's
a
good
riddance
anyhow,
but
I
should
like
to
know
what
has
become
of
the
plaguy
thing!"
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