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Letters from a Cat
·
Helen Hunt Jackson
21
I
trembled
all
over,
for
if
she
had
come
into
the
barn
I
know
one
kick
from
her
heavy
foot
would
have
killed
me,
and
I
was
quite
too
weak
to
run
away.
Towards
night
I
heard
your
dear
mother's
voice
calling,
"Poor
pussy,
why,
poor
pussy,
where
are
you?"
I
assure
you,
my
dear
Helen,
people
are
very
much
mistaken
who
say,
as
I
have
often
overheard
them,
that
cats
have
no
feeling.
If
they
could
only
know
how
I
felt
at
that
moment,
they
would
change
their
minds.
I
was
almost
too
glad
to
make
a
sound.
It
seemed
to
me
that
my
feet
were
fastened
to
the
floor,
and
that
I
never
could
get
to
her.
She
took
me
up
in
her
arms,
and
carried
me
through
the
kitchen
into
the
sitting-room.
Mary
was
frying
cakes
in
the
kitchen,
and
as
your
mother
passed
by
the
stove
she
said
in
her
sweet
voice,
"You
see
I've
found
poor
pussy,
Mary."
"Humph,"
said
Mary,
"I
never
thought
but
that
she'd
be
found
fast
enough
when
she
wanted
to
be!"
I
knew
that
this
was
a
lie,
because
I
had
heard
what
she
said
in
the
shed.
I
do
wish
I
knew
what
makes
her
hate
me
so:
I
only
wish
she
knew
how
I
hate
her.
I
really
think
I
shall
gnaw
her
stockings
and
shoes
some
night.
It
would
not
be
any
more
than
fair;
and
she
would
never
suspect
me,
there
are
so
many
mice
in
her
room,
for
I
never
touch
one
that
I
think
belongs
in
her
closet.
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