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Letters from a Cat
·
Helen Hunt Jackson
23
Can
you
imagine
how
ashamed
I
felt?
I
ran
under
the
table
and
did
not
come
out
again
until
after
Mrs.
Hitchcock
had
gone.
But
now
comes
the
saddest
part
of
my
story.
Soon
after
this,
as
I
was
looking
out
of
the
window,
I
saw
the
fattest,
most
tempting
robin
on
the
ground
under
the
cherry-tree:
the
windows
did
not
look
as
if
they
had
any
glass
in
them,
and
I
took
it
for
granted
that
it
had
all
been
taken
out
and
put
away
upstairs,
with
the
andirons
and
the
carpets,
for
next
winter.
I
knew
that
there
was
no
time
to
be
lost
if
I
meant
to
catch
that
robin,
so
I
ran
with
all
my
might
and
tried
to
jump
through.
Oh,
my
dear
Helen,
I
do
not
believe
you
ever
had
such
a
bump:
I
fell
back
nearly
into
the
middle
of
the
room;
and
it
seemed
to
me
that
I
turned
completely
over
at
least
six
times.
The
blood
streamed
out
of
my
nose,
and
I
cut
my
right
ear
very
badly
against
one
of
the
castors
of
the
table.
I
could
not
see
nor
hear
any
thing
for
some
minutes.
When
I
came
to
myself,
I
found
your
dear
mother
holding
me,
and
wiping
my
face
with
her
own
nice
handkerchief
wet
in
cold
water.
My
right
fore-paw
was
badly
bruised,
and
that
troubles
me
very
much
about
washing
my
face,
and
about
writing.
But
the
worst
of
all
is
the
condition
of
my
nose.
Everybody
laughs
who
sees
me,
and
I
do
not
blame
them;
it
is
twice
as
large
as
it
used
to
be,
and
I
begin
to
be
seriously
afraid
it
will
never
return
to
its
old
shape.
This
will
be
a
dreadful
affliction:
for
who
does
not
know
that
the
nose
is
the
chief
beauty
of
a
cat's
face?
I
have
got
very
tired
of
hearing
the
story
of
my
fall
told
to
all
the
people
who
come
in.
They
laugh
as
if
they
would
kill
themselves
at
it,
especially
when
I
do
not
manage
to
get
under
the
table
before
they
look
to
see
how
my
nose
is.
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