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37
Letters from a Cat
·
Helen Hunt Jackson
31
"You
do
as
I
tell
you,"
said
he,
in
that
most
awful
tone
of
his,
which
always
makes
you
so
afraid.
I
felt
afraid
myself,
though
all
the
time
he
was
stroking
my
head,
and
saying,
"Poor
pussy,
there,
poor
pussy,
lie
still."
In
a
few
minutes
Mary
came
down
with
the
cradle,
and
set
it
down
by
the
fire
with
such
a
bang
that
I
wondered
it
did
not
break.
You
know
she
always
bangs
things
when
she
is
cross,
but
I
never
could
see
what
good
it
does.
Then
your
grandfather
made
up
a
nice
bed
in
the
cradle,
out
of
Charlie's
winter
blanket
and
an
old
pillow,
and
laid
me
down
in
it,
all
rolled
up
as
I
was
in
your
petticoat.
When
your
mother
came
into
the
room
she
laughed
almost
as
hard
as
she
did
when
she
saw
me
in
the
soft-soap
barrel,
and
said,
"Why,
father,
you
are
rather
old
to
play
cat's
cradle!"
The
old
gentleman
laughed
at
this,
till
the
tears
ran
down
his
red
cheeks.
"Well,"
he
said,
"I
tell
you
one
thing;
the
game
will
last
me
till
that
poor
cat
gets
well
again."
Then
he
went
upstairs,
and
brought
down
a
bottle
of
something
very
soft
and
slippery,
like
lard,
and
put
it
on
my
eyes,
and
it
made
them
feel
much
better.
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