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Letters from a Cat
·
Helen Hunt Jackson
8
"Kill
my
Pussy!"
I
exclaimed,
and
burst
out
crying,
so
loud
and
so
hard
that
I
think
my
mother
was
frightened;
for
she
said
quickly:--
"Never
mind,
dear;
it
shall
not
be
done,
unless
it
is
necessary.
You
would
not
want
Pussy
to
live,
if
she
were
very
uncomfortable
all
the
time."
"She
isn't
uncomfortable,"
I
cried;
"she
is
only
sleepy.
If
people
would
let
her
alone,
she
would
sleep
all
day.
It
would
be
awful
to
kill
her.
You
might
as
well
kill
me!"
After
that,
I
kept
a
very
close
eye
on
Pussy;
and
I
carried
her
up
to
bed
with
me
every
night
for
a
long
time.
But
Pussy's
days
were
numbered.
One
morning,
before
I
was
up,
my
mamma
came
into
my
room,
and
sat
down
on
the
edge
of
my
bed.
"Helen,"
she
said,
"I
have
something
to
tell
you
which
will
make
you
feel
very
badly;
but
I
hope
you
will
be
a
good
little
girl,
and
not
make
mamma
unhappy
about
it.
You
know
your
papa
and
mamma
always
do
what
they
think
is
the
very
best
thing."
"What
is
it,
mamma?"
I
asked,
feeling
very
much
frightened,
but
never
thinking
of
Pussy.
"You
will
never
see
your
Pussy
any
more,"
she
replied.
"She
is
dead."
"Oh,
where
is
she?"
I
cried.
"What
killed
her?
Won't
she
come
to
life
again?"
"No,"
said
my
mother;
"she
is
drowned."
Then
I
knew
what
had
happened.
"Who
did
it?"
was
all
I
said.
"Cousin
Josiah,"
she
replied;
"and
he
took
great
care
that
Pussy
did
not
suffer
at
all.
She
sank
to
the
bottom
instantly."
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