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ONCE upon a time the aged Tommobus, King of the Cats, went forth a hunting and returned with a wound which caused his death. So Tommobus died and Grimalkum the Powerful became King in his stead.
King Grimalkum was of course jet black all over without a single white hair, or he could not have been made king, and his eyes were of the true royal yellow.
The first act of King Grimalkum’s reign was one of cruelty. He sent forth an order declaring that black, maltese, and gray, were the only colors to be allowed for cats, and that all cats which were white or yellow, or which had more white or yellow hairs than dark ones should not be permitted to live. Judges were appointed to measure the spots.
This order caused great affright among the lighter cats. The wholly white and wholly yellow hid themselves or fled to distant places, and the partly white and partly yellow went in haste to have their dark spots measured by the judges.
Among those who came before the judges was Pussyanita, a beautiful creature just out of kittenhood. Her playfulness and sweet disposition made her beloved by all.
Alas! it was soon made known by the judges that the dark of Pussyanita measured many less hairs than her white ones. This caused great sorrow, and King Grimalkum was begged to spare her life.
“Spare her life! Not if she were twenty Pussyanitas!” cried the King; which was a foolish answer, since she could not have been twenty Pussyanitas, or even nineteen.
Now this sweet and gentle creature was so much beloved, that no one could be found willing to hurt a single hair of her. When King Grimalkum heard this he became furious with anger, and commanded that she be brought to him at once, saying that he himself would attend to the business, and make quick work of it. So the lovely Pussyanita was brought before the King.
Her loveliness did not soften his heart; on the contrary he was made more furious than ever by seeing that she sat licking her fur as quietly as if sitting in her own sunny garden spot.
“What are you doing that for, you silly thing?” he cried. “Don’t you know you have but a few moments to live?”
“Yes, your majesty,” replied the lovely Pussyanita, “but I cannot endure a speck of dirt, and with good reason, for in me you see a descendant, and great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandchild of the unhappy and happy Pinky-white. Your majesty must have heard of Pinky-white.”
“Never,” said the king, sternly. “But why do you call her unhappy and happy? There is no sense in that.”
“She was not unhappy and happy at the same time,” said Pussyanita. “She was first unhappy and afterwards happy.”
“How was that?” asked the king. “And supposing you are the great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great granddaughter of Pinky-white, what has that to do with your being unable to endure a speck of dirt?”
Said the lovely Pussyanita, “It would give me pleasure, your majesty, to explain why my great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother was first unhappy, and why she was afterwards happy, also supposing I am the great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great granddaughter of Pinky-white, what that has to do with my being unable to endure a speck of dirt; it would give me pleasure, I say, to explain all this, but it would take a longer time than I have to live.”
“Time shall be granted you,” said the king, “for I am curious to know why your great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother Pinky-white was unhappy and why she was happy, and to know why your being her great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great granddaughter should be a reason why you are unable to endure a speck of dirt.”
“At your majesty’s request,” replied Pussyanita, “I will tell you the story of my great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother Pinky-white, as she herself told it, when ordered to do so, at Lady Yellow-paw’s famous party.”
“Stop!” cried the king. “Why was your great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother Pinky-white ordered to tell her story at Lady Yellow-paw’s famous party? Who was Lady Yellow-paw? Why was her party famous?”
“Please your majesty,” replied Pussyanita, “I shall be happy to explain to your majesty who was Lady Yellow-paw, and why her party was famous, and why my great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother Pinky-white was ordered to tell her story at that party, but your majesty must perceive that to do all this will require much time.”
“Begin then!” cried the king. “Begin with your Lady Yellow-paw and her famous party, and then go on to your twenty-seven times great grandmother; and do not waste time waiting or waste words in the telling.”
The lovely Pussyanita bowed and began with Lady Yellow-paw and her famous party, and then went on to tell the story of Pinky-white as told by herself at that famous party.
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“The first that I knew of myself, I found myself by the side of my mother, among some hay in a basket along with three other kittens of my own age and size. Two of our number were quickly stolen from us. It will thus be seen that I had scarcely begun to live before I began to be unhappy. As I grew older I became more and more unhappy, for the place was cold, the floor was hard, our mother cuffed us, and girl-Mary, who owned us, knew not the best way of stroking.
“One day when girl-Mary sat by our basket, girl-Jane came down there bringing her own cat and kittens. Girl-Jane had called to see us many times, and I had been pleased with the looks of her face, and the sounds of her voice, and the touches of her fingers; and she knew the best way of stroking. “Girl-Jane was smaller than girl-Mary, but she knew more. Girl-Jane said she wanted girl-Mary to change kittens with her. She wanted me and Minnie because we were whiter than her kittens.
“‘No, Jane,’ said girl-Mary, ‘I can’t change, for you know mine are all named, and besides your cat would not like it. She knows what we are talking about. Don’t you see how anxious she looks?’
“It made me unhappy to hear this. I wanted to go with girl-Jane, away from the cold place, and the hard floor, and my cross mother and be stroked the best way. Minnie too wished to go. She cried when girl-Mary gave back the other kittens. As for me, I could only turn away and hide my sorrowful face.
“My next unhappiness was the unhappiness of being whipped with a rod. An old lady wished for a cat to catch her mice and thought she would take a kitten and teach it to behave well. I was carried to her home. I had here a warm place, and a carpet, and the old lady did not stroke at all, so that I was not made unhappy by bad stroking. But my unhappiness was great, on account of the rod. It was rod here and rod there; rod on the pantry shelf and rod on the chair-cushion; rod on the parlor sofa and rod on the best bed; rod at the milk pitcher, and rod at the custard pie.
“A greater unhappiness must now be told. For this greater unhappiness was the cause of another unhappiness even greater than this—oh, very much greater! It was the cause of a long and dreadful unhappiness in which I nearly starved to death. It was something which would make any and every cat unhappy. It was this. I could not catch well. Mice, birds, moles, bats, squirrels, rabbits, almost always got away from me. I think I must have been born short-clawed.
“In a corner of the garden was a chicken-coop. This chicken-coop was well made for catching. It would seem that all a cat need do was to lie quietly on top, looking over the edge, and when a chicken popped out, spring and catch it. Any other cat would have done all this. The next house cat did do all this. I did not do all this. I lay quietly on top of the chicken-coop. I looked over the edge, and when a chicken popped out I sprang. I did everything the next house cat did except to catch the chicken.
“I had the same luck in fishing. There was a stream at the bottom of our garden and at its edge were large mossy rocks on which a cat might stretch herself in the sun, or if the day were hot she might lie in their cool shade. Trees grew near by and any other cat would have often caught a bird among their branches. The next house cat did this. I did not do this. Any other cat than myself would have now and then caught a fish in the stream at the foot of the rocks. The next house cat did this. I did not do this. I often lay close to the water—as shown how to do by the next house cat, and watched the fishes as they glided past. When one rose to the top I did my best to catch it, but even did I have the luck to touch one, it was sure to slip out and away. I used to think sometimes that if fishes had not been made so slippery I could have held on, but then the next house cat held on to slippery fishes. I am almost sure I must have been born short-clawed.
“As for squirrels and rabbits, they seemed at last to be not a bit afraid of me, even when I had become a full-grown cat. One saucy squirrel used to tease me by coming very near and then darting out of my reach. This squirrel became very bold. He even popped in at the doors and windows. One day when I was asleep on the sofa by the library window, he ran as near me as the back of the sofa—bold little thing! and by the time I had turned over he was out of the window, and I soon got sight of his bushy tail whisking through the tall tree-tops, and of his little bright eyes looking down at me through the leaves. He would not have got away so easily from the next house cat. There can be no doubt but that I must have been born short-clawed.
“The next house cat caught mice. I did not. I might have caught some had not the mouse-holes been made so small. But then the next house cat had the same kind of mouse-holes I had.
“Sometimes I thought if I had been a Tabby I might have caught as well as the next house cat. But then I could not be a Tabby.
“One day—oh unhappy day! the next house cat’s mistress came to see my mistress, and they talked of cats. I lay outside under the open window and heard every word, and understood. Mistresses, as you very well know, dear Lady Yellow-paw—as all of you at this famous party very well know—mistresses have no idea how much their cats can understand.
“Said my mistress, ‘Pinky-white is the neatest cat that ever was seen. She will have no dirt on her fur. She licks off every speck. She keeps herself snow white. And I have taught her to behave well. I no longer keep a rod. But she catches no mice.’
“‘You feed her too well,’ said the next house cat’s mistress. ‘Send her to Miss Rhody and get you a mouser. Miss Rhody is out of a cat and is waiting to find a neat one. Miss Rhody has managed cats these forty years and knows how to do it. Miss Rhody never feeds a cat. If it won’t catch mice she drowns it.’
“‘I will send Pinky-white to Miss Rhody to-morrow,’ said my mistress.
“This frightened me. Oh what should I do? What could I do? In my agony of distress I ran round and round in a circle in the potato patch, tore up the squash vines, and at last I sprang over the high wall, and in that house and garden I was never seen more.
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