The Story of Jennie- or the Abandoned Page 4

  The tabby put her gentle paw on his and said softly, ‘But, Peter, don't you see, that's just it! You said yourself that you didn't feel as though you were a cat at all. If you're going to be one, you must first learn how.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Peter, who never did much enjoy having to learn things, ‘is there more to being a cat than just liking to eat mice and purring?’

  The little puss was genuinely shocked. ‘Is there more?’ she repeated. ‘You couldn't begin to imagine all the things there are! There must be hundreds. Why, if you left here right now and went out looking like a white cat, but feeling inside and thinking like a boy, I shouldn't be inclined to give you more than ten minutes before you'd be in some terrible trouble again.like last night. It isn't easy to be on your own, even if you have learned to know everything or nearly everything that a cat ought to know.’

  Peter hadn't thought about it that way, but there was no doubt she was right. If he had been himself in shape and form and had been locked out of the house, or had got lost from Nanny at a fun-fair, or in the park, he would have known enough to go straight up to a policeman and tell him his name and address and ask to be taken home. But he couldn't very well do this in his present condition as a white cat with a slightly droopy left ear where it had been ripped by a yellow tom named Dempsey. And what was worse, now that the tabby had called it to his attention, he was a cat and didn't know the first thing about how to behave as one. He began to feel frightened again, but different from the panic of the night before.it was a new kind of shakiness as though the bed and the ground and everything beneath his four paws was no longer very steady. He said somewhat piteously to the tabby: ‘Oh, Jennie.now I'm really frightened! What shall I do?’

  She thought for a moment longer and then said, ‘I know! I'll teach you.’

  Peter felt such relief he could have cried. ‘Jennie dear! Would you? Could you?’

  The expression on the face of the cat was positively angelic, or so Peter thought, and now she actually almost did look beautiful to him as she said, ‘But of course. After all, you're my responsibility. I found you and brought you here. But one thing you must promise me if I try …’

  Peter said, ‘Oh yes, I'll promise anything.‘

  ‘First of all, to do as I tell you until you can begin to look after yourself a little, but most important, never tell another soul your secret. I'll know, but nobody else need to, because they just wouldn't understand. If we get into any kind of trouble, just let me do the talking. Never so much as hint or let on in any way to any other cat what you really are. Promise?’

  Peter promised, and Jennie gave him a comradely little tap on the side of his head with her paw. Just the touch of her velvet pad and the simplicity of the caress made Peter feel happier already.

  He said, ‘Won't you tell me your story now, and who you are? I know nothing about you, and you've been so good to me…’

  Jennie withdrew her paw, and a look of sadness came over her gentle face as she turned away for a moment. She said, `Later, perhaps, Peter. It is hard for me to speak about it now. And besides, you might not like it at all. Since you say you are human and really not a cat at all, you would not be able to understand the way I feel and why I will never again live with people.'

  `Please do tell me,' Peter pleaded. `And I will like it, I'm sure, because I like you.'

  Jennie could not resist a small purr at Peter's sincerity. She said, `You are a dear—' and then fell into reflective silence for a moment. Finally she seemed to make up her mind and said:

  `See here, what is really important at the moment is for you to begin to learn something about being a cat, and the sooner we begin, the better. I shudder to think what might happen to you if you were alone again. How would it be if we had a lesson first? And of course nothing is more pressing than for you to learn how to wash. Afterwards, perhaps, I will be able to tell you my story.

  Peter hid his disappointment because she had been so kind to him and he did not wish to upset her. He merely said, `I'll try, though I'm not very good at lessons.'

  `I'll help you, Peter,' Jennie reassured him, `and you'll be surprised how much better you will feel when you know how. Because a cat must not only know how to wash, but WHEN to wash. You see, it's something like this …'

  CHAPTER FIVE: When in Doubt-Wash!

  “When in doubt, any kind of doubt, Wash!" That is Rule No. I,' said Jennie. She now sat primly and a little stiffly, with her tail wrapped around her feet, near the head of the big bed beneath the Napoleon Initial and Crown, rather like a schoolmistress. But it was obvious that the role of teacher and the respectful attention Peter bestowed upon her were not unendurable, because she had a pleased expression and her eyes were again gleaming brightly.

  The sun had reached its noon zenith in the sky in the world that lay outside the dark and grimy warehouse, and coming in slantwise through the small window sent a dusty shaft that fell like a theatrical spotlight about Jennie's head and shoulders as she lectured.

  `If you have committed any kind of an error and anyone scolds you—wash,' she was saying. `If you slip and fall off something and somebody laughs at you—wash. If you are getting the worst of an argument and want to break off hostilities until you have composed yourself, start washing. Remember, every cat respects another cat at her toilet.

  That's our first rule of social deportment, and you must also observe it.

  `Whatever the situation, whatever difficulty you may be in you can't go wrong if you wash. If you come into a room full of people you do not know, and who are confusing to you, sit right down in the midst of them and start washing. They'll end up by quieting down and watching you. Some noise frightens you into a jump, and somebody you know saw you were frightened—begin washing immediately.

  `If somebody calls you and you don't care to come and still you don't wish to make it a direct insult— wash. If you've started off to go somewhere and suddenly can't remember where it was you wanted to go, sit right down and begin brushing up a little. It will come back to you. Something hurt you? Wash it. Tired of playing with someone who has been kind enough to take time and trouble and you want to break off without hurting his or her feelings—start washing.

  `Oh, there are dozens of things! Door closed and you're burning up because no one will open it for you— have yourself a little wash and forget it. Somebody petting another cat or dog in the same room, and you are annoyed over that—be nonchalant; wash. Feel sad—wash away your blues. Been picked up by somebody you don't particularly fancy and who didn't smell good—wash him off immediately and pointedly where he can see you do it. Overcome by emotion—a wash will help you to get a grip on yourself again. Any time, anyhow, in any manner, for whatever purpose, wherever you are, whenever and why ever that you want to clear the air, or get a moment's respite or think things over—WASH!

  `And,' concluded Jennie, drawing a long breath, `of course you also wash to get clean and to keep clean.'

  `Goodness!' said Peter, quite worried, `I don't see how I could possibly remember them all.'

  `You don't have to remember any of it, actually,' Jennie explained. All that you have to remember is Rule 1: "When in doubt—WASH!" '

  Peter, who like all boys had no objection to being reasonably clean, but not too clean, saw the problem of washing looming up large and threatening to occupy all of his time. `It's true, I remember, you always do seem to be washing,' he protested to Jennie, 'I mean all cats I've seen, but I don't see why. Why do cats spend so much of their time at it?'

  Jennie considered his question for a moment, and then replied, 'Because it feels so good to be clean.'

  'Well, at any rate I shall never be capable of doing it,' Peter remarked, 'because I won't be able to reach places now that am a cat and cannot use my hands. And even when I was a boy, Nanny used to have to wash my back for me …'

  'Nothing of the kind,' said Jennie. 'The first thing you will learn is that there isn't an inch of herself or himself that a cat cannot reach to
wash. If you had ever owned one of us, you would know. Now watch me. We'll begin with the back. I'll do it first, and then you come over here alongside of me and do as I do.'

  And with that, sitting upright, she turned her head around over her shoulder with a wonderful ease and grace, and with little short strokes of her tongue and keeping her chin down close to her body, she began to wash over and around her left shoulder blade, gradually increasing the amount of turn and the length of the stroking movement of her head until her rough, pink tongue was travelling smoothly and firmly along the region of her upper spine.

  'Oh, I never could!' cried Peter, 'because I cannot twist my head around as far as you can. I never know what is going on behind me unless I turn right around.'

  'Try,' was all Jennie replied.

  Peter did, and to his astonishment found that whereas when he had been a boy he had been unable to turn his head more left and right than barely to be able to look over his shoulders, now he could swivel it quite around on his neck so that he was actually gazing out behind him. And when he stuck out his tongue and moved his head in small circles as he had seen Jennie do, there he was washing around his left shoulder.

  'Oh, bravo! Splendid!' applauded Jennie. 'There, you see! Well done, Peter. Now turn a little more— you're bound to be a bit stiff at first—and down the spine you go!'

  And indeed, down the spine, about half-way from below his neck to the middle of his back, Peter went. He was so delighted that he tried to purr and wash at the same time, and actually achieved it.

  'Now,' Jennie coached, 'for the rest of the way down, you can help yourself and make it easier—like this. Curve your body around and go a little lower so that you are half sitting, half lying. That's it! Brace yourself against your right paw and pull your left paw in a little closer to you so that it is out of the way. There…. Now, you see, that brings the rest of you nicely around in a curve where you can get at it. Finish off the left side of your back and hindquarters and then shift around and do the other side.'

  Peter did so, and was amazed" to find with what little effort the whole of his spine and hindquarters was brought within ample reach of his busy tongue. He even essayed to have a go at his tail from this position, but found this a more elusive customer. It would keep squirming away.

  Jennie smiled. 'Try putting a paw on it to hold it down. The right one. You can still brace yourself with it. That's it. We'll get at the underside of it later on.'

  Peter was so enchanted with what he had learned that he would have gone on washing and washing the two sides of his back and his flanks and quarters if Jennie hadn't said, 'There, that's enough of that. There's still plenty of you left, you know. Now you must do your front and the stomach and the inside of your paws and quarters.'

  The front limbs and paws of course proved easy for Peter, for they were within ample reach, but when he attempted to tackle his chest, it was something else.

  'Try lying down first,' Jennie suggested. 'After a while you'll get so supple you will be able to wash your chest sitting up just by sticking your tongue out a little more and bobbing your head. But it's easier lying down on your side. Here, like this,' and she suited the action to the word and soon Peter found that he actually was succeeding in washing his chest fur just beneath his chin.

  `But I can't get at my middle,' he complained, for indeed the underside of his belly defied his clumsy attempts to reach it, bend and twist as he would.

  Jennie smiled. ' "Can't" catches no mice,' she quoted. `That is more difficult. Watch me now. You won't do it lying on your side. Sit up a bit and rock on your tail. That's it, get your tail right under you. You can brace with either of your forepaws, or both. Now, you see, that bends you right around again and brings your stomach within reach. You'll get it with practice. It's all curves. That's why we were made that way.'

  Peter found it more awkward to balance than in the other position and fell over several times, but soon found that he was getting better at it and that each portion of his person that was thus made accessible to him through Jennie's knowledge, experience and teaching brought him a new enjoyment and pleasure of accomplishment. And of course Jennie's approval made him very proud.

  He was forging ahead so rapidly with his lesson that she decided to see whether he could go and learn by himself. 'Now how would you go about doing the inside of the hindquarter?' she asked.

  'Oh, that's easy,' Peter cried. But it wasn't at all. In fact the more he tried and strained and reached and curved, the further away did his hind leg seem to go. He tried first the right and then the left, and finally got himself tangled in such a heap of legs, paws and tail that he fell right over in such a manner that Jennie had to take a few quick dabs at herself to keep from laughing.

  'I can't—I mean I don't see how …' wailed Peter, 'there isn't any way …'

  Jenny was contrite at once and hoped Peter had not seen she had been amused. 'Oh, I'm sorry,' she declared. `That wasn't fair of me. There is, but it's most difficult, and you have to know how. It took me the longest time when my mother tried to show me. Here, does this suggest anything to you—Leg of Mutton? I'm sure you've seen it dozens of times,' and she assumed an odd position with her right leg sticking straight up in the air and somehow close to her head, almost like the contortionist that Peter had seen at the circus at Olympia who had twisted himself right around so that his head came down between his legs. He was sure that he could never do it.

  Peter tried to imitate Jennie but only succeeded in winding himself into a worse knot. Jennie came to his rescue once more. 'See here,' she said, `let's try it by counts, one stage at a time. Once you've done it, you know, you'll never forget it. Now

  'One-rock on your tail.' Peter rocked.

  'Two-brace yourself with your left forepaw.' Peter braced.

  'Three-half sit, and bend your back.' Peter managed that, and made himself into the letter C.

  'Four-stretch out the left leg all the way. That will keep you from falling over the other side and provide a balance for the paw to push against.' This too worked out exactly as Jennie described it when Peter tried it.

  'Five: swing your right leg from the hip—you'll find it will go—with the foot pointing straight up into the air. Yes, like that, but outside, not inside the right forepaw.' It went better this time. Peter got it almost up.

  'Six—NOW you've got it. Hold yourself steady by bracing the right front forepaw. SO!'

  Peter felt like shouting with joy. For there he was, actually sitting, leg of mutton, his hindquarter shooting up right past his cheek and the whole inside of his leg exposed. He felt that he was really doubled back on himself like the contortionist, and he wished that Nanny were there so that he could show her.

  By twisting and turning a little, there was no part of him underneath that he could not reach, and he washed first one side and then, without any further instruction from Jennie, managed to reverse the position and get the left leg up, which drew forth an admiring, 'Oh, you are clever!' from Jennie—'it took me just ages to learn to work the left side. It all depends whether you are left or right pawed, but you caught on to it immediately. Now there's only one thing more. The back of the neck, the ears and the face.'

  In a rush to earn more praise Peter went nearly cross-eyed trying to get his tongue out and around to reach behind him and on top of him, and of course it wouldn't work. He cried, 'Oh dear, THAT must be the most complicated of all.'

  'On the contrary,' smiled Jennie, 'it's quite the simplest. Wet the side of your front paw.' Peter did so. 'Now rub it around over your ears and the back of your neck.'

  Now it was Peter's turn to laugh at himself. 'How stupid I am,' he said. 'That part is just the way I do it at home. Except I use a wash-rag, and Nanny stands there watching to make certain I go behind the ears.'

  'Well,' said Jennie, 'I'm watching you now …'

  So Peter completed his bath by wetting one paw and then the other, on the side and in the middle on the pads, and washing first his ears,
then both sides of his face, the back of his neck, his whiskers, and even a little under his chin, and over his nose and eyes.

  And now he found that having washed himself all over, from head to foot, the most wonderful feeling of comfort and relaxation had come over him. It was quite a different sensation from the time that Jennie had washed him and which had somehow taken him back to the days when he was very little and his mother was looking after him.

  This time he felt a kind of glow in his skin and a sense of wellbeing in his muscles as though every one of them had been properly used and stretched. In the light from the last of the shaft of the sun that was just passing from the window of the storehouse he could see how his white fur glistened from the treatment he had given it, as smooth as silk and as soft.

  Peter felt a delicious drowsiness. His eyes began to close, and as from a distance he heard Jennie say: `It's good to take a nap after washing. I always do. You've earned it. I'll join you, and after we've slept a little, perhaps I'll tell you my story as I promised.'

  Just before he dropped off to sleep, Peter felt her curl up against him, her back touching his, warm and secure, and the next moment he was off in sweet and dreamless slumber.

  When he awoke, Jennie Baldrin was stretching and yawning at his side, and he joined her, imitating her movements, first putting out his forepaws as far as they would go and stretching backwards from there and then arching his back in a high inverted 'U.'

  'There,' Jennie said when she had done. 'How do you feel now?'

  'Ever so much better,' Peter replied, and he really felt like a new boy, or rather cat. Then he continued, for he had not forgotten what she had promised—'Now won't you please tell me about you. Please, Jennie, I should so love to hear it …'

  The tabby could not resist a small purr at Peter's sincerity, but immediately after she became serious. 'Dear me,' she said, 'I didn't think I'd ever be telling of this to any one as long as I lived. Still—since you really wish it, so be it.'