THE PROUD WHITE CAT

Press, Volume LXXVI, Issue 22941, 10 February 1940, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE PROUD WHITE CAT

“Now I’m beginning to live,” the white cat said to herself. She Sat on a blue velvet cushion behind a .great plate glass window and looked haughtily down her nose at the people in the street. Her slanting, amber-coloured glass eyes gave back a stony stare to all who' stopped to admire her. She was ; an aristocrat of toy cats and knew it. Her fur was long and silky, and she was white from the daintily pointed tips of her ears to the end of her plumy tail. “I must be even handsomer than i inuught I was,” she decided. “That’s whjf I was chosen to sit in the front window of the shop. And what a lot of attention I’m attracting!” No wonder she was pleased with herself. Nearly all the shoppers stopped to admire her. Yet there were wonderful things to see in that window. A doll as large and lifelike as a real baby sat in a silklined bassinet. A boy doll in a smart chauffeur’s uniform sat at tb wheel of a shiny car. Round a railroad track, a streamlined train tore, shrieking at every crossing. Zoom, zoom, back and forth the length of the window, an aeroplane flew like a silver bird. A live canary hopped about in his cage and sang, “Sweet, sweet, swee, swee, swee, swee-ee.” “Someone rich is sure to buy me,” thought the cat, "and I shall live in a grand house all the rest of my life.” Two weeks went by. Still the cat was sitting in the window. Though she looked as proud and calm as ever, she was beginning to feel terribly worried. Who was going to buy her? Would it be someone who could appreciate a toy like her? That little girl with the freckled nose worried the cat. Every day or two she came and looked in the window. “Pussy, pussy, beautiful pussy,” she would say longingly. Fussy indeed! .What a very plain little girl she was. “Sweet, sweet, swee, swee-ee, I wish that little girl would buy me,” sang the yellow canary. “She’s the kind of girl who- would love me and never forget to feed me or to cover up my cage when it was cold.” * “You couldn’t expect . a bird to know anything about people,” thought the cat. So she sat on her cushion and looked scornfully down her nose at the girl with the freckled nose. She never noticed the love and- the gentleness in the girl’s eyes. Two dayS later, quite suddenly, something happened. A-long shining Car stopped in front of the shop. Out of it stepped a, stately lady. She looked at the toys, walked into the shop, and announced, “I should like to buy the white cat in the window. Please charge it to my account and send it to Miss Rosemary Lancaster. 52 Woodside avenue.” What a relief! She was safe from the bargain counter, safe from the freckled-nosed little girl. Some- , thing told her that 52 , Woodside avenue would be exactly the kind of home She would like. Wrapped in .layers of tissue paper and -tied securely within a box, the cat went for a ride in a great delivery truck along with other packages of all shapes and sizes.- She listened- to every sound. The wheels would stop turning and the driver “would rummage among the parcels. Was this her home? No, some other package was taken out. Ah! Now he was picking her out. The cat heard a bell ring. Then a door opened. “Package for Miss

Rosemary Lancaster,” said the driver. She was there. The door closed. “For Miss Rosemary,” said the strange voice. “For me?” It was a child’s voice now, an excited voice.

Off came the cover. Off came the tissue paper. The cat looked intb the face of a dainty, pink and white little girl, as pretty as the flowers in the garden outside the window. “Oh, mother, look what grandma sent me for my birthday,” she cried. “Isn’t she a bee-yoo-ti-ful Kitty?” The' white cat looked round the room, at the Persian rugs that seemed to glow, at the rich-coloured hangings, at the paintings on the

walls. She was content. This was where she belonged. And what a lovely little girl! “Now I am beginning to live,” she thought. Rosemary carried the cat round in her arms, hi gged her, stroked and brushed her white fur, and called her “my bee-yoo-ti-ful kitty ” She was shown proudly to all the children who came to the house. In thf daytime she sat on the bureau in Rosemary’s room and at night she slept in the little girl’s soft bed. “How lucky I am!” the cat said to herself over and over - again. Then there came a night when she was left sitting bn the bureau alone, while the room grew chilly and the French clock • tinkled away the hours. “Rosemary must have been so sleepy she forgot all about me.” the cat decided. Next night the same thing happened, and the next, and the next. The little girl seemed to have forgotten she existed. By and by the maid tucked her into a corner of the bookcase. Dust settled on her proud nose and in her dainty ears. Soon her fur began to look . soiled and grey. The ‘ ribbon round her neck was crumpled Her amber-coloured eyes were dull. Rosemary had a new playmate now to hug and take to bed, at night. It was a rag doll with long, limp arms and legs, button eyes, and yarn hair. The little girl called her “bee-yoo-ti-ful, dolly” and talked -no more about her “bee-yoo-ti-ful kitty.” Lonely and miserable the cat sat in the corner. Then one day the maid threw her into the box where Rosemary kept her old toys. She landed on one ear right op top of a talking doll. “Ma-ma,” squawked the startled doll in a rusty voice. “Baa.” feebly nioaned a white lamb that had lost his tail. A teddy bear looked at her sorrowfully. Weeks w6nt by. One day the box cover opened, and in tumbled the rag doll. There were ..sounds of

wild commotion outside—a small, sharp bark, whining, and scuffling. Rosemary had a new favourite. It was a live puppy. The cat never knew whether it was weeks or months before the box lid went up again. This time Rosemary’s mother was standing looking down at the- forlorn toys. “You have more playthings than you know what to do with,” shfe said. “It’s time we gave some of them away. What about the white cat?” “I don’t want her. She isn’t as white and pretty as she used to be.” On to the pile of cast-offs went the cat. All at once something black

leaped out of the air. The cat felt sharp teeth in the back of her neck. She was shaken till she was dizzy Round and round the room ran the puppy. Zip-ip! A great gash tore in her fur. ; One eye went rolling over the floor “O-o-oh! -This is the end of everything,’' n oaned the ’poor cat. When at last the puppy was caught and the toy pulled out from between his teeth, the cat was a torn, wretched-looking creature. Someone dropped her into the waste basket, and there she lay, not caring -at all what happened to her next. “Hi! Look at the cat.” One of the men who were collecting rubbish had fished the remains of the white cat out of the barrel where she lay. , No one would have recognised her for the, proud toy that once sat in a Grand Boulevard shop window. “Guess I’ll take her home,” said the man. “My wife, she’s a great one to fix up old toys for our little Ellen.” The white cat’s new home was a long way from Woodside Avenue, ii- a very different part of the city. Inside, the place was as bright and shining as a new penny. The window panes shone. So did the glasses and dishes in the cupboard and the linoleum on the floor. There was a worn .n in the shining kitchen—a woman with kind eyes.! . When she saw the poor, chewed-up toy. she shook her head doubtfully., “She surely is a sight. I don't know if 1 can even get her clean. But I’ll try. Next morning things began to happen. First the woman shook the cat out of the window. Then she brushed and brushed her until there was no dust left in the long fur. After that the cat lay in a warm, soapy bath. Finally she hung on the clothes-line in the wind and sun till sh? was dry. “I declare.” said the, woman when she. brought her into the kitchen

again, “she’s as clean and white as a snowflake.” Presently the cat found herself on a broad lap. Firm' strong stitches were being taken in her fur. In almost no time, the gash in her neck was sewn up so neatly that one could hardly tell that a puppy had ever chewed her at all. .A bit of wire and a few stitches made tb- broken tail straight. If only she had another eye, she might be fairly good-looking again. Her wis h came true. Not only did she have another eye, but two new eyes. To be sure they were not beautiful amber eyes. They were, as a matter of fact, just two big blue beads out of the work basket. A blue ribbon that matched the bead eyes was tied round her neck in a splashing bow, and the white fur was brushed again and again till it shone like satin and the long tail was once more a white plume. “Won’t Ellen be the surprised child, though, when she sees you on her birthday?" The woman looked down at the made-over toy with a smile brimming over with kindliness. As for the proud white cat, she had lost her stony stare, Her eyes were gentle and soft, like a kitten’s. l And she felt happier than she had ever been before. Where was little Ellen all this time? She never came into the kitchen. The cat never heard her running about or playing in the back yard. She would not have known there was a little girl in the house, if it had not been for a weak little voice that sometimes called from another room. . “She must be sick,” the cat decided, “so sick she cannot get out of bed.” Nov that she was white and clean and made over, life was pleasant for the cat. She could see the interesting things' that went on in the kitchen from the shelf where she sat. Fragrant pies were made there and baked golden-brown in the oven. Soiled, wrinkled clothes were washed white and ironed smooth in that room. Sometimes Ellen’s mother brought her knitting out there and clicked the needles while the tea kettle whistled and the pots and pans bubbled on the stove. Somehow the cat knew that the red scarf growing on the needles was a birthday present for Ellen. At last the morning of Ellen’s birthday arrived. “Mummy! Daddy!” she called. “Come and see my lovely presents.” She opened the parcels and found the red scarf, cookies, and a big red apple. Then suddenly she saw the white cat on the mantel, so silky, so white, with her soft blue eyes and her bow of blue ribbon. She gave a little sigh of happiness. “Ifs my beautiful white pussy. She looks even prettier than she did when she lived in the store window.” It was the same little girl that used to stand outside the Grand Boulevard shop! The cat looked into the freckled face. Now She saw it through her new blue eyes, not through proud amber ones. “What a lovely child!” she thought. “She has the nicest smile I ever saw in my life.” When the man with the' black bag came to see Ellen that morning, he said, “She is better. She can sit up for a few minutes today.” So the little girl was wrapped up and tucked into a rocking chair with the cat in her arms. "Lovely pussy.” she whispered into one of the silky white ears, “I’m going to call you Snow-White, the Princess Snow-White.” As the white cat felt Ellen’s arms hugging her, something warm seemed to glow inside her furry body. “Now,” she said to herself, “I really am beginning to live.” The End.