"MICKIE MINE!"

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXX, Issue 21470, 19 April 1933, Page 3

"MICKIE MINE!"

by m.d

It was Into evening when I arrived at the cottage with Ginger Mick. The Gibsons had insisted upon my bringing her for company. Jt was useless to explain to them that an author in tho throes of inspiration desires company less than an ice cream man desires a blizzard, her small yellowness was thrust upon me without ceremony. The difficulties of a family man commenced before I left the hotel. My own wants wero easily supplied for tho night, but Mick must have fresh milk. I approached tho Queen of Sheba, who deigned to officiate as waitress at my table, with all tho deference duo to her superb self control and unfailing dignity. Could I get a small bottlo of milk to take down to my seaside quarters with me? Seeing that I invariably take lemon in my tea, drink black coffee and eat porridgo without milk, her inquiring lift of a beautifully plucked eyebrow was amply justified. " I am taking a—a friend with mo, and she only drinks milk," I hastened to explain. The eyebrow expressed a virtuous chilliness that was repeated in the accents of her voice. " We may be able to accommodate you," she said primly. To try and bring a thaw into the wintry atmosphere I plunged again. " She is the dearest little thing, all yellow and fluffy, you know. She —" " Tho porter will take it to your room," was the majestic interruption. Words of explanation died on my lips. To have ventured further would have been to receive only polito incredulity. My travelling companions regarded tho bottlo that stuck out of my pocket with mixed feelings. The gentleman with tho alleged sunburnt nose on my right was jocularly familiar, the austere lady across the alleyway obviously pessimistic as to my future hopes of heaven by tho scries of withering glances directed to tho over-friendly person and myself. "Birds of a feather" was writ large upon her expressive countenance. It was evening, when we arrived at our temporary homo. Tho booming of the great waves that give the best surfing in New Zealand, and some (more travelled than myself) say the best in the world, seemed to puzzlo my companion. Whether she thought it was a new kind of animal that plunged playfully upon tho ground, and then with a hissing intake of its breath through gravelly teeth, slowly withdrew, it was hard to say. But sho turned up her little pink nose at tho milk and rejected with scorn tho tinned meat with which I was provided. The first half of tho night Mickie mewed disconsolately to bo let out. That, and having tho window shut to keep her in, made sleep impossible. In the end I threw wide tho sash and told her to go to—somewhere even warmer if less stuffy, and not to come back if it was any trouble to her. The rest of the night she spent playing leap-frog over the sill, purring loudly and tickishly- in my ear and patting me on the nose. When it was time to get up she curled herself in the middle of the bed and went to sleep. It was left to me to sweep up the remains of sundry hu-hu beetles, which had evidently provided a little sport to while away the peaceful (?) hours of the night. It was a glorious morning. There was that indescribable smell of fern and other bush-grown things that swept down from the mountain behind us and mingled with the various scents of the shore. A swim in a sunlit sea that felt like champagne and tasted like pickled herrings restored by good temper, and when I found Mickie sitting sedately on my verandah I picked her up and made all the fuss over her she did not deserve. At that moment I heard a pleasant female voice calling enticingly, "Mickie, Mickie!" The imp upon my shoulder took not the slightest notice. " You are a one-man cat, aren't you, Mickie," I whispered. " Tho voices of sirens influence neither of us in the least. We are not thrilled. " (.'an I have my cat, please," said someone patiently behind me. I turned to meet a blue gaze that rivalled the slumbering ocean at our hack doors. What else she was like in detail it was impossible to toll at tho moment, the azure was all-engulfing. " Sorry, but I have not seen your cat," 1 replied when 1 came up for air. " But that is Mickie you have on your shoulder!" " Yes, I brought her here last night." " I think vou are making a mistake. M ickie has been mine practically ever since he was born." Now, I have always been told never to contradict a lady. The situation demanded tact. " Well x I answered. " There's no one hero to do tho Solomon stunt, so we will let her decide." I put Mickie on the ground. .. Now, then, Mickie, who's your boss?" "Mickie, Mickie!" called the siren. Mickio rubbed herself confidingly round my legs. " Mickie, Mickie!" signs of temper in tho voice. Then a long white arm shot out and my kitten was forcibly removed through tho wire fence. Bare faced—bare armed f mean—robbery, by Jove! "Thank you so much!" said tho voice sweetly acid.Tnsult to injury. . In spite of this disturbing experience, tho swim had given mo an appetite and I set about getting my breakfast without waiting to change. Everything was going wonderfully and I was just putting my china on the table when something furry brushed against me. My heart leaped in triumph. Force could not sever the bonds of affection engendered by milk and the smell of frying fish. When wo had cleared up the mess between us, I settled on the verandah for a peaceful morning with my novel. For some reason I found myself writing of my heroine's blue eyes when I had definitely started her on her chequered career as a brunette. The problem was so absorbing that the first thing I knew of a visitor was an array of dazzling teeth that owed nothing to nature, gleaming from tho shade of a sunhat the size of a parasol. " My new neighbour I believe," said tho teeth archly. " I—er—-11 —er —-1 hope so," I stammered. " The Gibsons aro friends of mine. I'liey told mo they had let the cottage. 1 thought I would pay you a littlo neighbourly visit to see if there was anything I could do. 1 believe you are here quite alone." " Except for my kitten." I thought it better to bo definite after my " contretemps " with tho waitress. " Such darlings! I lovo pots. We are very quiet down hero just now, not many people yet. Have you seen the yellow ono next door? Such a sweet thing, hut rather bad-tempered with strangers." " Yes, J noticed that. But I should have called her more golden than yellow. However, I was so taken with her eyes ..." " Yes, lovely! Sho really is a beautiful littlo thing." Who says women have no appreciation of each other? I quite warmed to the owner of the dental advertisement. " I am just going up to tho store, if there iB anything I can do?." J

* A NEW ZEALAND STORY (CorrniGiiT)

I hastened to explain that wo were well provisioned at the moment and was left once more to grapple with my heroine. Somehow, we did not seem too friendly. A walk up tho sands might put mo in a better mood. My abstract eye had registered the departure a short while ago of . a golden ' head and a slim form with a portfolio i of some sort tucked under its arm. My i irresponsible footsteps followed the same way. She was seated on a low bank with a sketching block on her kneo busy with a group of children paddling in tho surf. She was deeply absorbed and 1 was at loss to attract her attention. Tho return of my kitten might make an opening. "Excuse mo. hut 1 hope you did not mind about Mickio." She smiled at mo sweetly." Not a hit, ho is such a taking little thing one • cannot help being attracted .by him. 1 saw you had a visit from Miss Turner this morning. She is a nice old dear, but terribly inquisitive. Her main interest is in her neighbours." " Yes, sho said you had lovely eyes, but were not nice to strangers. I had to agree with her at tho time, but 1 have changed my mind sinco." She turned an astounded gazo upon me. " What is wrong with them?" sho asked. " With your eyes? Nothing! Heavens no. But you aro nicer to me now than you were this morning." " Well, I was rather annoyed at your claiming Mickio. I am very fond of him. I don't see what Miss Turner meant by saying I was not nice to strangers." "Wo started talking about cats, then she said there were not many people down hero yet, but had I seen the yellow one next door. I said I should have called you more golden than yellow only I had been so lost in admiration of tho blueness of your eyes ..." The girl went off into peals of laughter. "She meant Mickic, not me! No wonder sho said that about tho strangers; Mick scratched her the first time sho came to see me." Perhaps sho really had a yellow cat. All tho same she was not going to take mine if she did not know one from another. I asked permission to look through her sketches. They were clever and decidedly familiar in style. " 1 have often seen your work in print and admired it, hut you make your women too skinny," was my un-called-for criticism. "Don't you like sliin women? It may bo a confession of bad taste but I can see nothing to admiro in the fat Venuses and other creatures of the Old Masters. They all need a course of diet and reducing exercises. Instead of ' Roll, thou mighty ocean, roll,' I should say ' Roll, thou mighty Venus, roll,' then there might be something attractive about them." She folded up her work with a sigh. " It is hard to please everyone. I must go and get some lunch, I suppose, or Mickio will bo getting as bony as my despised drawings." " When one remembers that there are insufficiently-fed children in the world, it is rather terrible to think that one small kitten ate half a fish and a saucer of milk for breakfast." " How do 3 t ou know ho did? " " I saw him." The girl looked puzzled. " Where did you seo him? " " In that useful apartment of my cottage, half pantry, half kitchen, wholly dining room, known as tho kitchenette." " Do you mean to say that Mickie had breakfast with you this morning? " " Well, not exactly. I had mine at the table, and Mickio had his underneath." " But he had already had a whole cold sausage and a drink with me! " "On or under tho table? " I inquired carefully. " Under. 1 mean, Mickie was under the table, of course." " It must have been the unspecified drink that was responsible," i murmured. " The greedy little monkey! I did not think he would do a thing like that." " Cats," I said sadly, " unlike ourselves, have no morals. I once had a cat with a great reputation as a hunter, because I was always finding a dead rat placed confidingly under my bed or on tho doormat where I could not avoid treading on it. One day, however, I caught him coining homo with a rat and the trap still attached to it. I have never felt tho same supreme confidenco in their honesty since." We both paused on reaching her gate. Playing happily on the lawn was Mickie. At that precise moment from a small bush leaped—Mickie! I. rubbed my eyes and turned anxiously to my companion. She was rubbing hers. "So you do seo them! Thank heaven," I. exclaimed. " I was afraid it was a touch of tho sun or Gibson's homo brew." " But which is Mickie? " sho gasped. " They both is—aro. I mean." " But which is he? Mine, I mean." " They said initio was a lady. I suppose which ever has kittens is mine." " But suppose neither of them do! " "Or both! I wonder," I added thoughtfully, " which of them had breakfast with me? " "And whether I rudely snatched your own kitten away from you this morning! Mickie, Mickie! " sho called. Neither took the least notice. " Mickic, Mickie! " 1 took up tho refrain. Both came bounding across and gazed expectantly into my faco. " What," murmured the girl, "would Solomon have done? " " I would not like to ruin Solomon's reputation, but I suggest wo sharo them." " But when you havo to go home? " " That is looking a long way ahead," I answered hastily. " In the meantime, anything might happen." " Mrs. Gibson gavo mo mino." " She gave mo mino, too." " What darlings! " exclaimed a voice that I felt was going to become only too familiar. " Now, which is which? " " That is just what wo cannot decide, Miss Turner," the girl replied. " Well, you are both so charming, I don't suppose it would matter in tho long run.'' Apparently she addressed tho kittens, but my natural lack of modesty tells me she was not a bad prophet. In spito of my dislike of skinny women, my wife illustrated my latest book. It is dedicated to " Mickio! "