Читать книгу Pussy-Cat Town - Marion Ames Taggart - Страница 4

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He was really very beautiful. High-born, too,—a pure Maltese! He had a short, saucy face; a square little nose, with which he was apt to pry into other people’s business; and he saw everything with his bright eyes, and understood most things with his quick wit. But he had almost no patience at all, and he was as full of pranks as a monkey—indeed, that’s what gave him his name.

A boy? Mercy, no! Whoever heard of a pure Maltese boy? A cat, of course, but such a beauty! He was as quick as he could be, and ran very fast, and jumped like a flash—flashes do jump, so that’s all right. Did you never see a flash of lightning jump from one cloud to another? Well, this Maltese kitten was so quick that his little master called him Bandersnatch—out of “Through the Looking-Glass”, you know, where the White King says: “You might as well try to catch a Bandersnatch,” or, in another place: “You might as well try to stop a Bandersnatch.” So that is where quick little Ban-Ban got his first name. And the second Ban was short for Bandarlog, the name of the monkey people in the Jungle Book, because he was so much more like a monkey than a quiet, purry, furry, mild-mannered kitten.

Ban-Ban had the very best home a cat could have; indeed, he was a good deal spoiled. In this home he grew up to be three years old, but it was only his body that grew bigger. Inside that Maltese body he wore a kitten’s heart, getting younger every minute, loving play better, and cutting up more didoes all the time, instead of settling down into a staid cat, as any one would have expected him to do who saw the purple shades in his dark gray suit!

Now Ban-Ban loved his little master very much—not that he ever thought of him as his “master;” no cat ever would admit having a master. Ban-Ban considered the little boy as a friend whom he, a prince of the Maltese Royal Family, allowed to play with him. He was more useful than kitten friends because he could open doors, drag strings around, hide sticks under the edges of rugs, get milk from the refrigerator, cut up meat, play hide-and-go-seek better than cats, and shake up soft knitted things into fine beds on cold days, besides scratching a person under the chin and on the side of the cheek in a way that made a person stick out his little red tongue and purr, no matter how much he felt like playing. But that is not having a master; that is really keeping a very useful and devoted servant. Ban-Ban hated of all things to show that he loved little Rob; he liked to pretend that he was only polite to him, and often, when he meant to get up in Rob’s lap for a little talk, if Rob saw him coming, Ban-Ban would sit down and wash his face, trying to look as if he had never once thought of being loving. You see he was independent.

Because he was independent, and so very impatient, it all came about.

One day Ban-Ban had an idea dart into his brain. Ban-Ban’s ideas always darted, they never came slowly; they were just like everything else about him, “as fast as a Bandersnatch.” “If two-legged people can build towns and live in them without asking the help of us cats, why can’t we cats have a town of our own, and not ask the help of the two-legged people? They are more clumsy and stupid than we are—except Rob; he isn’t clumsy or stupid.”

It was such a wonderful thought that it half-stunned even Ban-Ban. For as much as five minutes he sat perfectly still, with only the tippest tip of his tail moving. Then he started up with a leap, as if he were jumping after those lost five minutes just as he jumped for butterflies, and away he ran down the garden to find some of his friends.

Bidelia was one of these friends. She was a little creature, very young, a tortoise-shell cat, not pretty, but so clever that no one who didn’t know her could believe how clever she was. Her cat acquaintances suspected that she wrote stories on the sly, for her sides were always spattered with big black spots on a yellow ground, and her friends believed she got ink on her yellow clothes writing stories for the magazines, because she was so very clever, and people who are very clever and write books are apt to be untidy with their ink.

Though she was younger than Ban-Ban by nearly two years she had three children, and they were already two months old: Nugget, all yellow, Puttel, black with a white thumb-mark under her chin, and Dolly Varden, with a tortoise-shell dress like her mother’s. Bidelia had good reason to be as proud of her children as she was!

Nugget.

Another of Ban-Ban’s friends was Mr. Thomas Traddles, a tiger cat, who was so wise and had such remarkable judgment that every one came to him for advice. He was older than Ban-Ban, and he was one of that queer sort of friends which we all have: people whom we do not really like, but whom we respect heaps and heaps, and without whom we cannot get along. Not that there was any reason why Ban-Ban should not like Tommy Traddles; his disposition was perfect, and his manners of the best. Perhaps it was because Tom was so sensible and grave, and Ban-Ban was such a little firebrand, for we none of us really like people who make us feel that we are in the wrong, not unless we are far more humble-minded folk than was proud little Ban-Ban.

Puttel.

There, too, was Wutz-Butz, whose name didn’t mean much, but that the little girl who owned him liked to mix up letters and call him by queer sounds. He was a gray and white cat who would let the little girl whom he thought he owned, but who thought that she owned him, do anything under the sun to him, and he would stand it with a perfect mush of patience, but out among the cats he was a warrior. He fought every one that he happened to dislike, and Ban-Ban was always thankful Wutz-Butz liked him—and Ban-Ban was not a coward, either. Wutz-Butz had a big, round head, and a short, thick-set body, and his complexion was apt to get rumpled up—can complexions get rumpled? Well, at any rate this cat’s complexion looked rumpled—because of the many strong arguments he had with Ruth’s grandmother’s big white cat with the gray ears. Ruth was the little girl who owned Wutz-Butz, or whom he owned, according to whether you believe from her or his side of the question.

Ban-Ban had another friend to whom he was bound by ties of the highest respect and gratitude. This was Madam Laura, a sweet, kindly middle-aged lady,—perhaps a trifle past middle age,—to whom all the cats went for comfort and teaching. She was a widow lady, so she wore a great deal of black over her white sides and back, laid on in big spots. She had had a great many sons and daughters, but they had all gone to make their own way in the world, and Madam Laura was said to be quite wealthy, with no one dependent upon her for mice. She was a cat with a mother’s heart for all the mewing world, and no cat could be so scratchy as not to love this gentle lady.

The last and dearest of Ban-Ban’s friends was Kiku, the snow-white cat, whose name was a Japanese word that means chrysanthemum, and whose nature was as flower-like as his name. He lived next door to Ban-Ban, and played with him most of the time. His little mistress was Rob’s dearest friend, his cousin, and her name was Lois. She was a year younger than Rob, which made her only seven years old, but she was not the least bit careless or rough with her pets, as some children are, and Kiku was a very lucky “kitteny-wink, little white lambkin,” as Lois called him.

Kiku was always called “Kiku-san,” because “san” is a mark of honour among the Japanese, and white Kiku was so gentle and lovely-mannered that no one could deny him the respectful title that his Japanese name suggested. Kiku-san wore white garments with pink trimmings, and he kept them snowy white, for he only went out to play in the grass in fine weather, and slept at night cuddled close in Lois’s arms. He puckered his mouth when he was spoken to, and brought his lids down over his amber eyes as if he knew he was most sweet and lovable, fully deserving all the praise which he received—and so he did, for nothing would tempt him to scratch; he never lost his temper, unless he had lost it for good and all when he was born, and had never found it again, which seemed to be the case, for no one had ever seen him cross.

These were Ban-Ban’s friends, and it was to find them, or all of them that he could find, that he ran so fast down the garden after his wonderful idea struck him.

He came upon Bidelia, who was sitting in the sunshine letting the children play with her tail.

“Oh, Bidelia!” cried Ban-Ban, “have you seen any of the others?”

“How out of breath you are!” said Bidelia, reproachfully. She was so little that she could jump about all day and never lose her breath. “Tommy Traddles is sunning himself on the fence. Madam Laura is singing a few Felines on the garden bench.” A Feline is a kind of cat hymn.

“Do you think you could trust one of the kittens to hunt up Wutz-Butz, and Kiku-san, and ask them to join us here? I have something catelovelant to tell them,” said Ban-Ban. “Catelovelant” means “lovely for cats.”

“I think Nugget could go; he is getting very plump and reliable,” returned Bidelia. “Puttel, go and ask Madam Laura if she would kindly come over here when she has finished her Felines. And, Dolly Varden, go waken Mr. Traddles and ask him to come. If he is very sound asleep you may stand up on your hind legs and pull his tail—very gently,” she added, as Dolly spun around three times rapidly, “and with the greatest respect.”

The three kittens scampered off, and Ban-Ban with much effort kept himself from pouring out to Bidelia the Great Idea. Fortunately the kittens so quickly got together the cats for whom they were sent that Ban-Ban was saved from choosing between telling or having a fit.

Dolly Varden.

“You had something to say to us, my dear?” hinted Madam Laura after they were all seated. Her voice sounded like rolls of butter rolling, it was so soft and smooth.

“Yes,” said Ban-Ban, his fur beginning to stick up all over and his tail to swell, as it always did when he was excited. “I have had a Great Idea.”

“You were clever from your kittenhood, Bannie,” said Madam Laura, who had known his grandmother.

“‘I have had a Great Idea.’”

“Human beings,” Ban-Ban continued, trying to keep back the little puffing spits which he often gave when he was stirred, “Human beings build towns and live in them. They never ask our help; they feel that they own the towns. Very likely they do; but as their cats always own the human beings, it doesn’t matter. What I have to suggest is that there is no reason why cats should not build and own a city just as the human beings do. I think that we should be the ones to do this. Let us, all of us here, go away to some lovely spot and build a city. Let us ask all the poor, homeless cats, who don’t own any human beings, and so have very little food and no warm places to live, to join us. Let us have a city of cats, and let us hand our names down in all future categories and catalogues and histories as the Fathers—and Mothers”—he added, bowing to Madam Laura and Bidelia—“of Our Country, Glory of Our Race.”

“Hear, hear!” cried Wutz-Butz. He pronounced it: “He-ar, He-ar!” It sounded like a mew.

“Bandersnatch-Bandarlog, you are indeed A Great Mind,” said Tommy Traddles, gravely.

“It will be lovely!” cried Bidelia, joyously. “I want a more extended field.”

“And more field-mice,” added Laura, who was not clever, only good, which is better than mere cleverness, as all properly taught cats know.

“Then you agree?” asked Ban-Ban, not able, this time, to keep from ending in a “P-pst!” of pure excitement.

“Yes, yes,” cried all the cats together.

“Yes,” added Kiku-san alone, “but I am afraid that Lois will need me.”

“Our human beings will soon get other cats,” said Ban-Ban, wisely. “I have always noticed they soon get another cat to wait upon, when they lose the one they have had. Not that I shall leave Rob long without me,” he added. “Rob and I are friends. But the founding of this city is a duty; it will be a haven for oppressed cats. When shall we go?”

“On the third day from this one,” said Tommy Traddles, promptly. “In the meantime we will eat all that we can, and get together as many provisions as we can carry.”

“Before we part,” said Bidelia, “let us sing a song. Wait; I will make one for this occasion.”

It was the custom of these cats to sing each night before separating, so the others all willingly sat down to wait while Bidelia wrote the words which were to commemorate their newly taken and important resolution.

Singing the song.

Soon that clever little cat announced the song ready, and they sang the following words to the air of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic:”

“We’ll put our fur in order and brave Pilgrim-cats we’ll be;

With whiskers out and tails erect we’ll march courageously.

We’ll found a town for other cats, less fortunate than we:

Each cat shall have his day!

“We love the friends that love us, and our hearts to them are true;

We’ll ne’er forget the kindly folk beside whose hearths we grew,

But though our friends are good to us, mankind is cruel, too:

Each cat must have his day!

“Then, onward, Pilgrim-cats, nor pause to cast a look behind,

For duty calls our velvet paws our kindred’s wounds to bind;

In Pussy-Town all homeless cats a home and peace may find:

Each cat shall have his day.”