Читать книгу Thomasina - Paul Gallico - Страница 12

On that fatal day, I awoke as usual at dawn and prepared to engage in my accustomed routine – a yawn, a good stretch lengthwise, followed by a round, humped-back one and then escape from the house.

I had a secret exit and entrance, of course, but I could use them only when nobody was about or they wouldn’t have been secret any more. These escape routes are the first things we work out in whatever house we find ourselves living. People actually believe they can shut us up. Well, there are few places or houses we cannot get out of if we really want to do so.

I liked to be about early in the morning to see the sun come up, to attend to eliminations, have a quiet, once-over-lightly wash to get my fur looking presentable, inspect things on our lane, and exchange a bit of gossip with friends and neighbours sitting on their doorsteps or engaged upon similar errands. This was one of the pleasantest hours of the day and I used to look forward to it. It was wonderful to be free with no people about. Yet I always managed to be back before Mary Ruadh awakened.

But not that day. I opened my eyes at the usual hour when the curtains drawn over the windows turned from black to grey, tried to stretch, and discovered that I was unable to move my legs. Such a thing had never happened to me before. I was so frightened I simply lay there trembling from head to tail.

I thought perhaps it might be a bad dream, for we have them quite often, dreadful ones in which we are being chased and cannot run fast enough, and I lay there quietly for a while, waiting for it to go away. But it didn’t, and as it grew lighter I realised that there was something wrong with my vision as well. I was unable to see the room or the corner of it, or the window, sharply; objects seemed to be unclear and when I tried to look harder they seemed to vanish. I appeared to be swimming in and out of things.

The next thing I remembered I was lying in Mary Ruadh’s arms and she was saying – “Sleepyhead Thomasina. I have been awake ever so long and you are still sleeping. Shall I give you a whisper, Thomasina? I love you!”

I had no time for such sentiments … I was sick, sick, sick and for all I knew, might be dying. There was no use my trying to tell Mary Ruadh that something queer had happened to me, that I could not make my legs work and sometimes could not even see her even though I was lying in her arms. Those are the times when people are our despair, so dense, obtuse and insensitive are they and unable to understand even our simplest communications. Another cat would have known at once, at the first sight, the first sniff, the first and smallest impulse transmitted from my antennae to hers that I was dangerously ill.

The dreadful morning wore on. Mrs McKenzie came to get Mary Ruadh up, but since the child always carried me about everywhere, I was left to lie there while she was helped to dress; then she came, picked me up from the bed, and carried me into the next room and later lifted me into the dining room and put me on the chair next to hers while she had breakfast and Mrs McKenzie gossiped with the dustman.

And when I cried Mary Ruadh only said – “Haven’t you a lot to say this morning, Thomasina, you naughty sleepyhead –”

At last Mrs McKenzie finished her interminable chatter, placed my bowl of milk and cereal by the back door in the kitchen, and called – “Come puss and get yer porridge –”

I lay on the chair where Mary Ruadh had last put me, unable to stir except for my head and the tip of my tail. I didn’t want to eat. I only wanted them to find out there was something the matter with me and help me. I cried to them as loudly as I could but not much sound came out. Mary Ruadh said: “Lazy Thomasina! Go and have your breakfast. Oh, very well then, I’ll carry you, you lazy old Thomasina.”

She picked me up and went with me to the bowl and put me down next it where I fell over on to my side. I tried washing, but I was not even able to make the proper movements with my head and tongue. Mary Ruadh said – “Thomasina, you MUST drink your milk,” imitating the way Mrs McKenzie used to say the same thing to her. “If you don’t drink your milk, you naughty Thomasina, I shan’t take you to the burn this afternoon to watch the trout with Hughie Stirling.”

I tell you, it isn’t much fun to be lying at death’s door, AND at the same time be scolded and told you are to be punished … For there was nothing I liked so much as to squat amongst the flowers on the bank of the brook that flowed into the river not far from the ruins of Castle Ardrath and watch the trout lying on the bottom, fanning themselves with their fins.

I think I could sit and watch them for days. I never caught any. I did not even try to scoop them out with my paw, though I am sure I could have done so had I wished. I was just happy to lie as still as they. Sometimes when one moved away from the sunny shallows and swam into a deeper portion where it would be merely a faint shadow against the bottom, I would arise and follow it and, looking down into the clear water, try to make it out. The children would wander off, exploring, but I would just stay there watching the fish. Tears began to roll from my eyes as I thought that I had probably done this for the last time.

I lay on my side, helpless, no sound coming from my mouth as I tried to call for the help that was not forthcoming.

At last! Mary Ruadh came over to me and tried to set me on my feet saying, “Thomasina, you MUST eat your breakfast!” And when I fell over on to my side again, she became alarmed, and when it happened once more, called – “Mrs McKenzie! Oh dear Mrs McKenzie; do come here at once, please, and see what is wrong with Thomasina. Please, Mrs McKenzie, do come at once.”

The housekeeper hurried into the kitchen and knelt at my side. She too tried to set me on my feet and when I fell over she said – “Och, Mary, I’m feart oor puss has some unchancy sickness. The puir wee thing canna stan’ on her ain fower feet.”

Mary Ruadh picked me up, half crushing me, crying my name over and over, the tears rolling down her cheeks – “Thomasina – Thomasina – poor Thomasina!” Like a fool, I purred. I couldn’t help myself.

Mrs McKenzie enveloped us both in her arms and said – “Dinna greet so, lassie, for it’s mair nor this hert can stan’ tae hear ye. Ye maun rin, Mary Ruadh, an’ tak’ Thomasina next door tae yer ain feyther, the doctor wha’ll nae doot ken hoo tae pit richt whitever ails her. He’ll shairly no rail gin ye come there this yince an sae sair an errand.”

Mary Ruadh ceased her crying at once. The tears stopped as if by magic and she smiled down at me. “Do you hear, Thomasina? We will go to see Daddy and Daddy will make you well again.”