Living with the Lama (1964)

CHAPTER THREE

The car hummed along the highway. Tall poplar trees stood proudly at the side of the road, with frequent gaps in their ranks as testimony to the ravages of a great war, a war which I knew about only by listening to humans. We sped on, seemingly endlessly. Vaguely I wondered how these machines worked, how did they run so fast and so long? It was but a vagrant thought, my attention was almost wholly held by the sights of the passing countryside.

For the first mile or so I had sat upon the Woman's lap. Curiosity got the better of me, and I walked somewhat unsteadily to the back of the car and sat on a shelf level with the rear window, a shelf where there was a Michelin guide, maps and other things. I could see the road behind us. The Woman moved up close to the Man and they murmured sweet things together. I wondered if she also was going to have kittens.

The sun was an hour across the sky as the Man said, “We should be almost there.” “Yes,” replied the Woman, “I believe it is the big house a mile and a half beyond the church. We shall soon find it.” We drove on more slowly now, slowing to a stop as we turned into the Drive and found the gates shut. A discreet “toot” and a man came running out of the Lodge and approached the car. Seeing and recognising me, he turned and opened the gates. It gave me quite a thrill to realize that I had been instrumental in having the gates opened without there having to be any explanations given.

We drove on, and the Gatekeeper gravely acknowledged me as we passed. My life had been very narrow, I decided, for I had not even known of the Lodge, or of the gates. Mme. Diplomat was at the side of one of the lawns talking to one of Pierre's helpers. She turned at our approach and walked slowly towards us. The Man stopped the car, got out, and bowed politely to her. “We have brought your little cat, Madame,” he said, “and here is a certified copy of the Stud Tom's pedigree.” Mme. Diplomat's eyes opened wide when she saw me sitting in the car. “Did you not confine her in a box?” she asked. “No, Madame,” replied the Man, “She is a good little cat and she has been quiet and well-behaved all the time she was with us. We consider her to be an exceptionally well-behaved cat.” I felt myself blushing at such praise, and I confess that I was unmannerly enough to purr with complete agreement. Mme. Diplomat imperiously turned to the assistant gardener and said, “Run to the House, tell Madame Albertine I want her instantly.”

“Yah!” yelled the Lodgekeeper's Tomcat from behind a tree, “I know where you have been! Us Working Toms are not good enough for you, you have to have Fancy Boys!” “Oh my goodness,” said the Woman in the car, “there is a cat. Fifi must be kept from Toms.” Mme. Diplomat whirled, and threw a stick which she snatched from the ground. It missed the Lodgekeeper's cat by feet. “Ha! Ha!” he laughed as he ran off, “You couldn't hit a church steeple with a whisk-broom if you were six inches from it, you ***** old woman!” I blushed again. The language was terrible, and I felt a deep sense of relief as I saw Madame Albertine waddling down the Drive at top speed, her face radiant with welcome. I yelled at her and jumped straight into her arms, telling her how much I loved her, how I had missed her, and all that had happened to me. For a time we were oblivious to everything except each other, then Mme. Diplomat's rasping voice jerked us back to the present. “ALBERTINE!” she grated, “Are you aware that I am addressing you? Pay attention immediately.”

“Madame,” said the Man who had driven me, “This cat has been neglected. She has not had enough to eat. Scraps are NOT good enough for Pedigree Siamese Cats, and they should have a warm, comfortable bed. This cat is VALUABLE,” he went on, “and would be a show-cat if she were better looked after.”

Mme. Diplomat fixed him with a haughty glare, “This is just an animal, my man, I will pay your bill, but do not try to teach me my business.” “But Madame, I am trying to save your valuable property,” said the Man, but she brushed him to silence as she read through the bill, clucking with displeasure at the items there. Then, opening her purse, she took out her check book and wrote something on a piece of paper before handing it to him. Rudely Mme. Diplomat turned and stalked off. “We have to live through this every day,” whispered Madame Albertine to the Woman. They nodded in sympathy and drove slowly away.

Almost a week I had been away. Much must have happened during my absence. I spent the rest of the day going round from place to place renewing past associations, and reading all the news. For a time I rested snug and secure on a branch of my old friend the Apple Tree.

Supper was the usual scraps, of good quality, but still scraps. I thought how perfectly wonderful it would be to have something bought specially for me instead of always having “leavings.” With the coming of dusk Gaston came in search of me, and having found me snatched me off the ground and hurried to the outhouse with me. Wrenching open the door, he flung me into the dark interior, slammed the door behind him, and departed. Being French myself, I am very greatly pained to admit that French humans are very hard indeed on animals.

Day ran into day and merged into weeks. Gradually I assumed a matronly figure and became slower in my movements. One night when I was almost at full term, I was roughly thrown into the outhouse by Pierre. As I landed on the hard concrete floor I felt a terrible pain, as if I were splitting. Painfully, in the darkness of that cold outhouse, my five babies were born. When I had recovered a little I shredded some paper and made a warm nest for them, then carried them one by one to it.

The next day no one came to see me. The day dragged on, but I was still busy feeding my babies. Night found me faint with hunger and absolutely parched, for there was neither food nor water in the outhouse. The following day brought no relief, no one came, and the hours dragged and dragged. My thirst was almost unbearable and I wondered why I should have to suffer so. With nightfall the owls swooped and hooted about the mice they had caught. I, and my kittens lay together, and I wondered how I would live through the next day.

The day was well advanced when I heard footsteps. The door was opened, and there stood Madame Albertine looking pale and ill. She had got specially from her bed as she had had “visions” of me in trouble. As was her wont, she had brought food and water. One of my babies had died during the night, and Madame Albertine was almost too furious to speak. Her fury was so great at the manner in which I had been treated that she went and brought Mme. Diplomat and Monsieur le Duc. Mme. Diplomat's sorrow was at the loss of one kitten, and the loss of money which that meant. Monsieur le Duc managed a sickly smile and said, “Perhaps we can do something about it. Someone should speak to Pierre.”

Gradually my children grew stronger; gradually they opened their eyes. People came to see them, money changed hands, and almost before they were weaned they were taken from me. I wandered inconsolable around the estate. My lamentations disturbed Mme. Diplomat and she ordered me to be shut up until I was quiet.

By now I was used to being shown off at social gatherings, and thought nothing of being taken from my work in the gardens in order to parade through the Salon. One day it was different. I was taken to a small room where Mme. Diplomat sat writing at a desk, and a strange man sat opposite her. “Ah!” he exclaimed as I was brought into the room, “so this is the cat?” In silence he examined me, screwed up his face and played with one of his ears. “She is somewhat neglected. To drug her so that she can be carried as luggage aboard a plane will undermine her constitution.” Mme. Diplomat scowled angrily at him; “I am not asking you for a lecture, Mister the Veterinarian,” she said, “if you will not do as I ask many more will. Good Gracious!” she expostulated in fury, “What a fuss about a mere cat!” Mister the Veterinarian shrugged his shoulders helplessly, “Very well, Madame,” he replied, “I will do as you wish, for I have my living to earn. Call me an hour or so before you are due to board the plane.” He rose to his feet, groped about for his case, and blundered out of the room. Mme. Diplomat opened the French windows and chased me into the garden.

There was an air of suppressed excitement about the house. Great cases were being dusted and cleaned, and Monsieur le Duc's new rank was being painted on them. A carpenter was called and told to make a wooden travelling box which would fit inside a case and capable of holding a cat. Madame Albertine fluttered around looking as if she hoped Mme. Diplomat would drop dead!

One morning, about a week later, Gaston came to the outhouse for me and took me to the garage without giving me any breakfast. I told him I was hungry, but as usual he did not understand. Mme. Diplomat's maid, Yvette, was waiting in the Citroen. Gaston put me in a wicker basket with a strapped top, and I was lifted on to the back seat. We drove off at a very fast rate. “I don't know why she wants the cat drugged,” said Yvette, “The Regulations say that a cat may be taken into the U.S.A. without any difficulties.” “Aw,” said Gaston, “That woman is crazy, I have given up trying to guess what makes HER tick!” They relapsed into silence and concentrated on driving faster and faster. The jouncing was terrible; my small weight was not enough to press down the seat springs, and I was becoming more and more bruised from hitting the sides and top of the basket.

I concentrated on keeping my legs outstretched, and sank my claws into the basket. Truly it was a grim battle to prevent myself from being knocked unconscious. I lost all count of time. Eventually we skidded to a screaming stop. Gaston grabbed my basket and rushed up some steps and into a house. The basket was plonked on to a table and the lid removed. Hands lifted me and set me down on the table. Immediately I fell over, my legs would no longer support me, I had been tensed too long. Mister the Veterinarian looked at me in horror and compassion. “You could have killed this cat,” he exclaimed angrily to Gaston, “I cannot give her an injection today!” Gaston's face flamed with anger. “Drug the ***** cat, the plane leaves today, you have been paid, haven't you?” Mister the Veterinarian picked up the telephone. “No use in you phoning,” said Gaston, “The Family are at Le Bourget Airport, and I'm in a hurry.” Sighing, Mister the Veterinarian picked up a big syringe and turned to me. I felt a sharp and painful stab deep within my muscles and the whole world turned blood red, then black. Faintly I heard a voice say, “There! That will keep her quiet for . . .” Then oblivion complete and utter descended upon me.

There was a dreadful roaring, I was cold and miserable, and breathing was a shocking effort. Not a gleam of light anywhere, I had never known such darkness. For a time I feared that I had gone blind. My head was splitting, never before had I felt so ill, so neglected, and so miserable.

Hour after hour the horrid roaring continued, I thought my brain would burst. There came strange pressures to my ears and things inside them went click and pop. The roaring changed, becoming fiercer, then there was a jarring clang and I was thrown violently to the top of my box. Another jar, and another and the roaring subsided. Now there came a strange rumbling, like the wheels of a fast car on a concrete highway. Strange jerks and rumbles, and then the roaring died. Other noises took over, the scraping of metal, muffled voices, and a chug-chug directly beneath me. With a shattering crash a great metal door opened beside me, and strange men came clattering in to the compartment where I was. Rough hands grabbed cases and threw them on to a moving belt which conveyed them out of sight. Then came my turn; I sailed through the air and landed with a bone jarring thud. Beneath me something went ‘rumble-rumble swish-swish.’ A bang, and my journey stopped. I lay on my back and saw a dawn sky through some air holes. “Gee, dis heah's a cat!” said a strange voice. “Okay, Bud its not our worry,” replied another man. Unceremoniously my case was grabbed and thrown on to some sort of vehicle. Other cases were piled around and on top, and the motor thing started off with a ‘rumpf rumpf rumpf’ noise. With the pain and the shock I lost consciousness.

I opened my eyes and found that I was gazing at a naked electric light bulb, gazing through wire netting. Weakly I struggled to my feet and tottered to a dish of water which I saw nearby. It was almost too much strain to drink, almost too much trouble to go on living, but having drunk I felt the better for it. “Well, well, Ma'am,” said a wheezing voice, “So you is awake!” I looked and there was a little old black man opening a tin of food. “Yaas, Ma'am,” he said, “You'n me we both got black faces, I guess I look after you good, eh?” He slipped the food in and I managed a weak purr to show that I appreciated his kindness. He stroked my head, “Gee, ain't dat sumpin!” he muttered to himself, “Jest wait till I tell Sadie, Man of man!”

To be able to eat again was wonderful. I could not manage much because I felt terrible, but I made an attempt so that the black man should not feel insulted. Then I had another peck and a drink, and after that I felt sleepy. There was a rug in the corner, so I curled up on it and went to sleep.

Eventually I found that I was in an hotel. Staff people kept coming down to the basement to see me. “Oh! Isn't she cute?” said the girl servants. “Wow! Just look at those eyes, man! Are they beautiful!” said the men. One visitor was very welcome, a French Chef. One of my admirers called through a telephone; “Hey, Françoise, come down here, we have a French Siamese Cat!” Minutes later a fat man waddled down the corridor, “You 'av ze chat française no?” he said to the men standing around. I purred louder and louder, it was quite a link with France to see him. He came over and peered short-sightedly and then burst into a torrent of Parisian French. I purred and yelled at him that I understood him perfectly. “Saay!” said a hushed voice, “Whadyeknow? Old François and The Cat sure are hitting it off together on all cylinders.”

The black man opened my cage door and I leaped straight into François' arms, he kissed me and I gave him some of my very best licks, and when I was put in the cage again he had tears in his eyes. “Ma'am,” said my black attendant, “You sure ev made a hit. Guess you eat pretty good now.” I liked my attendant, like me he had a black face. But pleasant things did not last for me. Two days later we moved to another city in the U.S.A. and I was kept in an underground cellar for almost the whole of my time. For the next several years life was the same day after day, month after month. I was used to produce kittens which were taken from me almost before I had them weaned.

At long last Monsieur le Duc was recalled to France. Once again I was drugged and knew no more until I awakened, sick and ill, at Le Bourget. Homecoming, to which I had looked with avid pleasure, was instead a sad affair. Madame Albertine was no longer there, she had died a few months before we returned. The Old Apple Tree had been cut down and much remodeling of the House had taken place.

For some months I wandered disconsolately around, bringing a few families into the world and seeing them taken from me before I was ready. My health began to fail and more and more kittens were born dead. My sight became uncertain, and I learned to “sense” my way round. Never did I forget that Tong Fa had been killed because he was old and blind!

When we had been back from America for almost two years, Mme. Diplomat wanted to go to Eire to see if it was a suitable place for her to live. She had the fixed idea that I had brought her luck (although she was no kinder to me for it!) and I had to go to Eire as well. Once again I was taken to a place where I was drugged, and for a time life ceased to exist for me. Much much later I woke up in a cloth lined box in a strange house. There was a constant drone of aircraft in the sky. The smell of burning peat tickled my nostrils and made me sneeze. “She is awake,” said a broad Irish voice. What had happened? Where was I? Panic struck me but I was too weak to move. Only later, through hearing the talk of humans, and through being told by an Airport cat, did I get the story.

The plane had landed on the Irish Airport. Men had removed the luggage from the luggage compartment. “Hey, Paddy, there's an old dead cat in here!” said one of the men. Paddy, the foreman, moved to look. “Get the Inspector,” he said. A man talked into his ‘walkie-talkie’ and soon an Inspector from the Animal Department came on the scene. My box was opened and I was gently lifted out. “Get the Owner,” said the Inspector. While waiting he examined me. Mme. Diplomat walked angrily over to the little group about me. Starting to bluster, and tell how important she was, she was soon cut short by the Inspector. “The cat is dead,” he said, “killed by vicious cruelty and neglect. She is in kitten, and you have drugged her with a view to evading Quarantine. This is a serious offence.”

Mme. Diplomat started to weep, saying that it would affect her husband's career if she were prosecuted for such an offence. The Inspector pulled at his bottom lip, then, on a sudden decision, said, “The animal is dead. Sign a waiver that we may dispose of the body and we will say no more about it this time. But I advise you NOT to keep cats again!” Mme. Diplomat signed the proffered paper and walked off sniffing. “All right, Brian,” said the Inspector, “Get rid of the body.” He walked away and one of the men lifted me into the box again and carried me off. Very vaguely I heard the sound of earth being turned, the clink of metal on stone as perhaps a shovel scraped against an obstruction. Then I was lifted, and faintly heard, “Glory be! She is alive!” With that my consciousness faded again. The man, so I was told, looked about him surreptitiously, then, assured that he was unobserved, filled in the grave that he had dug for me, and hurried with me to a nearby house. Nothing else was known to me until—“She is awake,” said a broad Irish voice. Gentle hands stroked me, someone wet my lips with water. “Sean,” said the Irish voice, “This cat is blind. I have been waving the light in front of her eyes and she does not see it.” I was terrified, thinking they would kill me because of my age and sightlessness. “Blind?” said Sean, “Sure, 'tis a lovely creature she is. I'll go and see the Supervisor and get the rest of the day off. Sure and I'll be after taking her to my Mother, she will look after her. We can't keep her here.” There was the sound of a door opening, and closing. Gentle hands held food just beneath my mouth and being famished, I ate. The pain inside me was terrible and I thought I would soon die. My sight was gone completely. Later, when I lived with the Lama he spent much money to see what could be done, but it was then discovered that my optic nerves had been severed by the banging about that I had had.

The door opened and closed. “Well?” asked the woman. “I told the Supervisor I felt upset that one of God's creatures should be treated so.” He said “Aw, sure, Sean, you always were a one to feel such things, yes, take time off.” So here I am. “How is she doing?”

“Hmm, so so,” answered his wife, “I wet her lips and she had a bite of fish. She will recover, but she has had a terrible time.” The man fidgeted around, “Get me some food, Mary, and I will take the cat off to mother. I'll go out now and look to me tires.” I sighed, MORE travelling, I wondered. The pain within me was a dull throbbing ache. Around me there was the clatter of dishes, and the sound of a fire being raked. Presently the woman went to the door and called, “Tea, Sean, the kettle is on the boil”. Sean came in and I heard him wash his hands before settling down to his meal.

“We have got to keep this quiet,” said Sean, “or we shall have the Garda after us. If we can get her well, her kittens will bring us money. These creatures are valuable, you know.” His wife poured another cup of tea before answering. “Your mother knows all about cats, she will bring this one round if anyone will. Get yourself gone before the others come off work.” “Aye, that I will,” said Sean as he pushed back his chair noisily and rose to his feet. They came over to me and I felt my box being lifted. “You can't put the box on the carrier, Sean,” said the woman, “keep it under your arm, I will fix a sling so that you can take the weight across your shoulders, not that SHE has much weight, poor little soul!” Sean, with a strap across his shoulders and around my box, turned and left the house. The cool Irish air wafted wonderfully into my box, carrying an invigorating tang of the sea. It made me feel much better—if only the dreadful pain would go away! A ride on a bicycle was an absolutely new experience to me. A gentle breeze came through the air-holes and there was a slight swaying which was not unpleasing, it reminded me of lying on the high branches of a tree which was swaying in the wind. A most curious creaking noise puzzled me for some time. At first I thought that my box was falling apart, then by concentrating carefully I decided that the seat-thing upon which Sean sat needed oil. Soon we came to rising ground. Sean's breath began to rasp in his throat, the pedals moved slower and slower, eventually slowing to a stop. “Ah, Begob!” he exclaimed, “tis a heavy box you have!” Resting my box on the saddle—yes, it DID squeak!—he trudged on up the hill, slowly pushing the bicycle. Stopping, he unlatched a gate, and pushed the bicycle through, there was the scrape of wood against metal, and the gate slammed shut behind us. “What am I going in to now?” I wondered. The pleasant smell of flowers came to my nostrils; I sniffed appreciatively.

“And what have ye brought me, my son?” asked an elderly voice. “I've brought Herself to you, Mother,” replied Sean proudly. Resting the machine against a wall, he lifted my box, carefully wiped his feet and entered a building. With a sigh of relief he sat down and told his mother the whole story, so far as he knew it, about me. Fumbling with the box lid he threw it back. For a moment there was silence. Then, “Ah! 'tis a wonderful creature she must have been in her heyday. Look at her now, with her coat rough with neglect. Look at her ribs showing. Ah! 'tis a cruel shame to treat creatures so!”

At last I was lifted out and set upon the floor. It is disconcerting to suddenly lose one's sight. First, as I took my staggering steps, I bumped into things. Sean muttered, “Mother, d'ye think we should—YOU know!” “No, my son, no, these are very intelligent cats, VERY intelligent cats indeed. You will remember I told you I had seen them in England. No no, give her time, she will manage.” Sean turned to his mother, “Mother, I am going to take the box back and turn it in to the Supervisor in the morning, you know.” The old woman bustled about, bringing food and water and—most necessary, leading me to a box of earth! Eventually Sean departed with a promise to come in a few days time. The old woman carefully locked the door and threw another lump of peat on the fire, mumbling to herself all the time in what I took to be the Irish language. To cats, of course, language does not matter much because we converse and listen by telepathy. Humans THINK in their own language and it is sometimes a little confusing for a French Siamese cat to sort out thought-pictures framed in some other language.

Soon we lay down to sleep, I in a box beside the fire, and the old woman on a couch at the far side of the room. I was utterly exhausted, yet the pain gnawing within me prevented sleep. Eventually tiredness overcame the pain, and I drifted off. My dreams were terror-wracked. What had I come to? I wondered in my dream state, why had I to suffer so? I feared for my kittens-to-come. Feared that they would die at birth, feared that they would not, for what future had they? Could I, in my weakened state, feed them?

Morning found the old woman stirring. The couch springs creaked as she rose and came over to poke the fire. Kneeling beside me, she stroked my head and said, “Tis meself that will be going to Mass, then we will have a bite to eat.” She rose to her feet and soon left the room. I heard her footsteps fading away down the path. There was the ‘click’ of the garden gate, then silence. I turned over and slept again.

By the end of the day my strength had returned somewhat. I was able to move around slowly. First I bumped into almost everything, but I soon learned that furniture was not often moved. In time I became quite adept at finding my way round without getting too many bruises. Our vibrissae (“cats' whiskers”) act like radar and we can find our way about in the darkest of dark nights, when there is no glimmer of light by which to see. Now my vibrissae had to work overtime!

A few days later the old woman said to her son, who had called to see her, “Sean, clean out the woodshed, I am going to keep her in there. What with her being blind, and me not seeing well either, I am afraid I may kick her and hurt the kittens—and they are worth many pounds to us!” Sean walked out and soon I heard a commotion from the woodshed as he moved things round and stacked up piles of peat. He came in and said, “It is all ready, Mother, I have put piles of newspapers on the floor and stopped up the window.”

So—once again my bed was of newspapers. Irish ones this time. “Well,” I thought, “Apple Tree years ago said deliverance would come at my blackest hour. It should be almost time!” The woodshed was of tarred planks with a rickety door. The floor was of beaten earth, and along the walls was stored a remarkable collection of household effects, peat slabs and empty boxes. For some peculiar reason the old woman used a truly immense padlock with which to keep the door closed. Whenever she came to see me she stood and muttered and fiddled endlessly with keys until she found the correct one. With the door open at last, she would stumble in, feeling her way into the gloomy interior. Sean wanted to repair the window so there would be some light—no rays entered this dark hole—but as the old woman said, “Glass costs money, my son, glass costs money. Wait until we have the kittens to sell!”

The days crawled on. I had food and water, but I was constantly in pain. Food was scarce, enough to keep me alive, but not enough to build up my strength. I lived to give birth to my kittens, and staying alive was a struggle. Blind, ill, and always hungry, I maintained a tenuous hold of life and faith in those “better days to come!”

A few weeks after I arrived in Ireland I knew that soon my kittens would be born. Movement became difficult, and the pain increased. No longer could I stretch at full length, or curl into a circle. Something had happened inside me and I could rest only sitting up, with my chest resting on something hard in order to keep weight off my lower parts.

Two or three nights later, at about midnight, really terrible pain assailed me. I screamed in agony. Slowly, with immense effort, my kittens came into the world. Three of the five were dead. For hours I lay gasping, my whole body as if aflame. This, I thought, was the end of my life, but no, it was not to be. I lived on.

The old woman came into the shed in the morning and said terrible things when she found three dead kittens. She said such terrible things that she afterwards said a prayer for forgiveness! I thought that now, with two very little kittens to nurse, I would be able to go in the house where there was warmth and something more than newspapers to lie upon. But the old woman appeared to hate me for having only two live kittens. “Sean,” she said one evening to her son, “this cat won't live more than two or three weeks. See if you can spread it around that I have two Siamese kittens for sale.”

Daily I grew weaker; I longed for death but feared for my kittens. One day, when they were almost weaned, a car drew up at the gate. From my shed I could hear all. I heard the gate click open and two people walked up the little path. A knock at the cottage door. Seconds later it opened. A woman's voice said, “I understand you have a Siamese kitten for sale.” “Ah, now, and will ye come in?” replied the old woman. For a time there was silence, then the old woman came shambling out and grabbed one of my children. Minutes later she came back, muttering bad-temperedly, “An' what would he want to be seeing you for?” She snatched me up so violently that I screamed with pain. With a show of great affection she carried me into the house. Gentle voices spoke my name, and very lightly touched me. The Man said, “We want to take the Mother as well. She will not live unless she is treated.” “Ah!” said the old woman, “'tis a very healthy and good cat she is!” From the old woman's mind I read her thoughts: “Yes,” she thought, “I have read all about you, you can pay plenty.” She made a great fuss, saying how much she loved me and how valuable I was. How she did not want to sell me. I turned in the Man's direction and said, “I'm dying, just ignore me and look after my two children.” The Man turned to the old woman and said, “Did you say you had two kittens?” She admitted she had, so the Man said, firmly, "We will take all three cats or none.” The old woman named a price which staggered me, but the Man just said, “All right, get them ready, we will take them now.” The old woman left the room in a hurry in order to conceal her delight and so that she could count the money again. Soon my two boys were placed in a very special basket which the Man and the Woman had brought. The Woman sat in the back of the car, with me on her lap, and the big basket was placed on the front seat beside the Man. Slowly, carefully, we drove off. “We shall have to get the Vet to see Fifi right away, Rab,” said the Man. “She is very sick, I'll phone as soon as we get home, he'll come today. Shall we let the kittens go together?” “Yes,” said the Man, “then they will not be lonely.” We drove on so carefully that I felt no pain. The words of the Apple Tree came back to me, “You will know happiness, Fifi.” Was this IT? I wondered.

We rolled along the road for many miles, then carefully turned a sharp corner and started up a steep hill. “Well, we are home, cats,” said the Man. Stopping the engine, he got out and carried away the basket containing my kittens. The Woman carefully got out, without jarring me, and carried me up three or four steps into a house. What a difference! Here I felt at once that I was wanted and welcome, I decided that the Tree was right. But I felt so dreadfully weak. The Woman went to a telephone and I heard her speaking to the Vet that had been mentioned. With a word of thanks she rang off. “He is coming right away,” she said.

I do not propose to write of my operation, nor of the long struggle back to life. It will suffice to say that I had a most difficult operation to remove an immense uterine tumour. I had a hysterectomy and so was free from the hardship of having babies any more. The Man and the Woman stayed up with me for night after night, for the operation was so severe that it was thought I would not recover. I knew differently, because now I was Home—and wanted.