Living with the Lama (1964)

CHAPTER SEVEN

“NOK! NOK!” said Miss Ku, peering between the Pilot's and the Guv's shoulders. “NOK! NOK! NOK! We need a parachute, Feef, THE FUEL GAUGE IS KNOCKING AGAINST THE STOP!” The Guv turned towards the Pilot. “Petrol gauge wrong?” he asked. “Out of gas,” said the Pilot, casually, “we can always come down.” Beneath our small wings spread the snow-covered tips of the Allegheny Mountains in Pennsylvania. Miss Ku made chills of horror race up and down my spine as she told me of the gaping chasms and the razor-backed ridges just waiting to scrape us out of the sky. The Pilot consulted his map and made a slight alteration to our course. “OW! Miss Ku” I exclaimed in fright, “we are GOING DOWN!” “Aw, keep your silly head calm,” retorted Miss Ku calmly. “We are going to land and take on some petrol, there is a small airdrome just ahead of us. Now you just sink your claws in the basket and HANG ON!”

“Bump!” went the plane, “BUMP, bump!” it went again. We slithered sideways a bit on the snow, and then rolled forward along the runway. Breaking to a stop, the Pilot flung open the door, letting freezing air in. Jumping to the ground, he yelled to a woman by the petrol pump, “Fill'er up!” he commanded as he dashed for the nearest Comfort Station. The woman came over and poured a lot of petrol into the wings, not even glancing in our direction. The airdrome was shrouded in snow, covering the buildings and the runways. Miss Ku described for me the numerous small planes shackled to the ground waiting for their Owners to let them free to fly. All around the airdrome the snow covered slopes of the mountain range lay in wait for the unwary. The Guv stepped out on to the snowy wastes without a coat. “Be careful!” I called after him, “you will catch a chill!” “Don't be a dope, Feef,” said Miss Ku, “this freezing weather is a heatwave to what the Guv is normally accustomed. In Tibet, where he comes from, the cold is so intense that even one's words freeze and fall to the ground!”

The engines roared again and we moved out across the rutted snow. No control tower here, in a little place like this, so the Pilot warmed his engines, opened the throttles further and raced away down the white runway. Climbing, he circled the little airdrome until he had sufficient height, and then headed across the mountains in the direction of Cleveland. By now we had had thrumming engines for so long that we no longer noticed them.

On we flew, rising and falling gently to the vagrant currents, flying on endlessly into the fading afternoon. The smoke of Pittsburgh passed away beneath our left wingtip, the haze of Cleveland loomed up ahead. “We will fly over Cleveland,” said the Pilot, “and cross Lake Erie from Sandusky. Then we shall have three islands beneath us in case of engine failure.” The plane droned on, the two engines singing the same monotonous song, the Pilot hunched over the controls. We had numb behinds with sitting so long. I shifted uncomfortably as the plane made a sudden turn to the right. “Great Jumping Tomcats!” exclaimed Miss Ku “someone has upset the refrigerator and spilled all the ice cubes!” She tittered in an embarrassed manner, and said, “It is not ice cubes really, although it looks so from this height. The whole Lake is frozen and mountains of ice are piled everywhere. From here they look like spilled ice cubes,” she added self-consciously.

Beneath us the ice grated and ground together, and any clear stretch of water instantly froze solid. This, the Pilot had said, was an exceptionally cold winter and the forecast was colder yet. “Pelee Island,” said the Pilot, “we are exactly halfway across the Lake. We pass over Kingsville and on to Windsor.” The plane was pitching somewhat now, air being cooled by the ice, caused some turbulence. I was tired and hungry, and I felt as if I had been travelling for ever. Then I thought of the Guv, desperately ill and old. HE was bearing up, so could I. I squared my shoulders, settled myself more firmly and felt better! “Five minutes and we shall land at Windsor Airport,” said the Pilot. “Ohhh!” squeaked Miss Ku in high excitement, “I can see the skyscrapers of Detroit!” The plane banked and turned into land. The engine note changed and the plane flattened out. A gentle ‘scrunch’ on the snow-covered runway, and we were down, in Canada. The plane rolled gently along and turned right. “LEFT! LEFT!” said the Guv, who knew the Airport well, “that is the disused Airport, you have to go to the New one.” Just then the Control Tower people spoke to the Pilot on the radio and confirmed what the Guv had just told him. The Pilot speeded up his right engine to turn the plane, moved along perhaps a quarter of a mile, and then put on the brakes and switched off the engines.

For a moment we sat still, feeling so cramped that we wondered if we would ever be able to get out. Miss Ku muttered, “As white as the top of a Christmas cake. Where did all the stuff come from?” The Pilot pushed open a door and started to get out. Suddenly, harshly, a voice bawled, “Where ya bawn, folks?” The raucous yelling of the man shocked me and I wondered what sort of a place it was. Now I know that they all speak in that rough way here. The Guv says they think they are still in the Wild West stage where courtesy and culture are considered “sissy”.

The Guv replied that we were Immigrants and we had all our papers in order. The man yelled “It is after hours, Immigration is closed,” before turning away and entering the Airport building. Slowly, stiffly, we got out of the plane and made for a door marked “Canada Customs.” Passing through we found we were in a large, empty Hall. I knew it was large and empty by the echoes which came back from our footfalls. We walked on until we came to a counter. The man was behind it. “You are too late,” he said, “you did not tell us that you were coming. No Immigration Officer here now, I can't touch your stuff until you have been cleared by Immigration.” “You were notified,” said the Pilot, “we notified you from La Guardia, New York, yesterday. And what about me? I have got to get back, will you sign this paper for me, it is only clearance to say that I reported to Canada Customs.” The Customs man sighed so much that his uniform creaked and strained. “I shouldn't do this really,” he said, “because I go off duty in a few minutes. However . . .” His pen scratched on paper, the Pilot muttered “Thanks” to the Customs man and “Goodbye folks,” to us and he was gone from our life. The engines of his plane raced up and died away in the distance.

A door opened and closed. Heavy footsteps came closer, and closer. “Hey,” said the Customs man to his relief, “these folks say they are Immigrants. What are we going to do? It is after hours—well, it is YOUR problem, I'm off duty as of now.” He turned without another word and walked off. The relief man spoke in a good old Irish voice. “Sure an' we'll get you cleared. I'll get an Immigration Officer to come from the Tunnel. He turned to a telephone and soon gave an outline of the “troubles afflicting him.” He turned back to us and said, “An Officer is coming, I cannot touch your stuff until he clears you as Landed Immigrants. Immigration first, then back to me at Customs. What have you got there?” he asked. “Two Siamese Cats,” replied the Guv, “here are their papers providing they are in good health.” The man sighed and turned to the telephone. “. . . yeah, two cats. Siamese. Yeah, I seen their papers, Yeah, only I thought maybe you would want to see them. No? Okay!” Back he came to us. “Cats can go through all right, now we gotta wait for you.” Miss Ku sniggered and whispered to me, “WE are cleared, Feef, but The Family are stuck!”

We waited and waited. Waited, so we thought, almost long enough to fly back. The Airport was deathly dull, hardly a sound rippled the silence. I sensed that the Guv was becoming sicker and sicker. Ma wandered around restlessly, and Buttercup breathed as if she were on the verge of exhaustion and sleep. Somewhere a door slammed. “Ah!” said the Customs man, “here he comes.” Footsteps sounded along the corridor, two men walking. They came closer and closer. “These folks claim they are Immigrants,” said the Customs man. “I called you because I cannot touch their stuff until you have cleared them. The cats have been cleared by Health”. The Immigration Officer was a nice old man, but he did not appear to know the Airport at all, nor did he know which office to enter; he kept asking the Customs man things. Eventually he said, “Come this way,” and walked off to a little side room. “Before we can start we must have Forms and things,” he muttered to himself, tugging aimlessly at locked drawers. “Wait here,” he said, “I must try to find some keys.” He went out and soon returned with the Customs man. Together they went round trying drawers and closet doors, muttering to themselves as they found each one locked. Both men went out and we settled down to another long wait.

“Got them! Got the keys!” said the Immigration man in great triumph, “NOW we shan't be long.” For minutes he tried key after key, becoming more and more gloomy. None of them fitted. Off he rushed to solicit the aid of the Customs man. Together they advanced on the offending desk. “You lift up,” said the Immigration man, “and I will bear down, if we can get this in between we can force it open.” The sounds of groans and grunts almost lulled us to sleep, then came the splintering of wood and the sound of a screw or two dropping to the floor from the shattered lock. For a moment no one spoke, then the Immigration man said, in a strangled voice, “The ***** desk is empty!” He and the Customs Officer wandered round, experimentally poking and pulling at desks and closets. Much MUCH later the Immigration man exclaimed, “Ah! GOT IT!” There was the rustling of papers and muttered imprecations, then a muffled voice said, “Now we have the Forms—WHERE ARE THE RUBBER STAMPS?” More searchings, more muttered words, more waiting. Miss Ku and I settled down into a doze from which we were awakened by having our baskets lifted. “Now you go back to Customs, that is where you came in,” said the Immigration man. We clattered back along the Hall. “All clear?” asked the Customs Officer, inspecting our papers now marked “Landed Immigrant.” Wearily the Guv lifted cases and put them on the counter, unlocked them and opened them for inspection. Methodically the Customs Officer checked our list of cases, and glanced through our effects. “All right,” he said, “you can go.”

Outside the Airport the snow lay thickly, “Coldest winter for a long time,” an Airport cleaner told us. Quickly our cases were stowed in a waiting car, Ma, Buttercup, Miss Ku and I got in the back. The Guv sat in the front with the driver. Off we went along the slippery road. The driver did not seem to be at all sure of the way and kept muttering to himself, “We turn here, no, it is further on, no it must be here.” The ride was uncomfortable and very long. To us it seemed almost far enough for an air journey. We jolted along a terribly bad road and swerved uncertainly to a stop. “Here it is,” said the car driver, “this is the house.” We climbed out and carried our cases in. Miss Ku and I were really too tired to carry out a thorough inspection, so we tottered round trying to note the most important points. The Guv lifted me on to his bed, and I fell sound asleep.

With the coming of the morning Miss Ku came and awakened me, saying, “Come on, you lazy old wretch! We got work to do, now you walk behind me and I will tell you all about everything.” I jumped off the bed and had a good scratch in order to wake myself up. Then I followed Miss Ku. “Here is where we eat,” she said, “and here is the Comfort station. Here is a wall against which you would dash your brains if you had any. Now note its position for I shall not repeat myself!” She went on, “Here is a door, it leads to a small garden with a garage at the end and the road beyond that.” She led me through the house and jumped on to a window ledge in the Guv's bedroom. “Gee! Feef!” she exclaimed, “There is a sun porch outside, and then a big lawn and beyond that the sea. The sea is frozen.” “Don't be such a dope, Ku," said the Guv lifting me to his shoulder, "Come on, Ku,” he called, moving to the other door. Opening it, he carried me through, and Miss Ku rushed past to be ‘out first.’ “That is not the sea,” said the Guv, “it is Lake St. Clair, and when the weather is warmer you can both go out and play on the grass.”

It was a strange kind of house, a grating in the ceiling of each downstair room allowed hot air to go to the room above. Miss Ku LOVED to sit in an upstair bedroom right on a grating, and watch what was going on in the kitchen below. She got extra heat from that rising from the kitchen stove, but it had the great attraction of enabling her to know all that was going on, in the kitchen, tradesmen at the door, and what was being said in the Guv's bedroom.

A few days after we arrived in Canada it was Christmas. It was quiet indeed, we knew no one at all, and during the whole of what was for others “the Festivities” we saw no other person, nor spoke to anyone. The weather was bitter, with constant snowfalls, and the surface of the Lake was a solid sheet of ice upon which ice yachts sped. I thought of the other years and of other Christmases. Mme. Diplomat had been an ardent Catholic, and “Noel” had meant much to her. The LAST Christmas, I recalled, I had been shut up in that dark old shed, shut up for the whole of the day after, too. Because of the celebrations they had forgotten all about me. THIS Christmas was truly the happiest ever, because I could look back along the years and know that now I was truly wanted, and know that no longer would I be lonely or forgotten, or hungry. In my “Mme. Diplomat” days I remained hidden as much as possible. Now, if I am missing for even a few minutes someone says, “Where is Feef? Is she all right?” and a search is immediately instituted. NOW I have learned that I am wanted, so I keep in sight, or make my presence known as soon as my name is mentioned. Food too is regular; the Guv says I eat one meal a day—all day! He does not believe in feeding animals just once a day. He thinks that we have sense enough to know when we have had enough. Consequently Miss Ku and I always have food and drink available, day and night.

Christmas was past, and we were feeling the remoteness of our rented home from the shops. No bus passed our door, and the city was about fifteen miles away. The only way to get anywhere was by taxi. Delivery men came to the door, bringing milk, meat and bread, but there was no real CHOICE. The Guv decided to buy a car. “We will get an old one first,” he said, “and when we get used to the wild Canadian drivers we will get a better one.” One thing that impressed the Guv was the utter lack of courtesy on the roads. As he often said, the Americans were probably the world's worst drivers, with the Canadians a very close second. As the Guv has driven in some sixty countries he should know something about it.

The taxi drew up at the door and the driver hooted. The Guv went out. Miss Ku called after him, “Get a good car, Guv, don't let them swindle you!” I heard the taxi door slam and the sound of a car driving off. “Hope he gets a good one,” said Miss Ku, “I LOVE car driving, I simply can’t wait to get out in it.” It was perfectly true, Miss Ku would ride anywhere at any time and she loved speed. I dislike car riding unless I can go at not more than twenty miles an hour. There is no fun in speed when one is blind. Miss Ku prefers to race along the highway going at least the maximum allowed by the law. The morning passed slowly, we cats fretting at being without the Guv and Ma. Miss Ku's ears went up, “They are coming, Feef,” she said; I listened, and then I heard it. Unfortunately it was a taxi returning! Buttercup ran down the stairs and hurried to the door. Miss Ku jumped on the window ledge and uttered an exclamation of disgust. “They have come back by taxi, they haven't bought a car!” she said, irritably.

Buttercup opened the door, “Well? How did you get on?” she asked. Miss Ku yelled, “QUEEK! QUEEK! Spill the beans, GIVE! What happened?” “Well,” said the Guv, “we saw a car which appeared to be very suitable. It is an old Monarch. The firm are going to send it out here so that we can try it for the day. If we like it we pay for it and keep it.” Miss Ku turned and raced up the stairs, her tail fluffed with joy. “I'll go up and keep watch through the bathroom window,” she shouted. The Guv and Ma told Buttercup and me all that had happened. We were just going to have a cup of tea when Miss Ku shouted, “It is coming, two cars, YIPPEE!” I could hear her doing a little dance of joy in the room above. The Guv and Ma went out and Miss Ku got in a fever of impatience, rushing around like a cat who had just had her kittens taken from her. “Golly! Golly!” she breathed, “What CAN they be doing?” Buttercup could not bear the suspense either. Putting on her thickest coat she dashed out. Miss Ku emitted an ear-splitting yowl, “I can see it, Feef! It is green and as big as a bus!” The Family came in just in time to save Miss Ku from bursting with frustration. The Guv looked at her, then picked her up and said, “So you want to see the car, eh? Do you want to come, Feef?” “No thank you,” said I, “just leave me here where it is safe!” The Guv, carrying Miss Ku, and Buttercup—well wrapped up—went out into the cold air. I heard the sound of an engine. Ma rubbed my head and said, “You will be able to go for rides, now, Feef.”

Half an hour later they came back. Miss Ku was bubbling with excitement. “Wonderful WONDERFUL!” she yelled at me. “I went to Tecumseh.” “Miss Ku,” I said, “you will throw a fit if you go on like that. Why not sit here and tell me all about it, I can't follow you when you stutter and stammer with excitement.” For a moment I thought she was going to be angry, then she came across and sat by the space heater. Folding her hands primly, she said, “Well, it was like this Feef. The Old Man carried me out and put me on the back seat. He got in the driving seat, and there was plenty of room for him—you know what a lot of room he takes. Buttercup sat in the front passenger seat and the Guv started the engine. Oh! I must tell you this; the car is green and is an automatic, whatever that means, and there is room for all of us and two others. The Guv drove slowly, he is too law abiding—I told him so, and he said wait until we have paid for the thing. And they are going to drive over and pay the money this afternoon and then we can go fast. So we drove to Tecumseh and then we came back, so here we are!” She paused a moment while she combed the end of her tail, and said, “You should see it, Feef! Oh! I forgot you are blind, well, you should get your behind on those seats. Be-U-tiful!” I smiled to myself, Miss Ku was really thrilled by the car. I was thrilled to know that now the Guv would be able to get out a little. “Feef!” said Miss Ku, “The car is WARM, Gee! You could fry eggs in it if you wanted to.”

Lunch was soon over, then the Guv and Ma got ready to go out. “We shan't be long, said Ma, “we are just going to pay for the car and get some groceries. We'll give you a ride when we come back.” “I wouldn't want to go out Miss Ku” I said, “I am not fond of cars.” “Oh! you are a silly old woman cat!” said Miss Ku. She sat up and went thoroughly into her toilet, ears, back of her neck, whole body, and right on to the tip of her tail. “I have to make a good impression on the new car,” she explained, “or it may not run well if it dislikes me.” Surprisingly quickly the Guv and Ma came back. I was delighted to hear the rustle of brown paper and thus to know that a fresh supply of food had been laid in. One of my phobias, since my starvation days, was a fear of being without food. My common sense told me that it was a foolish fear, but phobias are not easy to dispel. An even greater phobia, although my common sense told me that I had no need to worry, was that someone would try to lift me by the fur at the back of my neck. This is such an evil practice that I am going to write a few lines about it. After all, if we cats do not tell people of our problems, then people will not know of them!

When I was about to have my third set of babies, Pierre, the French Gardener who was employed by Mme. Diplomat, suddenly picked me up by my neck fur. The pain on my neck muscles was very great indeed, and my babies just fell out of me and were killed on the stone pathway. The sudden shock harmed me internally. Mister the Veterinarian was summoned and he had to pack part of me with something to staunch the blood. “You have lost me five kittens! Pierre!” said Mme. Diplomat angrily. “I should deduct it from your wages.” “But Madame,” whined Pierre, “I was most careful, I lifted her by the scruff of her neck, she must be a sickly creature, there is ALWAYS something wrong with her.” Mister the Veterinarian was red faced with anger, “This cat is being ruined!” he shouted, “Adult cats should NEVER be lifted by their fur, only FOOLS would treat expensive animals so!” Mme. Diplomat was furious at the loss of money which the death of my children had caused, at the same time she was a little puzzled; “But Monsieur,” she said, “Mother cats CARRY their kittens by the fur of their necks, what is wrong with that?” “Yes! Yes! Madame,” replied Mister the Veterinarian, “but the Mother cat carries her children thus when they are only days old. When the kittens are DAYS old they are so light that no harm at all is caused. Adult cats should always be lifted so that the weight is taken by the chest and the back legs. Otherwise a cat may be harmed internally.”

I am a silly Old Woman Cat, but I am afraid of being picked up by anyone except my Family. The Guv WON'T LET any stranger pick me up, anyway, so what am I worrying about? He picks me up better than anyone else, and this is how he does it—the correct way. He puts his left hand under my chest, between my forelegs where they join the body. His right hand supports either the front of my thighs, or he allows me to stand with my back legs on his right hand. When holding a nervous or strange cat, one should always have the right hand supporting the front of the thighs, then the cat cannot kick or leap away, and it is the most painless way of holding cats. People have said to the Guv, “Oh, I always pick them up by the back of the neck as some cat books say!” Well, no matter what “some cats books say,” we, the cats, know what we prefer, and now YOU know too! So PLEASE, if you love us cats, if you want to spare us pain or injury, lift us as described above. How would YOU like to be lifted by the back of YOUR neck, or by your hair? We HATE it!

Nor do we like to have silly “Puss Puss” talk. We understand ANY language if the person will think what he or she is saying. Baby talk irritates us and makes us wholly uncooperative. We have brains and know how to use them. One of the many things that amazes us about humans is that they are so sure we are merely “dumb animals”, so sure that there is no other form of sentient life than humans, so sure that there CANNOT be life on other worlds, for humans believe most strongly that they are the highest form of evolution! Let me tell you something; we do not speak English, nor French, nor Chinese, not so far as the sounds go, but we understand those languages. We converse by thought. We “understand” by thought. So did humans before . . . yes, before they were treacherous to the animal world and so LOST the power of thought reading! We do not use “reason” (as such) we have no frontal lobes; we KNOW by intuition. The answers “come” to us without us having to work out the problems. Humans use a telephone in order to speak over a distance. They have to know a “number”. We cats when we know the “number” of the cat to whom we desire to speak, can send our messages over hundreds of miles by telepathy. Very rarely can humans understand our telepathic messages. Ma can sometimes. The Guv can always. Well, as Miss Ku has just reminded me, this is a long way from writing about our first car in Canada. But I still say, with all respect to Miss Ku, that it is good to get a cat's opinion on the best way to lift and treat—a cat.

On the following morning the mailman brought letters, heaps of letters. The Guv looked at the envelopes and I heard the sound of paper being slit. There was a rustling as the Guv drew a letter from its envelope, then silence for a moment while he read. “Oh!” he said, “these Canadians are savage! Here is a letter from the Ministry of Health, telling me that if I do not report forthwith I am liable to be DEPORTED!” Ma took the letter and read it herself. “First time they have written to you, wonder why they write in such a nasty way?” she said. “I don't know,” replied the Guv, “all I know is that I bitterly regret coming to this awful country!” He went on to read other letters. “One here from Customs saying that our goods—the things sent by sea—have arrived and someone has to go to Customs about it. That's in Ouellette.” “I'll go,” said Ma, bustling off to get ready.

Just in time for lunch, Ma returned. “I don't know why these Canadian officials are so unpleasant,” she said as she came in. “They tried to make trouble because of the typewriters. They said that if we wanted an electric typewriter it should have been bought in Canada. I told them it was bought BEFORE we even thought on coming to this country. It is all settled now, but they were very unpleasant!” She sat down and we had lunch.

“Who wants a ride?” asked the Guv. “ME!” yelled Miss Ku rushing to the door. “I'll stay home and keep Fifi company,” said Ma. The Guv, Miss Ku, and Buttercup went out and I heard the garage door being opened and the car started. “There they go, Feef,” said Ma, running her hand up and down my spine. “They are going to look round Windsor.” We pottered around, I helped Ma make the beds, I would run up and down on the sheets and it would straighten them out fine. We had to deal with tradesmen at the door, the bread man and the milkman and someone who came to ask the name of the landlord. Cars were rushing about outside, I never could understand why everyone traveled around so.

An hour or so later the Guv drove back. Buttercup carried in Miss Ku so that her feet should not get cold on the snow. The Guv locked the garage and came in for tea. “Not like beautiful Dublin, Feef,” said Miss Ku, “Windsor is a very small city, and all the men seem to smoke strong cigars and say ‘waal I guess.’ We went down a street and I thought there were big skyscrapers in the street. When we got to the bottom I saw a river and the big buildings were in Detroit.”

“The man has brought our cases from the Customs,” said Ma. Slowly the various cases were carried in. Cases of clothing, cases of books, a tape recorder, and the big electric typewriter. Throughout the rest of the afternoon we were busy unpacking. Miss Ku and I did our share by examining everything and by raking out clothes and paper. The Guv opened the great packing case containing the typewriter. “It saved a lot of time,” he said, “having the motor changed to the Canadian voltage. Now we can start another book without delay.” Stooping, he picked the machine off the floor and set it on a table. Inserting a sheet of paper, and plugging the cable into a power socket, he sat down to type. The machine spluttered and jerked. The Guv became crosser and crosser. Getting up, he went to the electric meter board and read “115 volts 60 cycles.” Going back to the typewriter and turning it upside down, he read “115 volts 50 cycles.” “Rab!” he called, “they have fixed the wrong motor on this machine. It can't be used!” “Let's ring up the makers,” said Ma, “they have a place in Windsor.” WEEKS later we found that the makers were not interested nor would they make any allowance on a trade-in, nor would they sell the machine. At last the Guv just traded in the machine for an ordinary portable of a different maker, and through a different firm. Buttercup uses that machine. The Guv uses the same old Olympia Portable on which he wrote “The Third Eye”, “Doctor from Lhasa”, “The Rampa Story”, and is now typing my book for me.

One day Ma and Buttercup went into Windsor to buy some peat moss for Miss Ku and me. As soon as they returned Miss Ku said, darkly, “There is something in the wind, Feef, you mark my words! Buttercup is out of herself. There is something in the wind!” She nodded her head sagely and wandered off, muttering beneath her breath. “Sheelagh has seen a monkey!” said Ma. The Guv sighed, “Surely she has seen plenty of them before?” he said. “Hey, Feef!” whispered Miss Ku, rushing back to me, “THAT is why she smells so strange, she has been near a monkey. Holy Tomcats! One never knows what that young woman is going to do next!” “How would you like to have a monkey in the house?” Ma asked the Guv. “Good Grief!” he retorted, “don't I live with you two now?” “No, seriously,” said Ma, “Sheelagh wants a monkey!” “Buttercup, Buttercup, oh! Buttercup, what have you done now?” asked Miss Ku. “Feef!” she whispered “The Old Man's taken a blow over this, A MONKEY! What next will she want?”

The Guv was sitting on a chair, I went over to him and rubbed my head against his leg to show that I sympathised with him. He ruffled my fur and turned to Buttercup. “What is it all about, anyhow?” he asked her. “Well,” she said, “we went in to get the peat moss and there was this monkey sitting mournfully on the bottom of a cage. He's SWEET! I asked the man to let me see him and it seems that he has cage paralysis from being confined too long. But he will soon recover if we have him,” she added quickly. “Well, I can't stop you,” said the Guv, “if you want a monkey, go and get it. They are messy things, though.” “Oh! Do come and look at him,” said Buttercup, excitedly. “He's SWEET!” Sighing so deeply that I heard his buttons creak, the Guv stood up. “Come on, then,” he said, “or we shall be in the evening rush of traffic.” Buttercup raced around in a flurry of excitement, rushed up the stairs, and rushed down again. Miss Ku laughed to herself as they went out. “You should see the Guv's face!” she said.

That is one thing I WOULD like to do, see the Guv's face. I know he is bald, bearded, and big, Miss Ku describes people for me—and does it well—but there is nothing that can take the place of actually seeing. We blind people do develop a “sense” though, we form a sort of mental image of what a person looks like. We can feel a person's face, sniff them, and tell much from their hand-touch and from their voice. But a person's colouring, that is quite beyond us.

We wandered round, half our minds on the house, and the tea which was being prepared, and the other half on the Guv and Buttercup, wondering whatever they would bring back. “I lived for several days in a monkey cage, Miss Ku,” I said by way of making conversation. “Huh? Well, they should have kept you there, I guess!” said Miss Ku. “Monkeys? Who wants monkeys?” she went on in an aggrieved tone. We sat and waited. Ma had the tea ready and then she sat by us and probably thought of monkeys too! “I'm going upstairs to look out of the bathroom window,” said Miss Ku, “I'll give you the wire as soon as I see anything,” she added as she turned and ran lightly up the stairs. A boy came to the door bringing the evening paper. Ma went and fetched it from the rack and came in to scan the headlines. Not a sound from Miss Ku, ensconced in the bathroom window. We waited.