“Don’t you know?” she said scornfully. “Why, tomorrow is the Cat Show Day, and we are all going. That’s what it is all about.”
Gobbolino was quite excited to hear they were to have a change, for to tell the truth he had grown a little tired of his gilded cage and blue velvet cushion. He was very grateful to the little old man for giving him good food and a comfortable home, but sometimes he dreamed of a shabby rug before the fire, a cracked saucer of skim-milk, and the noisy chatter of children instead of the rows of cages, the proud unfriendly cats, the hours of brushing, and the bony hands of the little old man who poked and prodded him every morning, saying:
“Oh, what a handsome little cat you are! And what beautiful blue eyes you have!”
“But I am very ungrateful!” Gobbolino told himself, sitting upright on his velvet cushion. “For I might still be wandering homeless in the cold, and here I am, well fed and cared for, sitting on a velvet cushion – Gobbolino the show cat!”
Early the next morning the little old man began to take down the cages, one by one, and pile them on to a little cart drawn by a scraggy pony.
Gobbolino’s cage was put on the very top of all; he had a splendid view as they trotted along the countryside towards the show.
The Cat Show was held in the Town Hall, and long before they arrived, Gobbolino could hear the excited mewing of hundreds and hundreds of show cats.
There they were, in hundreds and hundreds of cages lining the Town Hall – big cats, little cats, black cats, white cats, tabby cats, Persian cats, fat cats, thin cats, handsome cats, ugly cats, cats from China, cats from Siam, Manx cats, pet cats, wild cats, tomcats, and last of all the little old man’s cats, and Gobbolino the witch’s kitten with his beautiful blue eyes looking on at it all.
“Oh, my goodness!” he said to himself as he looked at all the cats sitting on velvet cushions of every colour under the rainbow. “Whoever will notice any of us among such splendid company?”
For the little old man had told them he expected them all to win prizes, and especially Gobbolino. He had even threatened, if they did not, to stop their cat’s-meat and to take away their velvet cushions, especially Gobbolino’s. He had promised to cuff all their ears, and to turn them out into the street to look after themselves as best they might, particularly Gobbolino.
The little cat’s heart sank as he saw all the splendid cages and thought of the little old man’s words, for nobody would look at him among such splendid company.
But the other cats sat up proud and bold. They were all certain of winning prizes, whatever Gobbolino might say.
They began to talk to their neighbours, and whispers ran from cage to cage.
“Tell me, madam, who is that black and odd-looking stranger you have brought with you? I don’t think I saw him here last show.”
A silky chinchilla was speaking to the Persian who had been Gobbolino’s neighbour before.
“No, master adopted him lately,” the Persian replied. “We don’t know much about him. To tell you the truth . . .” she began to whisper and Gobbolino could not hear what she said, nor what, in her turn, the chinchilla whispered to her neighbour, till a kind of hiss was running the round of the cages, with a murmuring echo:
“Gobbolino! Gobbolino! Gobbolino!”
Gobbolino took no notice. He did not know why the cats disliked him, or why they should be jealous of him, as the little old man said they were. He felt sure they were all twenty times more handsome than himself. He wished them no harm, and if they chose to whisper about him among themselves, he did not mind.
The judges went round among the cages, looking at the cats, examining and judging.
They went away and came back again, after which the little old man gave each cat a small piece of liver, and went to sleep on a sack behind the cages.
Presently the judges brought round coloured cards and pinned them on the cats.
The Persian had a red one with “First Prize” written on it. The chinchilla opposite had only a blue one: she was so jealous she turned her back and would not look at the Persian till her master took her away.
Some of the other cats had coloured cards as well – red, yellow, and blue ones. The little old man trotted among his cages, well pleased, stroking the heads of his prize-winners and promising them all kinds of good things for supper.
Gobbolino was delighted to see how many prizes they would carry home in the shabby little cart. He had not even noticed that his own cage held no prize-card at all, when the chief judge stood up to announce the name of the champion – the best cat in the show.
It was Gobbolino.
For a moment there was a great silence, and then a murmuring ran through the Town Hall that rose to a hissing. It came from the cages.
The hissing grew to a spitting, and the spitting to a yowling.
In vain the judges tried to quell the noise, in vain the owners rattled on the cages or covered them with rugs – the angry cats yowled on and on, till one great voice arose from every cage announcing:
“But Gobbolino is a witch’s cat!”
The judges turned pale, so did the owners.
The cat-fanciers, who had come to buy, looked at each other in horror, for each of them had been ready to offer the little old man large sums of money for Gobbolino.
The little old man himself, crimson with fury, shook his fist at the judges, and then at Gobbolino, while round and round the cages ran the angry murmur:
“Gobbolino is a witch’s cat!”
“Oh, my goodness!” said Gobbolino, cowering on the blue velvet cushion in a corner of his cage. “Why was I born a witch’s cat, oh why? I don’t want to win prizes!” he sobbed. “I don’t want to be a champion and have people admire me! I only want a friendly home with kindly people, that’s not very much to ask. But oh, my goodness! What is going to happen to me now?”
He was not left long in doubt, for the angry judge turned on the little old man and ordered him to leave the Town Hall immediately. His cats were all disqualified, and especially Gobbolino. The little old man was bundled out into the street with all his cages, and at the last moment the judges sent his prize-cards after him. Perhaps after all, they said, he had not known he was showing a witch’s cat.
But the little old man’s rage was not cooled by saving his prize-cards.
He opened the door of Gobbolino’s cage and dropped him out into the road.
“Miserable creature!” he raged. “Look what trouble you have brought upon me! Why didn’t you tell me you were a witch’s kitten? Be off with you directly and let me never see a whisker of your face again!”
He whipped up the scraggy pony and galloped away in a cloud of dust, with the cats’ cages rocketing and banging, and the cats peering and mocking over their shoulders at Gobbolino.
He was not sorry to see the last of them, or to stretch his paws, which had become very cramped and stiff from sitting so long on a velvet cushion.
He was very sorry to have brought such trouble upon the little old man, but he had not really enjoyed being a show cat, and living in a cage had become very irksome and monotonous.
“I am sure there is a home not far away where I shall be welcome,” thought Gobbolino.
10
Gobbolino at Sea
Gobbolino left the Town Hall far behind him and trotted steadily southward towards the sea.
He passed through towns and villages, past cottages and farmhouses, and small lonely dwellings, but every hearth had its tabby and every farm its brood of sleek mousers. There was no welcome anywhere for Gobbolino.
He kept himself from starving by killing rats in a rickyard, or mice in the hedges. He drank from the streams, where he sometimes caught a little fish, smiling to think of his clumsiness when, as an ignorant kitten, he had fallen into the millrace and nearly drowned himself – oh – ever so long ago it seemed today!
Sometimes he met a passer-by, walking along the road with a bundle on his back, or a stray dog or cat trotting down
the highway on his own business, but they offered little companionship to Gobbolino.
Travellers had no hearth to share with him – they gave him a friendly nod and tramped away. Dogs gave him one look of terror and ran for their lives, yelping madly till they reached their own kennels with their hair standing on end, while cats hissed savagely at him and would not answer the most civil greeting:
“Good morning, sister!”
“Hiss-ss!”
“It is a very fine morning, ma’am!”
“Hiss-ss-ss!”
“Can you tell me the way to the nearest village, my lady?”
“Hiss-ss-ss-ss! Ss!”
So that Gobbolino was lonely enough on his travels, and no wonder that his heart bounded to see the silver, sparkling sea, the ships lying at anchor with brown sails furled, distance making a pattern of their masts, and all the cheerful, busy life of the port.
Gobbolino trotted here and there among the boats, the bustling sailors, the women with their baskets, and the noisy, mischievous children, who were as eager as he to watch everything that was going on.
Nobody took any notice of a little cat, but there was a feeling of companionship in the stir and bustle, and Gobbolino did not hurry away, but sat on the quay in the yellow sunshine watching the ships and the gulls and the sailors on the decks below.
Presently a mouse ran out of a pile of ropes, and with a deft pat of his paw Gobbolino killed it. He was hungry, and his mother Grimalkin had taught him to be a good mouser.
“That was very neatly done, my friend!” said a voice behind him, and there was a pleasant-faced sailor boy standing and watching him with a kindly smile.
“There are plenty of mice on my ship, the Mary Maud!” said the sailor. “And we have no kitten at present. Would you like to come and catch them for us?”
Gobbolino’s blue eyes shone with gratitude and joy.
“Oh, my goodness, my luck has changed at last!” he said to himself, while he thanked the sailor kindly and prepared to go with him. “Here is somebody who really wants me and needs me at last. I am sure I shall be very happy at sea – Gobbolino the sailor cat!”
When Johnnie Tar, the sailor, strode on board his ship, the Mary Maud, with Gobbolino under his arm, he received a great welcome from his mates. The cat was passed from horny hand to horny hand, petted, and made so much of that his heart nearly overflowed with joy.
“What a lucky cat I am!” said Gobbolino. “There was I, two hours ago, homeless, unwanted, unloved, and here I am, fondled and cared for by all the crew, from the captain to the cabin-boy. I have only to kill all the mice in the ship, to show them how grateful I am, and I shall certainly be very happy at sea. Perhaps, after all, I shall end my days on board this good ship Mary Maud!”
And indeed Gobbolino was as happy as any cat could be in the days which followed.
Though his heart sank somewhat when the ship put out to sea, and his beautiful blue eyes filled with tears at the thought of the miles of ocean that now lay between him and the little brothers he had come to love so dearly, yet the life was so free and pleasant, the sailors so kind and merry, and the whole atmosphere so full of goodwill and honest charity, that before many days had passed Gobbolino had come to look on the Mary Maud as his own home, and everyone aboard her as his close companions.
He cleared the ship of mice before she was out of sight of land. Those that he did not destroy jumped overboard in terror at the sound of his paws on the deck above.
“Here comes Gobbolino the mouser!”
He ran a thousand errands for the sailors, and, when there was nothing better to do, shared the watches with the look-out man, or paced the bridge side by side with the Captain, listening to age-old tales of the seven seas. All these he learned by heart so that he could repeat them to the little brothers on the happy day when he would be united with them again.
So they sailed on through sunny oceans, past yellow islands covered with palms, past coral reefs and lagoons so clear that the coloured fishes seemed to be lying on the top of the water watching the Mary Maud as, with her great brown sails spread to catch the breeze, she moved sedately past them on her journey round the world.
Happy, happy life for Gobbolino, who began to forget he had ever been born a witch’s cat.
One fine morning Gobbolino sat in the prow looking out to sea, when a sudden shadow came over the sun, and a ripple of wind sent a hundred catspaws chasing down the calm blue sea.
Gobbolino shivered a little and turned round; sure enough, the shadow of a sea witch was crossing the sun, and although Gobbolino had never seen a sea witch before something told him that she was looking for trouble.
None of the sailors saw her flying up the sky, but they looked uneasily at the horizon.
“The wind is changing!” they muttered and began to reef in the sails.
By nightfall a storm was raging, and the waves were mountains high. The Mary Maud plunged up and down, while the wind shrieked in her rigging, and her timbers creaked and groaned.
The seas rose like pinnacles, curled over, and crashed on the decks, so that twice Gobbolino was only saved by a sailor from being washed overboard, and presently they carried him downstairs and locked him in the bo’sun’s cabin, for none of them wanted to see their pet cat drowned.
It was safe and warm in the cabin and not unpleasant. Gobbolino curled up and went to sleep to the sound of the howling storm, the creaking and groaning of the Mary Maud.
“It will soon be over,” said Gobbolino. “After all, one is bound to meet bad weather at sea, and the sooner I get used to it the better.”
So whenever one of the kindly crew found time to shout through the cabin door:
“Are you there alive and hearty, Gobbolino?”
He answered:
“Ay, ay, mate!” in as cheerful a tone as he could muster and, closing his eyes, tried to imagine himself back in the warm farmhouse, or in the little brothers’ nursery, or even sitting outside the witch’s cave with his sister Sootica, telling each other all that they meant to do when they grew up.
The storm grew louder and fiercer, and the poor ship trembled as each wave struck her. Once there was a tremendous crash as though a mast had fallen on the deck and always there were the shouts of the sailors – too busy now to come and ask Gobbolino if he were still alive and hearty – the wail of the wind and the groan of the weary timbers.
“Oh, my goodness!” said Gobbolino as he was rolled from side to side. “Will it never come to an end, never? Surely when the morning comes the waves will die down, and the sea will be as calm and as beautiful as it was before.”
But the morning came with the storm still raging, and now Gobbolino heard a new noise, the song of the sea witch as she flew round and round the ship:
“I’ll send her down, the Mary Maud,
And every man of her aboard,
For not a sailor here can tell
The way to break a witch’s spell!”
When he heard these words Gobbolino sat up suddenly with his ears a-prick.
An old, old memory had stirred in him with the sea witch’s words.
Long, long ago, as he lay in the gloom of the witch’s cave with his little sister Sootica beside him, their eyes scarcely opened, their paws still pink and flat, he had heard his mother Grimalkin and her mistress, the witch, talking together.
“There is only one way to break a witch’s spell!” the witch had said. “You must pounce on her shadow, stand on her head and cry the words ‘Fiddlesticks to you, ma’am!’ before she whisks her shadow away. No spell is proof against this counter-witchcraft.”
When Gobbolino remembered this advice he grew quite crazy with excitement, and began to mew pitifully at the door, imploring the sailors to let him out.
For a long while nobody heard him, and when they did they quite refused to open the door.
“No, no, Gobbolino, the wind would blow you away, the waves would wash you overboard and the spray drown you. We cannot allow t
hat. Stay where you are, and by and by when the storm is over we will let you out.”
“But I’m so frightened down here!” complained Gobbolino, trying to make his voice sound as piteous as possible.
“It is ten times more frightening up here,” said the sailor.
“I am so cold down here!” said Gobbolino.
“It is ten times colder up here!” said the sailor.
“I am so hungry down here!” sobbed Gobbolino.
“Well, I will see if I can find something for you to eat, if it has not all been washed away,” said the kind-hearted sailor, “but you must wait here like a good cat until I come back again.”
Gobbolino waited. As he listened to the groaning ship and the shriek of the storm that grew ever louder and louder, he thought that every minute the Mary Maud must plunge to the bottom of the sea and be lost.
He could hear the sea witch singing her song over and over again as she circled the ship.
The sailors took her for a seagull, and her song for the cry of a bird, but to Gobbolino, born in a witch’s cave, a witch was always a witch, however she disguised herself, and he trembled to think of what she meant to do to the Mary Maud and all the sailors on board her.
When at last his kind friend returned with a morsel of fish and some milk in a tin, Gobbolino could hardly wait for him to unfasten the door. He slipped between the sailor’s legs as the honest man stooped to lay the food before him, and was up on the deck in a flash.
“The cat has escaped!” the sailors cried who saw him, but the Mary Maud was near her end, and no one could spare a hand from the ropes to grab at Gobbolino.
To his surprise he found they were not far from the shore, but the ship was running fast for a cruel-looking reef of rocks, and once she crashed on these there would be no hope left for her.
The night was gone and it was broad morning, but great clouds covered the sun, and where there was no sun there was no shadow for Gobbolino to jump upon. What is more, the sea witch flew aft the ship, as if she felt the danger of casting her shadow on it, and unless he could coax her nearer at the same time as the sun came out, the Mary Maud and all aboard her would be lost.
Gobbolino the Witch's Cat Page 4
