by Paul Gallico
`There now,' Jennie said with quiet satisfaction as they went on slowly. `You see? Now we know we have a place to go, just in case. Greetings to you, my dears. Long life and good health to you both.'
These last two remarks were addressed to the two greys with the ring tails and lyre markings on their heads, who sat sunning in the ground-floor window of No. 5 just as they always had when Peter lived in the neighbourhood, washing, blinking, purring, and with their eyes following the people who came and went.
Their reply to Jennie's polite salutation as it came wafted through the window was soft and sleepy and often it was difficult to tell which one was talking.
`I'm Chin.'
`I'm Chilla.'
`We're twins.'
`We're actually Ukrainian.'
`We're never allowed to go out of the house.' `Have you talked to Mr. Black?'
Since this was the first question addressed to them and seemed to emanate from both, Peter took it upon himself to reply and said, `Yes, we have. He was very kind and said we might stay.'
If a sniff can be broadcast, that was what seemed to come over to Peter's and Jennie's whiskers next. 'Hmph! Well! We always say we don't know what this neighbourhood is coming to. It was different when we moved in. Exclusive.'
`Remember, no tipping over of dustbins …' `Strays!!!'
`Long life and good health to you both!' Jennie murmured once more, politely, as they passed out of sight, and then added-,Stupid snobs …!' From No. 5 came the vibrations of low and angry growling.
`Pedigree indeed,' said Jennie. `I'd like to know how far back they go and what their ancestors looked like when mine were gods in Egypt. And where is the Ukraine, anyway?'
`I think it's in Russia,' said Peter, who was not very sure, 'or maybe Turkey.'
`Russians!' Jennie said indignantly. `And they talk about what the neighbourhood is coming to …'
`Long life, good health and much comfort to you,' Peter said as he had been taught, to the ginger cat with light green eyes, squatted behind the iron rail in front of No. 11, with its tail neatly wrapped around it. This he knew was the cat of Mrs. Bobbit, the caretaker. He had seen it there often and had even stroked it. But now he went up and touched noses.
The ginger said, `Well spoken, youngster. It's nice to find somebody left with manners these days. You've been properly taught. Remember, there's nothing quite like manners to get you on in the world. I've been very cross this morning, and would as soon have knocked you ears over tail as not, until you spoke so softly. Wuzzy is the name. I suppose you've seen Mr. Black?'
Jennie told their names. She was nearly bursting with pride at the praise Peter had earned from the ginger-coloured one.
Wuzzy said to Jennie-'Jennie Baldrin, eh? That's Scottish. But there's more to you from the look of you. Good breeding. Egyptian, probably-from your ears. I'm such a mixture nobody can say where it started. Come back and tell me all about you after you're settled …'
`Now THERE,' said Jennie Baldrin firmly, `is one of the nicest cats I've EVER met. I must have a long talk with her,' and she looked so pleased and gay and cheered that Peter was indeed glad that even for just a little he had managed to take her mind off poor Mr. Grims.
As they went on, they were conscious of a soft call from someone above somewhere, giving them greetings, long life and milk with every meal. They looked up to see a tortoiseshell cat ensconced in the bay window of No. i8.
Do stop a minute,' she pleaded. `I'm so bored. You two look as though you've been places. ("Haven't we just," was Peter's thought to himself.) My name's Hedwig. I've got every thing in the world, and I'm very unhappy. I belong to a childless couple.'
'Oh dear,' Jennie sympathized. `That can be just too bad’.
'It is,' said Hedwig, `believe me. Carry me around all day. On my back in their arms just like a baby. And cluck and coo and make noises that I can't make head or tail out of. I've a basket with a blue ribbon, and pillows and scratching-posts and toys, just drawers full of things. And I'm so sick of them all. I used to be pretty handy in an alley myself before they picked me up. If I can get out for a few minutes later. I'll be over to the bombed house. I'm dying to hear how it is on the road.'
`You see,' Jennie remarked to Peter, as they went on towards the top of the square, `it isn't all cream and chopped liver . . .'
They continued and met a stunning, rose-coloured, pedigreed Persian who talked of nothing but show business and Blue Ribbons; a long-haired grey named Mr. Silver who assured them that there was nothing like belonging to a bachelor for the very best kind of life; and three assorted tabbies who lived with the two spinsters said if you didn't mind too much not being allowed up on things, there really was nothing like living with two old maid sisters because nothing ever changed or happened to frighten or worry one.
And in this manner it was that Peter, accompanied by Jennie Baldrin, went all the way around Cavendish Square and made the acquaintance of the friends and neighbours living there and was accepted by them as one of them, as Jennie had wished it, and having been so, he came at last to the street that led to the Mews.
Now, strangely enough, he was no longer in a hurry as he had been before, but paused for a moment at the entrance to the narrow little pocket or blind alley, as it were, that was the Mews. Yet for all of being a cat, and understanding them better than he had ever before, the thought that soon he would be able to see his mother and father made him very happy. He said to Jennie Baldrin, `We did it, Jennie. Here it is. And just down there is our house …'
Jennie's sadness had returned, for she had grown to love Peter very much. She said, `Yes, Peter. And perhaps just down there a little way is where you and I will have to part.'
'Oh, Jennie!' said Peter. 'Jennie dear! Don't you know that whatever happens, I'll never leave you? Never, never, never!'
But Jennie was a better prophet than she knew. Except that it didn't at all turn out as she thought it would, that which awaited them at the tiny, narrow Mews….
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Reunion in Cavendish Mews
And now that they were there at last, Peter found that he did not quite know what to do, or rather, that he really had no plan.
For this was not like a regular visit where you went up to the front door and rang the bell, and when someone came to answer, you sent in your card with a message scribbled on it 'Mr. Peter Brown, late of No. 1A Cavendish Mews, solicits the honour of an interview with his mother and father, Colonel and Mrs. Brown.' Or you didn't even go bursting through the front door, granting that it was off the latch, shouting 'Mummy! Mummy! I'm home. I'm back again. Have you missed me?'
He couldn't even reach the doorknob, much less the bell. He had the shape and form of a large white cat and had lost the power to speak to human beings, though he could understand them, and even had he been able to talk to his mother and father or Nanny, who was afraid of cats to begin with, the idea of trying to persuade them that actually he was Peter to whom something very odd had happened did not seem to him to be very sensible. He might have been able to explain it to someone of his own age without any difficulty, but a grown-up would be more likely to say: `Stuff and nonsense. Small boys don't turn into cats,' and there would be an end of it.
But now that the moment had come he thought it might be nice if they just went and sat in front of the house for a while and looked. Perhaps his father was home and he could see him through the window on the ground floor if the curtain was not drawn, or his mother and Nanny might come in or out of the house and he would have the opportunity to observe that they were well and in good health, and above all to show his mother to Jennie Baldrin. He very much wanted Jennie to see how beautiful his mother was. And that is what he decided to do.
`It's there,' he said, `the little one on the far side of the Mews.' It was easy to point out to Jennie because it was such a small one, no more than two storeys high and rather huddled next to its neighbour, a much larger house of white granite that had been repaired recently, and into
which some new people were to move just about the time whatever it was had happened to him to cause him to be changed into a cat.
Theirs was a pretty house, and had a beautiful black door framed in creamy wood, and on it his father had had fastened a shiny brass plate with his name on it-'Col. A. Brown' because people were always having trouble finding the Mews, much less anyone who lived in it.
Yet now, even before they crossed the street, Peter could see that there was something odd about the door, or rather different, yes, and something wrong with the sitting room window too, giving on to the street, which always boasted of stiff, starched, lacy curtains through which one could just see the pie– crust table on which stood the small bronze statue of Mercury.
Peter saw now what was different. The brass plate was no longer on the door, nor were there any curtains in the window, or any furniture whatsoever in the room, for one could now look right in and see that it was empty. But in the corner of the window was a small white card with some black lettering on it, and what it said was that the premises were vacant and to let, and interested parties should address themselves to Tredgemore and Silkin, in Sackville Street, or inquire of the superintendent. It was quite clear that the Browns had moved away and no longer lived at No. 1A Cavendish Mews, and as to where they had gone there was not one single, solitary clue.
Peter's first reaction was that he was not at all surprised. They always seemed to be moving from one place to another. He remembered that, and it had something to do with his father being in the Army and shifting his station.
His second emotion was one of bleak disappointment. It had not seemed so bad being a cat, particularly after Jennie had found him and taken him under her protection, and their adventures together he had enjoyed thoroughly. But suddenly he became aware that always in the background of his thoughts had been the comforting fact that no matter where he was, or what happened, his parents were there, living in the little flat in the Mews, and when he did think about them he could imagine just what it was they were doing. Above all it held out the promise that he could see them again any time he wished to go back, even though they could not recognize him.
And now they were gone.
Peter sat down in front of the black door and the empty window, and blinked his eyes hard to keep back the tears. Not even washing would have been a solace for the grief he felt. He had been so eager that his new accomplishments might be made manifest and that he would have been able to show his mother and father some of the things that he had learned to do, and let them know that this was no longer the same Peter who had to be held by the hand by Scotch Nanny when crossing the street. He could now go about London quite well, almost by himself. And he had taken a trip to a strange city on a steamship, been chased up a bridge by dogs, he could kill rats and mice and earn his keep and the admiration of a man like Mr. Strachan, the first mate, and altogether he had become a very important person.
He might have been able to control himself, but the quick-witted Jennie, even without being able to read, had guessed what had happened and tried to comfort him. `Oh, Peter,' she said, brushing up close to him, `they've gone away and left you. I'm so sorry. It's just like … well, when my people went away and left me. It must be. I do understand.'
Reminded thus of her own tragedy, Jennie felt on the point of weeping herself, but holding back with an effort she fell to washing his face firmly and lovingly with that sweetly gallant movement of her head which Peter found so touching, and of course this caused him at once to burst into tears.
Even so, he was sorry too for Jennie that she had been reminded of the great tragedy of her life, and so partly to try to recover his own composure, as well as to make known his sympathy for her, he reciprocated by washing her face at the same time she was washing his, with the result that now Jennie also lost control of her emotions. In a moment they were both sitting on the pavement in the Mews, lamenting piteously, seeking relief from their grief in loud, mournful song, and of course doing the one thing against which Mr. Black had warned them, namely, making a noise and disturbing the residents, even though it was broad daylight and not yet two o'clock in the afternoon.
For upstairs on the second floor of the large white granite house next door, a window went up and somebody said, `Oh hush, kitties. Go away. You make me sad.'
Thereupon a head appeared at the window, looking out and down upon the two unhappy cats, an extraordinarily pretty one belonging to a young girl whose long, wavy brown hair, tied with a red ribbon, tumbled down on either side of a fresh and sweet face featuring a tender mouth and soft, endearing brown eyes.
This was what was revealed to Peter as he gazed upwards through his tears, but Jennie saw something else that made her recoil as though she had come face to face with a ghost. She stared at the apparition quite frozen into immobility for as instant with one paw upraised and the strangest expression on her face.
And simultaneously, the soft eyes of the girl went all round and alight with wonder, her mouth formed into an `O' of surprise and momentary disbelief, and then she cried out 'Jennie! Jennie Baldrin! Oh, my darling! Oh wait! Wait! I'm coming to you …'
Then she was gone from the window, and both Peter and Jennie heard the sound of hurried footsteps running down the stairs inside, and before Peter had time to say more than `Jennie, she knew your name, she called you by it,' the door to the street burst open and through it ran the child all flushed and panting and gathered Jennie into her arms and was hugging and kissing her, holding and rocking and crying over her and saying, 'Jennie, my dear, dear DEAR Jennie! Oh it is you. I've found you at last. Or was it you who found ME, you clever, clever cat. My darling, darling Jennie, you do know me, your own Buff, don't you dearest? Oh I must kiss you all over again …'
And there was no doubt that Jennie did know her, for in an instant and with a look of complete bliss and happiness on her face she had draped herself about Buff's shoulders like a long, live, limp fur-piece, and set up a purring louder than any aeroplane motor in the sky.
Now Buff shouted upstairs, as other windows in the Mews began to open and people poked their heads out in curiosity at the noise-'Mummy, Mummy! Jennie's come back to me. She's found me. Mummy, come down and look. I'm sure it is Jennie.'
Thereupon Buff's mother came downstairs, and she turned out to be a tall, sweet-faced woman who resembled Buff, and at the same time, Peter thought with a pang at his heart, resembled his mother too, so that for a moment he was not quite certain which was which, but she had no eyes for him whatsoever, as indeed neither did Buff, and now both fell to hugging and stroking and fondling Jennie, and talking together and to her, and to the nearest heads that were poked out of windows, marvelling, recounting, explaining the miracle of it all and how it had happened in the first place that they had come to lose Jennie three years ago.
But the thing was, of course, that Peter understood every word of what they were saying, and it made his heart swell with joy, because it did prove that they had not abandoned Jennie.
It seemed from what he could piece together that when they moved away from their old home they had had to go to a hotel for a few nights, as the paint in the new place was not yet quite dry. The morning that they were to move in and had planned to come back and call for Jennie Baldrin, Buff had been taken violently ill and had been rushed to the hospital where for three days and three nights her life was despaired of. Doctors and nurses, her mother and father, had watched constantly at her bedside, and in the excitement Jennie was forgotten.
At last, when Buff had been pronounced out of danger and on the road to recovery, Mrs. Penny had remembered Jennie, but more than five days had passed and when she hastened back to the old house it was to find Jennie gone.
Peter felt it was terribly important that Jennie should know this at once, and while all of the excitement and talking and crying was still going on he called up to Jennie, perched high and happily on Buff's shoulder, 'Jenniel I've the best news for you. I've been listening to what they'v
e been saying. They didn't go away and cruelly leave you behind. Buff was taken ill and had to go to a hospital . . .' and as quickly as he could he told her the whole story, and concluded– `I knew that people who really loved cats, and particularly you, couldn't be like that. Aren't you glad about it …?'
Strangely, although she smiled down at him quite happily and dreamily, Jennie did not appear, to be impressed with the story or particularly elated over it, though no doubt she was pleased it had turned out that way, for she said only: `It doesn't really matter to me any more, Peter, what happened, or how, now that I have her back again and she loves me. You see, I could forgive her anything …'
This was a point of view so wholly feminine that Peter found it quite baffling and for a moment felt the forerunner of a real and awful pang of pain and loneliness which he quickly suppressed, for he wanted to entertain nothing but happiness that things had turned out so well for Jennie at last. But what Jennie said next was characteristic of her, and reassuring. She called down to him with that soft, crooning sound that was reserved only for their more intimate exchanges of thoughts, 'Oh, Peter, we're all going to be so happy now. For I know they'll love you just as much.'
But this was a dream that was soon shattered. For, as it turned out, Buff and her mother were hardly even aware of Peter's presence, and when at last the first excitement of greeting and crying over Jennie had begun to calm down, and all the heads that had popped out of windows in the Mews had drawn back inside again, Buff, with Jennie still draped lovingly about her shoulders and with one paw gently caressing her smooth cheek, turned and made her way inside No. 2 Cavendish Mews, the big granite house with the rich-looking vestibule where all of Jennie's troubles were to come to an end, and, quite naturally, Peter followed. But here Buff's mother, seeing a large white stray attempting to get through the door, bent down and gave him a gentle shove out into the street saying, not unkindly, 'No, no, old chap. Sorry, not you. We can't have every cat inside. You run along home now …'
