by Jane Austen
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND KITTIES
A CAT-LOVER’S ROMP THROUGH JANE AUSTEN’S CLASSIC
Jane Austen, Pamela Jane, and Deborah Guyol
Skyhorse Publishing
Copyright © 2013 by Pamela Jane and Deborah Guyol
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without the express written consent of the publisher, except in the case of brief [Excerpt]s in critical reviews or articles. All inquiries should be addressed to Skyhorse Publishing, 307 West 36th Street, 11th Floor, New York, NY 10018.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.
ISBN: 978-1-62087-710-4
e-ISBN: 9781626362277
Printed in China
To the immortal Jane, with love and laughter
—PJ and DG
Volume I
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Volume II
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Volume III
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
About The Authors
Acknowledgments
VOLUME I
What a fine thing it would be for any of our five kittens to catch a rich mouse—I mean spouse.
“NETHERFIELD PARK IS marked at last.”
The news caused much romping at the Bennet household for, as every cat knows, a handsome young tom in possession of his own territory must be in want of a mate.
“What a fine thing it would be for any of our five kittens to catch a rich mouse—I mean spouse,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Really, Mr. Bennet, you must pay a call on Mr. Bingley immediately, before that scheming Lady Lucas pounces on him for her daughter Charlotte.”
What a fine thing it would be for any of our five kittens to catch a rich mouse—I mean spouse.
Mr. Bennet, however, feigned indifference, yawning and proceeding to wash his face.
“I’ll tell you what, my dear,” said he, “why don’t you go yourself? I will send a few lines by you to assure Mr. Bingley of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he chooses of our daughters; though I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy.”
“I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the others; I am sure she has neither Jane’s fluffiness nor Lydia’s animal spirits. But you are always giving her the preference.”
Mr. Bennet steadfastly refused to call on Mr. Bingley, and his wife’s mournful meows could be heard echoing through the halls of Longbourn. She was as nervous as a cat has a right to be about finding her kittens good mates. For, if she did not succeed in marrying her daughters off to rich toms, she would be thrown out to the hedgerows to catch her own supper when Mr. Bennet died.
Poor Mrs. Bennet was a cat of dim perceptions and horrifying hallucinations. The business of her life was to see her kitties well-mated; its solace was visiting and mews.
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.
OBSERVING HIS SECOND daughter attacking a feathered bonnet, Mr. Bennet remarked, “I hope Mr. Bingley will like it, Lizzy.”
“We are not in a way to know what Mr. Bingley likes,” sniffed Mrs. Bennet, “since we are not to visit.”
“But you forget, Mama,” said Elizabeth, “that we shall frolic with him at the assemblies.”
At that moment, Kitty began coughing up a hairball.
Kitty began coughing up a hairball.
“Not another hairball, Kitty, for heaven’s sake!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Have a little compassion on my poor nerves!”
“Kitty has no discretion in her hairballs,” said her father. “She times them ill.”
“When is your next hair ball—I mean ball to be, Lizzy?”
“Tomorrow fortnight.”
Mr. Bennet suggested they return to the subject of Mr. Bingley.
But now poor Mrs. Bennet found herself coughing up a hair-ball. “I am sick of Mr. Bingley!” she gagged.
“I am sorry to hear that; but why did not you tell me before?” replied her husband. “If I had known as much this morning, I certainly would not have called on him. It is very unlucky; but as I have actually paid the visit, we cannot escape the acquaintance now.”
Upon hearing this, Mrs. Bennet frisked and frolicked with abandon; the irksome hairballs were entirely forgotten. Instead, her head was filled with visions of the coming assembly. There, in the ball room, her daughters would meet the alluring Mr. Bingley and, if all went as planned, enjoy the pleasure of chasing the ball (Sir William Lucas had procured a particularly fine one with a bell inside) under the sideboard with him. These hopes and expectations raised Mrs. Bennet’s spirits to a pleasant pitch, for such sport with such a partner promised to answer all her dearest hopes for the happines of at least one of her daughters, and the security of the entire family.
“What an excellent father you have, girls,” said she, when the door was shut. “I do not know how you will ever make him amends for his kindness; or me either for that matter. At our time of life it is not so pleasant, I can tell you, to be making new acquaintances every day; but for your sakes, we would do any thing. Lydia, my love, though you are the youngest, I dare say Mr. B
ingley will dance with you at the next ball.”
THOUGH HE HAD visited Mr. Bingley, Mr. Bennet did not give his family the satisfaction of a description of their new neighbor. Was he long or short-haired, remote or cuddly? Did he sleep on or under the bed? The five Bennet sisters could only speculate on these fascinating questions. But their curiosity would soon be satisfied, for Mr. Bingley would be attending the assembly ball.
“If I can but see one of my kittens happily purring at Nether-field,” said Mrs. Bennet to her husband, “and all the others equally well-mated, I shall have nothing to yowl about.”
Mrs. Bennet invited Mr. Bingley to dine at Longbourn and planned a marvelous meal of mouse tails and spiced mole. But Mr. Bingley, drooling for a big-city rat, ambled off to London without warning. Mrs. Bennet was quite put out. Was he forever to be straying here and there instead of curling up contentedly at Neth-erfield?
When the evening of the ball came, Mr. Bingley arrived with his two sisters: Mrs. Hurst and Miss Caroline Bingley. Also accompanying him was his friend, Mr. Darcy, a handsome cat with an equally handsome fortune of 10,000 mice a year and an extra six lives into the bargain.
“What a catch for our girls!” chirped Mrs. Bennet.
As it turned out, Mr. Darcy was a proud, disdainful cat who looked down on country kitties and growled when Mr. Bingley suggested he ask Elizabeth to prance! Fortunately, Mr. Bingley was more accommodating, for he delighted in the company of country cats and romped spiritedly around the room with Jane. After supper, all the cats, with the exception of the proud Mr. Darcy, played with a handsome ball with a bell inside, and an excellent ball it was!
“Come, Darcy,” said he, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”
“I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room, whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”
“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Mr. Bingley, “for a kingdom! Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty,”
“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” said Mr. Darcy, looking at [Jane], the eldest Miss Bennet.
“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”
“Which do you mean?” and turning round he looked for a moment at Elizabeth, till catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said: “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”
She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me.
JANE WAS WARM in her praise of Mr. Bingley after meeting him at the assembly.
“He is just what a tom cat ought to be,” said she, “and he has his breeding papers, too.”
“He also has street smarts,” said Elizabeth, “since he spends a good part of his time in the sewers—that is, since he spends a good part of the season in town.”
“His sisters are pleasing, too,” said Jane. “Miss Bingley is to keep Netherfield free of mice. What a charming neighbor!”
Miss Bingley is to keep Netherfield free of mice.
Elizabeth said nothing. Privately, she thought the two Bingley sisters proud and conceited. They were of a respectable breeder in the north, a circumstance more deeply impressed on their memories than that their brother’s fortune of 5,000 mice a year had been acquired not by hunting, but by trade!
Between [Bingley] and Darcy there was a very steady friendship, in spite of great opposition of character—Bingley was endeared to Darcy by the easiness, openness, and ductility of his temper, though no disposition could offer a greater contrast to his own, and though with his own he never appeared dissatisfied. On the strength of Darcy’s regard Bingley had the firmest reliance, and of his judgment the highest opinion. In understanding, Darcy was the superior. Bingley was by no means deficient, but Darcy was clever. He was at the same time haughty, reserved, and fastidious, and his manners, though well-bred, were not inviting. In that respect his friend had greatly the advantage. Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared, Darcy was continually giving offense.
WITHIN A SHORT walk of Longbourn lived a family with whom the Bennets were particularly intimate. Sir William Lucas had risen to the honor of cathood and the distinction gave him many airs.
Charlotte Lucas was a close friend of Elizabeth’s, and that the two families would meet to talk over the ball (especially one with a bell inside) was absolutely necessary.
Everyone agreed that Mr. Bingley admired Jane Bennet exceedingly. He had pranced with her twice!
“Still,” said Mrs. Bennet, feigning indifference as she licked her paw, “it may all come to nothing you know.”
Mr. Bingley pranced with Jane twice!
They discussed Mr. Darcy who, everyone agreed, was eaten up by a pride—that is, eat up with pride (for, luckily, no lions had attacked him).
“If I had 10,000 mice a year like Mr. Darcy,” said one of Charlotte’s younger brothers, “I should drink a bottle of cream every day and keep a pack of hounds.”
“Hounds, how horrible!” cried Mrs. Bennet with a shudder. “They would chase you all over the countryside.”
“I should outrun them,” declared the young tom. Mrs. Bennet continued to exclaim over the horror of hounds, and the dispute ended only with the visit.
“[Darcy’s] pride,” said Miss Lucas, “does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man, with family, fortune, everything in his favour, should think highly of himself. If I may so express it, he has a right to be proud.”
“That is very true,” replied Elizabeth, “and I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”
“Pride,” observed Mary, who piqued herself upon the solidity of her reflections, “is a very common failing I believe. By all that I have ever read, I am convinced that it is very common indeed, that human nature is particularly prone to it, and that there are very few of us who do not cherish a feeling of self-complacency on the score of some quality or other, real or imaginary. Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”
THE KITTIES OF Longbourn soon waited on those of Netherfield. The visit was returned in due form. Miss Bennet’s pleasing mannerisms grew on the goodwill of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, though Mrs. Bennet was found to be intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth sniffing. Elizabeth still saw superciliousness in the Bingley sisters’ treatment of everybody, hardly excepting even Jane, and could not like them.
It was generally evident that Mr. Bingley did admire Jane and equally evident that Jane was in a way to be very much in love; but Elizabeth considered with pleasure that Jane was not a demonstrative cat, and her preference was not likely to be discovered by the world in general. She mentioned this to her friend Charlotte Lucas, who only shook her head.
“If a cat conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of securing a home. Who will want to pet and pamper such a cat?” she said. “Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour in which they are playing or napping to command his attention.”
“But Jane has known Bingley only a fortnight,” said Elizabeth. “She romped with him at Meryton and shared a bowl of wet food with him in company four evenings. Those four
evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Purina better than Fancy Feast, but with respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded.”
A few days later, the neighboring cats gathered at Lucas Lodge. Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley’s attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of some interest in the eyes of his pedigreed friend. No sooner had Mr. Darcy made it clear to himself that she hardly had a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her luminous eyes. And, in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of an aristocat, he was caught by their easy playfulness as she chased a ball of yarn under the table.
Elizabeth then proceeded to pounce on the piano and the other cats pranced around the drawing room. Mr. Darcy watched in silence.
“What a charming amusement this is for young cats, Mr. Darcy!” said Sir William Lucas. “I consider prancing as one of the first refinements of polished society.”
“Certainly, sir; and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every alley cat can prance.”
“You have a house in town, I conclude?” asked Sir William. Mr. Darcy yawned.
“I once had some thought of getting fixed in town (by an eminent veterinarian of our acquaintance) so Lady Lucas would not be disturbed by my nightly prowls.”
Soon afterwards, Miss Bingley approached Mr. Darcy.
“Imagine,” said she, “the insipidity, and yet the yowls—the nothingness, and yet the self-importance—of all these country cats! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!” growled Caroline.
Mr. Darcy assured her that his mind was more agreeably engaged in admiring Elizabeth Bennet’s beautiful eyes.
