Are you ready to escape into story time? Listen to a classic A Letter From A Cat fairy tale (not a Disney version). Check out our other classic fairy tale video stories on EscapeIntoStoryTime!
A LETTER FROM A CAT
Helen Hunt Jackson
I do not feel wholly sure that my Pussy wrote
these letters herself. They always came inside the
letters, written to me by my mamma, or other
friends, and I never caught Pussy writing at any
time when I was at home; but the printing was
pretty bad, and they were signed by Pussy’s name;
and my mamma always looked very mysterious
when I asked about them, as if there were some
very great secret about it all; so that until I grew
to be a big girl, I never doubted but that Pussy
printed them all alone by herself, after dark.
They were written when I was a very little girl,
and was away from home with my father on a jour-
ney. We made this journey in our own carriage,
and it was one of the pleasantest things that ever
happened to me. My clothes and my father’s were
packed in a little leather valise which was hung
by straps underneath the carriage, and went swing-
ing, swinging, back and forth, as the wheels went
round. My father and I used to walk up all the
steep hills, because old Charley, our horse, was
not very strong; and I kept my eyes on that valise
all the while I was walking behind the carriage;
it seemed to me the most unsafe way to carry a
valise, and I wished very much that my best dress
had been put in a bundle that I could carry in my
lap. This was the only drawback to the pleasure
of my journey — my fear that the valise would fall
off when we did not know it, and be left in the
road, and then I should not have anything nice
to wear when I reached my aunt’s house. But
the valise went through all safe, and I had the
satisfaction of wearing my best dress every after-
noon while I stayed; and I was foolish enough to
think a great deal of this.
On the fourth day after our arrival came a letter
from my mamma, giving me a great many direc-
tions how to behave, and enclosing this first letter
from Pussy. I carried both letters in my apron
pocket all the time. They were the first letters
I ever had received, and I was very proud of them.
I showed them to everybody, and everybody laughed
hard at Pussy’s, and asked me if I believed that
Pussy printed it herself. I thought perhaps my
mamma held her paw, with the pen in it, as she
had sometimes held my hand for me, and guided
my pen to write a few words. I asked papa to
please ask mamma, in his letter, if that were
the way Pussy did it; but when his next letter
from mamma came, he read me this sentence out
of it: “Tell Helen I did not hold Pussy’s paw to
write that letter.” So then I felt sure Pussy did
it herself; and as I told you, I had grown up to
be quite a big girl before I began to doubt it. You
see I thought my Pussy such a wonderful Pussy
that nothing was too remarkable for her to do.
I knew very well that cats generally did not know
how to read or write; but I thought there had
never been such a cat in the world as this Pussy
of mine.
She was a little kitten when I first had her; but
she grew fast, and was very soon bigger than I
wanted her to be. I wanted her to stay little. Her
fur was a beautiful dark gray color, and there were
black stripes on her sides, like the stripes on a tiger.
Her eyes were very big, and her ears unusually
long and pointed. This made her look like a fox;
and she was so bright and mischievous that some
people thought she must be part fox. She used
to do one thing that I never heard of any other
cat’s doing: she used to play hide-and-seek. And
the most wonderful part of it was, that she took
it up of her own accord. As soon as she heard me
shut the gate in the yard at noon, when school
was done, she would run up the stairs as hard as
she could go, and take her place at the top, where
she could just peep through the banisters. When
I opened the door, she would give a funny little
mew, something like the mew cats make when they
call their kittens. Then as soon as I stepped on
the first stair to come up to her, she would race
away at the top of her speed, and hide under a
bed; and when I reached the room, there would
be no Pussy to be seen. If I called her, she would
come out from under the bed; but if I left the
room, and went down stairs without speaking,
in less than a minute she would fly back to her
post at the head of the stairs, and call again with
the peculiar mew. As soon as I appeared, off she
would run, and hide under the bed as before. Some-
times she would do this three or four times. It
was odd, though, she never would do it twice, when
other people were watching. When I called her,
and she came out from under the bed, if there were
strangers looking on, she would walk straight to
me in the demurest manner, as if it were a pure
accident that she happened to be under that bed;
and no matter what I did or said, her froHc was
over for that day.
She used to follow me, just like a little dog
wherever I went. She followed me to school every
day, and we had great difficulty on Sundays to
keep her from following us to church.
Here is Kitty’s first letter.
My dear Helen:
That is what your mother calls you, I know,
for I jumped up on her writing-table just now, and
looked, while she was out of the room; and I am
sure I have as much right to call you so as she
has, for if you were my own little kitty, and looked
just like me, I could not love you any more than
I do. How many good naps I have had in your
lap! and how many nice bits of meat you have
saved for me out of your own dinner! Oh, FU
never let a rat, or a mouse, touch any thing of
yours so long as I live.
I felt very unhappy after you drove off yesterday,
and did not know what to do with myself. I went
into the barn, and thought I would take a nap on
the hay, but it seemed so lonely without old Charley
stamping in his stall that I could not bear it; so
I went into the garden, and lay down under the
damask rose-bush. Now that your dear mother
has taught me to print, I shall be able to say a
great many things to you which I have often been
unhappy about because I could not make you
understand. I am entirely discouraged about learn-
ing to speak the English language, and I do not
think anybody takes much trouble to learn ours;
so we cats are confined entirely to the society of
each other, which prevents our knowing so much
as we might. When you are at home I do not mind
it, for although I cannot talk to you, I understand
every word that you say to me, and we have such
good plays together with the red ball. That is
put away now in the bottom drawer of the little
workstand in the sitting-room. When your mother
put it in, she turned round to me, and said, *Toor
pussy, no more good plays for you till Helen comes
home!” and I thought I should certainly cry. But
I think it is very foolish to cry over what cannot
be helped, so I pretended to have got something
into my left eye, and rubbed it with my paw. It
is very seldom that I cry over any thing, unless
it is “spilt milk.” I must confess, I have often
cried when that has happened; and it always is
happening to cats* milk. They put it into old
broken things that tip over at the least knock,
and then they set them just where they are sure to
be most in the way. Many*s the time Josiah has
knocked over that blue saucer of mine, in the shed,
and when you have thought that I had a nice
breakfast of milk, I had nothing in the world but
flies, which are not good for much more than just
a little sort of relish. I am so glad of a chance
to tell you about this, because I know when you
come home you will get a better dish for me.
I hope you found the horse-chestnuts which I
put in the bottom of the carriage for you. I could
not think of anything else to put in, which would
remind you of me; but I am afraid you will never
think that it was I who put them there, and it
will be too bad if you don’t, for I had a dreadful
time climbing up over the dasher with them.
There are three beautiful dandelions out on the
terrace, but I don’t suppose they will keep till you
come home. A man has been doing something to
your garden, but though I watched him very closely
all the time, I could not make out what he was
about. I am afraid it is something you will not
like; but if I find out more about it, I will tell
you in my next letter. Good -by.
Your affectionate
Pussy.
