Free Thomasina - The Cat Who Thought She Was God by Paul Gallico Page A

only when nobody was about or they wouldn’t have been secret any more. These escape routes are the first things we work out in whatever house we find ourselves living. People actually believe they can shut us up. Well, there are few places or houses we cannot get out of if we really want to do so.
    I liked to be about early in the morning to see the sun come up, to attend to eliminations, have a quiet once-over-lightly wash to get my fur looking presentable, inspect things on our lane, and exchange a bit of gossip with friends and neighbors sitting on their doorsteps or engaged upon similar errands. This was one of the pleasantest hours of the day and I used to look forward to it. It was wonderful to be free and with no people about. Yet I always managed to be back before Mary Ruadh awakened.
    But not that day. I opened my eyes at the usual hour when the curtains drawn over the windows turned from black to gray, tried to stretch, and discovered that I was unable to move my legs. Such a thing had never happened to me before. I was so frightened I simply lay there trembling from head to tail.
    I thought perhaps it might be a bad dream, for we have them quite often, dreadful ones in which we are being chased and cannot run fast enough, and I lay there quietly for a little, waiting for it to go away. But it didn’t, and as it grew lighter, I realized that there was something wrong with my vision as well. I was unable to see the room or the corner of it, or the window, sharply; objects seemed to be unclear and when I tried to look harder they seemed to vanish. I appeared to be swimming in and out of things.
    The next thing I remembered I was lying in Mary Ruadh’s arms and she was saying, “Sleepyhead Thomasina. I have been awake ever so long and you are still sleeping. Shall I give you a whisper, Thomasina? I love you!”
    I had no time for such sentiments . . . I was sick, sick, sick and for all I knew, might be dying. There was no use my trying to tell Mary Ruadh that something queer had happened to me, that I could not make my legs work and sometimes could not even see her even though I was lying in her arms. Those are the times when people are our despair, so dense, obtuse, and insensitive are they, and unable to understand even our simplest communications. Another cat would have known at once, at the first sight, the first sniff, the first and smallest impulse transmitted from my antennae to hers, that I was dangerously ill.
    The dreadful morning wore on until sometimes I was certain it could only be a nightmare. Mrs. McKenzie came to get Mary Ruadh up, but since the child always carried me about everywhere, I was left to lie there while she was helped to dress; then she came and got me from the bed and carried me into the next room and later lifted me into the dining room and put me on the chair next to hers while she had breakfast and Mrs. McKenzie gossiped with the dustman.
    And when I cried Mary Ruadh only said, “Haven’t you a lot to say this morning, Thomasina, you naughty sleepyhead—”
    At last Mrs. McKenzie finished her interminable chatter, placed my bowl of milk and cereal by the back door in the kitchen, and called, “Come, puss, and get yer porridge—”
    I lay on the chair where Mary Ruadh had last put me, unable to stir except for my head and the tip of my tail. I didn’t want anything to eat. I only wanted them to find out there was something the matter with me and help me. I cried to them as loudly as I could, but not much sound came out. Mary Ruadh said, “Lazy Thomasina! Go and have your breakfast. Oh, very well then, I’ll carry you, you lazy old Thomasina.”
    She picked me up and went with me to the bowl and put me down next it, where I fell over onto my side. I tried washing, but I was not even able to make the proper movements with my head and tongue. Mary Ruadh said, “Thomasina, you MUST drink your milk,” imitating the way Mrs. McKenzie used to say the same thing to her. “If you