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

don’t drink your milk, you naughty Thomasina, I shan’t take you to the burn this afternoon to watch the trout with Hughie Stirling.”
    I tell you, it isn’t much fun to be lying at death’s door, AND at the same time be scolded and told you are to be punished . . . For there was nothing I liked so much as to squat among the flowers on the bank of the brook that flowed into the river not far from the ruins of Castle Ardrath and watch the trout lying on the bottom, fanning themselves with their fins.
    I think I could sit and watch them for days. I never caught any. I did not even try to scoop them out with my paw, though I am sure I could have done so had I wished. I was just happy to lie as still as they. Sometimes when one moved away from the sunny shallows and swam into a deeper portion where it would be merely a faint shadow against the bottom, I would get up and follow it and looking down into the clear water, try to make it out. The children would wander off, exploring, but I would just stay there watching the fish. Tears began to roll from my eyes as I thought that I had probably done this for the last time.
    I lay on my side, helpless, no sound coming from my mouth as I tried to call for the help that was not forthcoming.
    At last! Mary Ruadh came over to me and tried to set me on my feet, saying, “Thomasina, you MUST eat your breakfast!” and when I fell over onto my side again she became alarmed and when it happened once more called, “Mrs. McKenzie! Oh, dear Mrs. McKenzie; do you come here at once, please, and see what is wrong with Thomasina. Please, Mrs. McKenzie, do come at once.”
    The housekeeper hurried into the kitchen and knelt at my side. She, too, tried to set me on my feet and when I fell over she said, “Och, Mary, I’m feart oor puss has some unchancy illness. The puir wee thing canna stan’ on her ain fower feet.”
    Mary Ruadh picked me up, half crushing me, crying my name over and over, the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Thomasina—Thomasina—poor Thomasina—!” Like a fool, I purred. I couldn’t help myself. Mrs. McKenzie enveloped us both in her arms and said, “Dinna greet so, lassis, for it’s mair nor his hert can stan’ tae hear ye. Ye maun rin, Mary Ruadh, an’ take Thomasina next door tae yer ain feyther, the doctor, wha’ll nae doot ken goo tae pit richt whitever ails her. He’ll shairly no rail gin ye come there this yince an sae sair an errand.”
    Mary Ruadh ceased her crying at once. The tears stopped as if by magic and she smiled down at me. “Do you hear, Thomasina? We will go to see Daddy and Daddy will make you well again.”
    I must confess I did not share her optimism, and quite frankly I did not relish finding myself in the hands of this great, red brute of a man who could not bear the sight of me, and entrusting what was left of my life to him. But there seemed to be no other choice. Had I been able to walk, I should have crawled away to some hole or corner by myself.
    Mrs. McKenzie led us next door, Mary Ruadh carrying me, and as soon as we entered I smelled the same medicine smell that was always on Mr. MacDhui and it turned me sick and faint.
    I was swimming again, in and out, and I saw blurred, as though looking into the loch when it was stirred by the wind, a room filled with people, some with cats and some with dogs, but I was feeling quite too awful to care much about them. Mary Ruadh sat down on a chair while Mrs. McKenzie explained to Willie Bannock what had happened. I heard Willie say that it was the doctors morning to be away at the farms, but as soon as he returned he would tell him and the best thing for Mary Ruadh to do was bide there.
    Willie Bannock said he did not dare examine me himself, for the doctor would have the rest of his hair off his head if he did, but Mary Ruadh was not to worry, for the doctor was quite the cleverest man in the world where beasties were concerned and would cure me if anyone could. I felt cheered for the