CHAPTER FOUR
THE TRICKSTER
On the top of the mound the kittens are playing, in and out among the old tombstones.
The sun has risen. It shines in long, golden stripes on the stones and lights up the deep, gloomy sepulchre; pools of water glisten, and fields and meadows are already green-white with light.
Big sits on his haunches with a clover stem in his claws. He looks as if he is studying the flower, while at the same time he nips off the leaves one by one with his sharp little teeth. The others watch him, gaping with astonishment.
Suddenly he throws the stalk away and leaps over the heads of the others.... One of the granite stones at that moment reflects the sun and attracts his attention; he can never look at a stone without at once making a dash to reach the other side of it and hide. His disappearance is so provoking that a couple of the others cannot resist jumping up and joining in the game.
They gallop after him, and now they play hide-and-seek round the stones, until Big takes advantage of his long start and climbs into an old empty pail in an adjacent thicket. His playmates run about all over the place looking for him....
Shortly afterwards the jester’s white socks peep over the edge of the pail; a pair of yellow-grey ear-tips follow—and now springs into sight a happy, laughing cat-face!
Black’s claws begin to itch; he wants very much to play, but in his own manner. He has been up to the clover stem and smelt it carefully; he has also taken it between his paws, but thrown it away contemptuously. A plant stem, a mere flower, seems to him quite useless; a thistle, on the contrary, which pricks his nose when he smells it is much more exciting. He can at any rate get angry with it.
Suddenly he sees Red and Big engaged in an angry wrestling match, while White and Grey stalk them from opposite sides.
With a spring he is upon them; flings himself first upon White, turns her head over heels, and then falls upon Grey. In a furry, fighting ball they roll over and over down the hill....
Grey gets on top, and Black suddenly realizes that he is getting the worst of things. He at once brings his hind legs into play and claws his adversary’s stomach and nose mercilessly—in real earnest with naked claws!
Grey wails miserably, and at the sound the whole flock comes rushing forward with joyous recklessness. But Black does not wait for the assault; with doubled-up body and curved tail, he stalks sideways towards them. They expect him to jump, but instead he sticks his claws right into their eyes.
But the battle is too unequal; Black has to retreat hurriedly. He flees to the top of a small aspen, creeps out along one of its upper branches, and from there jumps into the hawthorn thicket encircling the base of the hill. He does not stop even there, but continues his flight through the thicket all the way round the hill. Every thorn that pricks him teases him and fills him with delight. He crawls from branch to branch like a great black caterpillar, while the others, who have long since forgotten all about him, go on with their game.
The rays of the morning sun sweep gleaming over the fields; the barley shines like spun silk, the oats like molten silver, while lake and pond and pit lie like mirrors. The buzzing of flies and the humming of bees rise incessantly into the hot, motionless air; above the burial mound the gnats dance in a swarm. The air is filled with sounds: the sweet trilling of the larks; the snorting of the harnessed horse from the road; the bleating of calves and the rattling of pails from the distant farm....
A halt has been called in the game; the tired kittens are resting.... Grey and Red, who had got the worst knocks, sulk together with their tails encircling their little round behinds.
Then Big Puss gets up.... The others half raise their sleepy eyelids; what on earth is he going to do now?
With the side of his paw he begins softly patting a little lump on the ground; the loose mould slides forward and the bump collapses.
At this he goes suddenly mad with excitement. Holding his forepaws stiffly in front of him, he leaps forward, like a monkey on a stick, in a series of jumps, at each plunge pushing up a little mouse-grey cushion of sand, which he simultaneously flings behind him with the backward sweep of his paws.
His brothers and sisters are now thoroughly roused; their eyes, which but a short time before were dull and bored, shine eagerly, their curled-up backs straighten out, and their paws are held stick-like in front of them, ready for the new, fascinating game.
He really is an Edison-cat, is Big Puss! There they had all been sitting bored to death, and now ... now he comes and makes grey mice spring up out of the ground and then disappear again! They must try the new game at once....
The next moment the six little splashes of colour are again rushing round like mad.... Even Black has jumped down from his branch to the ground, where he is soon busily engaged in crouching and leaping, creating and destroying the new little, maddening, earth-born mice. A splendid game for little pussy-cats!
The midday sun pours its hot breath down upon the earth; the air quivers out there above the fields as if boiling. The sand and stones are burning hot....
But the grass shines smilingly back at the sun, and the rye bursts into flower.
The kittens lift their heads as they hear a rustling in the corn: along the secret path which has gradually formed itself, Grey Puss returns home with her catch.
Not chicken for dinner to-day, but—herring! The fishmonger’s cart upset last night at the turn of the road, and dropped a box of splendid fresh herrings. Grey Puss, who had stuffed herself to bursting-point on the spot and dug down half a score besides, appears now with a couple hanging out of her mouth.
At first this new kind of food is greeted with contempt; it is cold and slimy—and doesn’t smell! But when the mother starts munching, the young ones soon follow her example, and join in the feast.
Delicious food! After the first taste each of them grabs a big lump; even Tiny, who has never taken kindly to solid diet, displays unusual eagerness. He devours not only his own share, but in addition, is foolhardy enough to covet some of Black’s.
Then, for the first time in his sheltered life, the little kitten sees the furious, grinning face, and the flattened, pressed-back ears, of an angry cat. And when, in spite of these, he continues innocently to reach in under the head, and is even lucky enough to pull out a piece of herring, down flashes a vicious forepaw, and he feels the scratch of a sharp, curved claw upon his tender nose.
Tears of pain spring to his eyes as he recoils, mewing piteously; while Black resumes his meal, emitting at intervals weird, muffled noises like threatening thunder.
THE LID OF THE WELL
As soon as the after-dinner siesta was at an end, Grey Puss, contrary to custom, called her kittens together with soft, alluring miauws, and took them for the first time along the secret, winding path she had trodden through the corn.
In the baking sunshine, while the countryside was enjoying its Sabbath-day’s rest from toil, she led them out to a large, sweet-smelling haystack. Farther they were not allowed to follow her.
She placed them in a hollow, which she made deep and roomy, at the foot of the stack. It was as if she understood that they needed to see something fresh and for a time get right away from their gloomy grave-home. They spent the afternoon lying together in the sweet yielding hay.... Presently the babies fell asleep, and Grey Puss stole away.
Oh, the luxury of lying at rest on a summer day, dozing in the soft, warm breeze as it sighs between hill and dale; to escape for once from one’s tail and the never-ceasing crawling of one’s paws; to float body and soul along a broad, shining river of light and not know a single want or care!
The whisper of the reeds from the pond, the song of the larks from the heavens, the whistle of the wild chervil stems, and the rustle of the osier leaves, unite in a hymn of peace, caressing and soothing the slumberers’ ears—until the booming of a passing bee calls them back to consciousness for two long, drowsy seconds....
“Ears—must you hear? Eyes—must you see? Nose—must you smell?”
“No, no—just rest, slumber, sleep....”
The fluff of the dandelion floats slowly past; over them chases the swift, scythe-winged swallow; while the lark’s eternal, monotonous song slowly mends the thread broken by the kittens when they fell asleep.
They wake; glide imperceptibly from the far into the near; yawn and stretch each limb; and finally open their eyes, saturated with the sweetness of that kind of repose which urges instant action.
The heat of the sun toasts them until their fur sparkles.... They get up and look at once for something to do.
Not far from the stack was a large liquid-manure well with a rotten, worm-eaten lid.
In places the lid dipped dangerously; it was a wretched bridge over a dangerous well—but it could bear a little kitten’s weight, surely?
Flies gathered in masses on the sun-baked lid, forming black, restless shadows on its tarred-felt covering. Big-kitten saw at once that they offered sport. And he soon found it just as nice to eat them as it was exciting to catch them.
He had not been at it long before the others followed suit. But no one could compete with him in accuracy; he displayed at once the master hand....
Sitting quietly on his tail, he brought down his paw with unerring accuracy, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, upon every fly that ventured within range.
White, wishing to emulate his performance, came and sat beside him; but before very long had to acknowledge that the new game was more difficult than it appeared.
She then tried crawling on her belly in pursuit of the restless creatures, and managed indeed to approach quite near to them; but each time she made her spring they flew away too soon.
Grey and Red were more fortunate. Each one took up a position on the lid, and with raised paw waited until the fly of its own accord came within striking distance. In this way they managed to catch a few flies, but far from all; Red was especially erratic, and missed two or three shots out of every four.
Black, on the other hand, after a little practise, proved himself an excellent shot; but, unhappily, he struck with such violence that the victim was smashed into a black spot, the edible fragments of which were buried in the tar.
Fly-catching did not interest Tiny. He hopped and jumped in happy ignorance on the yielding well-cover, playing prettily with his own tail. He also derived much pleasure from a rickety old hoisting-apparatus, climbing gaily up and down the disused pump-spear.
Round the rotten cover grew a border of sweet-smelling wild camomile, in the midst of which stuck up a few stray blades of rye. An occasional bee or butterfly, attracted by the scent, settled on the odorous blooms.
When a little pearl-winged “Blue-bird” appeared dancing above them, the kittens all deserted their fly-catching and with one accord sprang high in the air after it.
On this occasion Black disappeared abruptly and mysteriously into the bowels of the earth! A little dust from the broken board rose in the air behind him.
The others continued the chase, and Big-kitten succeeded in capturing the butterfly; he was lucky enough to clap his paws upon it as he clutched wildly in the air. In the silence following the capture, it was carefully and thoroughly investigated. The wings came off, and the body came in two ... and Big, in his scientific ardour, even tried to find out what was inside!
They missed Black occasionally; but after all, there was plenty without him!
Exhausted with fly- and butterfly-catching, the children lie down on the lid and rest in the sun, listening with puzzled frowns to a new and strange sound which comes from beneath them. It sounds like a toad splashing through wet grass in the rain....
Black-kitten paddles round in the filthy liquid manure. He has not the slightest notion of what it is he is treading in; but he uses his legs vigorously, for otherwise his nose complains that it lacks air. He has several times reached the walls and sought vainly to escape; but now luckily he stumbles against the wooden pump, the wood of which offers a better surface for his claws than the hard, unyielding bricks.
He pulls himself up out of the cesspool and climbs towards the streak of light, until he reaches a cross-piece, where he is able to snatch a breathing-space. He whimpers and miauws, summons up strength, and climbs farther—and as there is ample space between pump and lid, owing to the straw that once supported the pump in the hole having almost rotted away, he suddenly dumbfounds his callous relatives by pushing up his head into their midst.
It is the only part of him which is still at all recognizable: the rest of his black fur has become quite brown! He looks like a chocolate cat—but he smells otherwise! His brothers and sisters shrink back from him, and spit and hiss as if he were a stranger.
When Grey Puss later on miauwed herself into view with a captured mouse and warm milk, he was at last declared genuine, and in addition enfolded in her arms. But Big shirked his washing duties that afternoon! He licked his mother, it is true, but only on the neck and in the ears; no one else received attention from his lavish tongue.
The clever little cat-mother, realized quite well what had happened, and at once shifted her family from their dangerous summer-house back to their old home. Well satisfied with the security of the burial-mound, she left her children clustered round the giant stones enjoying the sunset, while she herself curled up in the entrance hole and fell asleep.
THE DRAGON-FLY
A red-gold beam of light came from heaven, poured over the landscape through a mighty window in the clouds, and tinged with mauve the heavy well-lid’s brittle edges. It lit up Grey Puss’ colours and the kittens’ glossy coats: Black remained black and Grey remained grey; but Red turned to deeper red and White changed to gold.
The evening breezes began to blow, setting the ryefield’s crowded stalks a-whispering, and carrying in their wake the strong, delicious odour of new bread. The aspen leaves blinked and waved, sending the departing summer day a last farewell.
A large brown-gold “bird,” with four wings and a long, stiff tail, came pitching with jerky, irregular flight towards the kittens. The lure of the chase seized them all, and they crouched down among the stones and waited....
The dragon-fly turned with a crackling sound; White and Tiny shrank back; Grey drew his hind legs farther in under him; Black’s tail thickened and his hair rose. Only Big-kitten’s fighting lust remained unshaken; he gathered himself together for a spring, and the others noticed that his eyes shone with a curious flickering gleam.
The next time the dragon-fly swooped, White, Red and Tiny bolted hurriedly into cover. Grey felt shaky, but stood his ground bravely, while Black hissed, and lunged with his paw.
The dragon-fly pitches farther ... and, rolling perilously over as it turns, makes a wide circle through the gold, flaming light crowning the sea of rye ... then comes crackling swiftly back again, fleeing already from the approaching twilight. But this time the insolent, many-winged “bird” does not escape! While Black snorts and strikes with his paw, Big leaps aloft and hangs his claws together on the luckless creature in its flight.
It was Big-cat’s first important catch. And it was devoured with general satisfaction, especially its fat, large-eyed head.
THE OLD CROW
Thus continued week after week the happy family life on the mound.
Still no sign of any danger from without. The corn is now so tall that no “human” would think of tramping through it merely to approach a common, tumble-down burial-mound. It forms a stormless ocean round their island home.
The merry, light-hearted little pussies now begin to show signs of growth. Their faces are larger and more intelligent, their bodies smooth and supple, their legs disproportionately long, and their tails less short and scraggy. Each kitten’s character and personality grows more apparent with every day that passes.
When evening comes they creep away from the mound to play, and all night long they prowl about near their home, exploring the immediate neighbourhood. They examine carefully everything of interest they find, and are soon well acquainted with the mouse’s hiding-place and the small bird’s favourite haunt.
In addition they make longer expeditions—sometimes in twos and threes, sometimes alone—down across the fields, through the plough-furrows, and along the hedge and ditch.
One day they make their first important catch—a mouse which has been left, half-crippled, by a crow. Grey hears the mouse first, Big springs upon it, while Black deals it a blow which makes it roll over. Red almost succeeded in bolting off with it, but White and Tiny blocked the road. Who finally ate the mouse could not be decided. One thing, however, they were all agreed on: a moment later there was no mouse left!
Some time afterwards, Black, who always preferred prowling about alone, was passing the place where the mouse had been slaughtered when he met the original captor of the mouse, long since digested.
It was a grey bird with black wings, and a black, long-nosed head. It fluttered superciliously backwards and forwards from one molehill to another. Several times it turned its head and looked attentively at the kitten; and, when Black continued to creep along in its wake, it hopped up on an adjacent molehill to get a closer view of its pursuer.
This put Black on his mettle! He dropped flat to the ground and crawled forward on his stomach; but just as he arrived within springing distance it spread its wings and flapped with ostentatious slowness to another molehill.
Thus ended Black’s first encounter with the cunning old crow.