Eunice had a language of what Franklin called “yells,” in which she talked to all animals, and the strange part of it was that the animals seemed to like it. Some of these yells were a kind of song, and others appeared to mean certain things which the animals understood.
Eunice did not call her new Christmas present “Kitty, kitty,” but “Wee-je-wee-je, wee-je, kim-um-sing!” which meant “Come.” So in a few days the kitten was known as “Weejums,” and Eunice said that Weejums had chosen the name for herself.
“SHE MISSED HER OWN MOTHER”
She was a very lonely little kitten at first, and spit at everybody who tried to feed her. But this was only because she missed her own mother, and had not yet learned to trust these new friends. She wept nights, and her baby face sometimes had the look of quite an old cat, it was so sad.
“And she never smiled,” Eunice said afterwards, “until I learned how to make that same pur-r-ow in my throat that the Alley Cat did.” Then she decided that she had made a mistake after all, and that Eunice was her mother.
She learned to come to Eunice’s door every morning with a little soft “E-ow?” followed by a very fierce “Wow!” if she was not let in. Sometimes she came so early that Eunice would be sleepy, but there was never any sleep after the kitten was in the room, for she was one of the dreadfully playful kind; whenever Eunice moved her toes, she would spring at them, worrying the bedclothes with wide bites, and soft thudding hind-kicks. And if put down on the floor, she would leap back instantly to dab at Eunice’s eyelashes, or tangle herself joyously in her hair, chewing very hard as the curls became caught in her teeth.
She never came to any other door, or spoke to any other member of the family, and seemed to know that she was Eunice’s cat.
“IF SHE COULD HAVE SEEN HOW SWEET SHE LOOKED”