Subject to Vanity

by Margaret Benson

They made their journey in a large hamper, and were brought up to my room. Pasht had grown lovely; soft mouse colour with topaz eyes; but nevertheless the meeting was a real disappointment. Persis came out of the basket and with no greeting to me, jumped down and went to look out of the window. What could I do? I had to play with Pasht.

I thought perhaps the cat’s temper had been upset by the journey, so I left her alone, and some hours after came back to both of them. Persis was lying and staring out of the window, and the kitten was occupying the room; it ran at me, jumped and climbed up with loud purrs, and rubbed against my face. I went to the window-sill, and still Persis did not move; when she saw the kitten she growled a little; I put it down close to her, on which she spit, slapped it, and fled.

So things went on. When I came into the room the kitten always ran to greet me: it was impossible to take no notice of such a soft, confiding, mouse-coloured creature, yet all the while I was speaking to it two great sullen, green eyes were fixed on us, watching us round the room. If I came there to speak to the cat, she went quickly away, if the kitten approached her she spit, and if it came nearer, hit out at it. Evidently the change had come in Persis from a kitten to a cat. She was a mere domestic cat, with a not very amiable temper, she cared no more for human beings, and had arrived at the queer alienation from the young when they are grown up which comes to nearly all creatures; she had had half a human soul once, but she had fulfilled the animal functions, and she was an animal again.

Yet one or two symptoms seemed to belie this view. Once or twice, coming into the room, I greeted her first. Then she purred until the kitten came near, when she got up and left us hastily.

But it was difficult to see why this sullenness should so perpetually prevail. She hardly ever forgot it. Her big green eyes had almost always that sullen, lowering, miserable expression.

Now and then, indeed, when twilight came on, she rushed in and out of the room, alternately defying the kitten and flying from it; but not the most unimaginative cat on earth can resist the excitement of the growing darkness, when the eyes flash out in amethyst and topaz, and the pupils dilate with dramatic terror and eagerness. But twilight deepened into dark, and candles were lighted and fairyland stopped, and the legs of the tables and chairs ceased to be tree-trunks in a jungle, and Persis came back to life in the schoolroom, and despair clouded back on to her brow.

But the truth only began to dawn upon me one day. I took Persis into my own room quite alone, and suddenly the sullen expression vanished; I carried her in my arms and she began to purr; I put her down and she walked up and down on the counterpane, stamping her paws and spreading her claws,—Persis had all at once become a kitten again. She licked my face and put two arms round my neck when I took her up. I brought her downstairs, thinking our old relations were re-established; the kitten came near, and Persis walked hastily away from me and took no more notice of either of us.

Then the kitten ailed and was sent away to be nursed, and with that curious, confused idea that creatures have, the mother felt a lack somewhere when the object of such strong emotion was removed, even though the emotion was only jealousy. She hunted for the kitten all afternoon. We found her in a part of the garden which she did not usually frequent, and she ran away with a sense of guilt when she saw us. But when evening came, and she was in the room alone with me and there was no kitten, I was left in doubt no more as to what it was which was moving her. She squeezed herself in by me on the sofa, she kissed me and purred blissfully.

And so it goes on. I have not had the heart to banish the kitten altogether, yet when she is there I can seldom get a purr or a look from the cat. One day I persuaded her to let me stroke her under the ears and the throat; this is almost like mesmerism to a cat, and if one can persuade them to let one begin, one can do almost anything with them; and so I was gradually bringing her to a happier state of mind, when the friendly kitten, perceiving that something sociable was going on, came up to share in it. They met face to face as Persis took turns up and down under my hand. They looked at each other for a moment, then she slapped the kitten in the face and fled.

What am I to do? If I keep the kitten I cannot prevent this jealousy. Persis lives in a condition of perpetual, jealous misery; if she thinks the kitten is sent away, or that she is exclusively favoured, then only does she emerge out of sullenness. And yet she is not really devoted to me; she is only a complete egoist, and cannot be happy unless I am devoted to her. After all, am I not bound to her? Was she not once my sole and only cat, carried about, exhibited to company, hunted for if she got lost? And yet Pasht is much fonder of me than Persis ever was; Pasht will run after me, while Persis wishes to run away and be fetched back. Pasht comes to meet me when I come into the room, cries to be picked up, purrs as soon as I touch her; but when I do so, those green, miserable eyes watch me, and Persis will allow no caress which is not offered to her first.