I said nothing, and she said nothing for a long time, then she murmured in her cracked voice, “What's frettin' you?”
I didn't know what to say. Finally, I thought of one of Serena's phrases, and replied grandly, “I don't like your mental attitude.”
“What's that?” she said impudently.
“I don't suppose you know that you have a mind,” I said patronizingly.
“I know I've got teeth and claws,” she said with a grin. “You jest bet I do.”
I am ashamed to say I forgot all about Mona's advice to love her, and lick her fur. Something rose inside me, some kind of a swelling, then I felt as if I had swallowed something very hot. It burnt so that I sprang up and just hissed, “Get off my bed, will you?”
“Come, put me off,” she said maliciously, “I'm bigger 'n you.”
I don't approve of fighting. I think it is wicked and vulgar, but at her words a fierce joy rose within me. I thought what a delight, what an ecstasy it would be to stick my claws in her, and drag her from that chair. Then I don't seem to remember anything more for a few minutes, but hissing and spitting and jumping and scratching and the most awful cat language that I ever heard. It was my first fight, and I didn't do any talking. I wanted all my breath for panting, for I was thumped and dragged and pounded and beaten and shaken till I was nearly dead.
Dear little Mary was in the bath-room, singing, and talking, and fussing with her canaries. She didn't hear us, and no one else was near enough, but presently there was a step. I didn't hear it. I was too far gone, but the sly cat must have heard it, for she dropped me like a shot, and flew up into my chair. I lay for one minute, then I dragged myself under the bed. I thought I was dying, but I didn't want any one to see me. My instinct was to keep out of sight.
The oldish woman who was Mary's nurse, came into the room. I heard her give an exclamation, then stop short. “Miss Mary,” she called.