The windfairies, and other tales

by Mary De Morgan

The days passed, and Christmas Day came, and again the snow fell, and the ground was white. The wind whistled and blew, and on Christmas morning the old gentleman stood and looked out of the window at the falling snow and rain, and the grey cat stood beside him, and rubbed itself against his hand. He rather liked stroking it, it was so soft and comfortable, and when he touched the long hair he always thought of how much money he should get for it.

This morning he saw no old beggar-man outside the window, and he said to himself: “I really think they manage better with the beggars than they used to, and are clearing them from the town.”

But just as he was leaving the window he heard something scratching outside, and there crawled on to the window-sill another cat. It was a very different creature to the grey cat on the rug. It was a poor, thin, wretched-looking animal, with ribs sticking through its fur, and it mewed in the most pathetic manner, and beat itself against the pane. When it saw it, the handsome grey puss was very much excited, and ran to and fro, and purred loudly.

“Oh you disgraceful-looking beast!” said the old gentleman angrily; “go away, this is not the place for an animal like you. There is nothing here for stray cats. And you look as if you had not eaten anything for months. How different to my puss here!” and he tapped against the window to drive it away. But still it would not go, and the old gentleman felt very indignant, for the sound of its mewing was terrible. So he opened the window, and though he did not like to touch the miserable animal, he took it up and hurled it away into the snow, and it trotted away, and in the deep snow he could not see the way it went.

But that evening, after he had had his Christmas dinner, as he sat by the fire with the grey puss on the hearthrug beside him, he heard again the noise outside the window, and then he heard the stray cat crying and mewing to be let in, and again the grey and black cat became very much excited, and dashed about the room, and jumped at the window as if it wanted to open it.

“I shall really be quite glad when I have sold you at the Cat Show,” said the old gentleman, “if I am going to have all sorts of stray cats worrying here,” and for the second time he opened the window, and seized the trembling, half-starved creature, and this time he threw it with all his might as hard as he could throw. “And now there is an end of you, I hope,” he said as he heard it fall with a dull thud, and settled himself again in his arm-chair, and the grey puss returned to the hearthrug, but it did not purr or rub itself against its master.

Next morning when he came down to breakfast, the old gentleman poured out a saucer of milk for his cat as usual. “You must be well fed if you are going to be shown at the show,” he said, “and I must not mind a little extra expense to make you look well. It will all be paid back, so this morning you shall have some fish as well as your milk.” Then he put the saucer of milk down by the cat, but it never touched it, but sat and looked at the fire with its tail curled round it.

“Oh, well, if you have had so much already that you don’t want it, you can take it when you do,” so he went away to his work and left the saucer of milk by the fire. But when he came back in the evening there was the saucer of milk and the piece of fish, and the grey cat had not touched them. “This is rather odd,” said the old gentleman; “however, I suppose cook has been feeding you.”

Next morning it was just the same. When he poured out the milk the cat wouldn’t lap it, but sat and looked at the fire. The old gentleman felt a little anxious, for he fancied that the animal’s fur did not look so bright as usual, and when in the evening and the next day and the next, it would not lap its milk, or even smell the nice pieces of fish he gave it, he was really uncomfortable. “The creature is getting ill,” he said, “and this is most provoking. What will be the use of my having kept it for a year, if now I cannot show it?” He scolded his cook for having given it unwholesome food, but the cook swore it had had nothing. Anyhow it was growing terribly thin, and all day long it sat in front of the fire with its tail hanging down, not curled up neatly round it, and its coat looked dull and began to come out in big tufts of hair.

“Now really I shall have to do something,” said the old gentleman, “it is enough to make any one angry! No one would believe that this could be a prize cat. It looks almost as wretched as that stray beast that came to the window on Christmas Day.” So he went to a cat and dog doctor, who lived near, and asked him to come in and see a very beautiful cat which had nothing the matter with it, but which refused to eat its food. The cat’s doctor came and looked at the cat, and then looked very grave, and shook his head, and looked at it again.