Tales From Catland, for Little Kittens

by Tabitha Grimalkin

Glumdalkin was fast asleep in a minute. What was the princess doing? She was lying in her splendid bed, thinking and watching the fire-light dancing upon the spangles of her curtains, for her bed was so beautiful—so very beautiful! It was made all of silver, in the shape of a nautilus shell; and the curtains were of pale blue satin, embroidered with silver flowers: you never saw such a lovely bed as it was! And the longer the princess watched the light flashing so merrily upon all the fine things in the room, the more she thought; and the more she thought, the more unhappy she grew, but what she thought about I can't tell you; perhaps we shall guess by and bye: I dare say she dropped asleep at last.

During the night there was a heavy fall of snow. When the princess came down to breakfast, the grass was covered with a sheet of pure white—the trees quivered beneath the snow that covered their boughs—the shrubs in the garden looked like a fairy-wood of frosted silver glittering in the cold, bright sun—and far, far away, many miles distant, rose high mountains, white and dreary, with pine forests nodding on their summits. It was very—very cold.

Now there were few things Friskarina liked better than a gambol in the snow; so, as soon as she had finished her breakfast, and had warmed herself well at the fire, off she set, full drive, into the garden, pattering hither and thither, that she might have the pleasure of making as many footmarks as possible, and jumping up at the flakes that came tumbling down from the laurel-leaves. Never was there such a merry little cat! At last the thought struck her—the poor cottage cat—did she like the snow, too? and Friskarina longed to know whether she could come out that morning: perhaps she meant to sit by the fire all day. By degrees, Friskarina recollected that she went to sleep the night before with a plan in her head. So she ran down the lawn towards the garden door, hoping to find it again open. Alas! the ill-natured gardener had shut it quite fast. However, Friskarina was not easily daunted; a cat of genius is never without resources. She turned her eyes towards a thick trailing of ivy that grew up the wall, and she began to wonder whether cousin Glumdalkin would be likely to spy her out if she climbed up the ivy-tree, and so got over the wall that way. She considered, however, that on such a morning as that, Glumdalkin would be sure to be on the hearth-rug, with her nose as close to the fender as possible, not troubling her head in the least about the world out of doors.

So, making a vigorous spring, Friskarina was soon half-way up the ivy-tree, shaking down a shower of white flakes every jump she made. At length she was fairly at the top of the wall. It was a terrible height from the ground, and there was no ivy on the other side to help her down by.

So she sat down to rest, and look about her a minute. The miserable cottages looked still more miserable than they had done the day before—the snow lay thick on their roofs—no smoke issued from their chimneys—no one seemed stirring about them. Nothing could well be more desolate.

Suddenly, the door of one of them opened, and an old woman came out, followed by Friskarina's new friend, the unhappy cat. Such an old woman Friskarina had never beheld, nor imagined, before. She was not a bit like the Lady Dumbellinda, the princess's governess, the only old lady Friskarina had ever seen, for she was very fat, and had very rosy cheeks, and very smooth hair, in set curls that never seemed to get out of order; and she had very fine velvet gowns, and beautiful clothes. But this poor old woman, who came out of the hut, was all shrivelled up, as it were, and seemed as if she had hardly a bit of flesh on her bones, and her hair was nearly as white as the snow, and the wind blew it from under her cap in all directions; she had an old rag of a gray cloak on, that she tried to keep about her, with one hand, as well as she could, but the wind got in so through the holes, that she might almost as well have been without it. She had come out to look for sticks; for the gusts that swept down from the hills snapped off the little twigs from the tall trees, and scattered them about the road. After picking up a few, the poor old creature, shaking her head, and shivering beneath the cold blast, turned back, and re-entered her cottage; shutting her door after her, so that her cat was left without. Poor pussy soon spied her friend, who had spoken so condescendingly to her the day before, on the top of the wall, and she saluted her with an air of the greatest deference and humility.

Friskarina returned her a gracious bow, and, without further hesitation, dropped down from the wall.

It was lucky for her that there was a good thick bed of snow at the bottom, so that she fell soft; but she rolled quite over. However, she was nothing the worse, and she ran up to her new acquaintance; and, after remarking what a snowy morning it was, demanded her name.

'My mistress calls me Tibb, please your ladyship;' said the poor little cat, shaking with the cold.

'I did not know whether I should see you this morning,' pursued Friskarina, 'I thought you might be sitting by the fire all day, as it is so very cold.'