Jennie. Paul Gallico
the park, he would have known enough to go straight up to a policeman and tell him his name and address and ask to be taken home. But he couldn’t very well do this in his present condition as a white cat with a slightly droopy left ear where it had been ripped by a yellow tom named Dempsey. And what was worse, now that the tabby had called it to his attention, he was a cat and didn’t know the first thing about how to behave as one. He began to feel frightened again, but different from the panic of the night before – it was a new kind of shakiness as though the bed and the ground and everything beneath his four paws was no longer very steady. He said somewhat piteously to the tabby: “Oh, Jennie – now I’m really frightened! What shall I do?”
She thought for a moment longer and then said, “I know! I’ll teach you.”
Peter felt such relief he could have cried. “Jennie dear! Would you? Could you?”
The expression on the face of the cat was positively angelic, or so Peter thought, and now she actually almost did look beautiful to him as she said: “But of course. After all, you’re my responsibility. I found you and brought you here. But one thing you must promise me if I try …”
Peter said, “Oh yes, I’ll promise anything—”
“First of all, do as I tell you until you can begin to look after yourself a little, but most important, never tell another soul your secret. I’ll know, but nobody else needs to, because they just wouldn’t understand. If we get into any kind of trouble, just let me do the talking. Never so much as hint or let on in any way to any other cat what you really are. Promise?”
Peter promised, and Jennie gave him a comradely little tap on the side of his head with her paw. Just the touch of her velvet pad and the simplicity of the caress made Peter feel happier already.
He said, “Won’t you tell me your story now, and who you are? I know nothing about you, and you’ve been so good to me …”
Jennie withdrew her paw, and a look of sadness came over her gentle face as she turned away for a moment. She said, “Later, perhaps, Peter. It is hard for me to speak about it now. And besides, you might not like it at all. Since you say you are a human and really not a cat at all, you would not be able to understand the way I feel and why I will never again live with people.”
“Please do tell me,” Peter pleaded. “And I will like it, I’m sure, because I like you.”
Jennie could not resist a small purr at Peter’s sincerity. She said, “You are a dear—” and then fell into reflective silence for a moment. Finally she seemed to make up her mind and said:
“See here, what is really important at the moment is for you to begin to learn something about being a cat, and the sooner we begin, the better. I shudder to think what might happen to you if you were alone again. How would it be if we had a lesson first? And of course nothing is more pressing than for you to learn how to wash. Afterwards, perhaps, I will be able to tell you my story.”
Peter hid his disappointment because she had been so kind to him and he did not wish to upset her. He merely said, “I’ll try, though I’m not very good at lessons.”
“I’ll help you, Peter,” Jennie reassured him, “and you’ll be surprised how much better you will feel when you know how. Because a cat must not only know how to wash, but WHEN to wash. You see, it’s something like this …”
“‘WHEN IN DOUBT – any kind of doubt – Wash!’ That is Rule Number 1,” said Jennie. She now sat primly and a little stiffly, with her tail wrapped around her feet, near the head of the big bed beneath the Napoleon Initial and Crown, rather like a schoolmistress. But it was obvious that the role of teacher and the respectful attention Peter bestowed upon her were not unendurable, because she had a pleased expression and her eyes were again gleaming brightly.
The sun had reached its noon zenith in the sky in the world that lay outside the dark and grimy warehouse, and coming in slantwise through the small window sent a dusty shaft that fell like a theatrical spotlight about Jennie’s head and shoulders as she lectured.
“If you have committed any kind of an error and anyone scolds you – wash,” she was saying. “If you slip and fall off something and somebody laughs at you – wash. If you are getting the worst of an argument and want to break off hostilities until you have composed yourself, start washing. Remember, every cat respects another cat at her toilet. That’s our first rule of social deportment, and you must also observe it.
“Whatever the situation, whatever difficulty you may be in you can’t go wrong if you wash. If you come into a room full of people you do not know, and who are confusing to you, sit right down in the midst of them and start washing. They’ll end up by quieting down and watching you. Some noise frightens you into a jump, and somebody you know saw you were frightened – begin washing immediately.
“If somebody calls you and you don’t care to come and still you don’t wish to make it a direct insult – wash. If you’ve started off to go somewhere and suddenly can’t remember where it was you wanted to go, sit right down and begin brushing up a little. It will come back to you. Something hurt you? Wash it. Tired of playing with someone who has been kind enough to take time and trouble and you want to break off without hurting his or her feelings? Start washing.
“Oh, there are dozens of things! Door closed and you’re burning up because no one will open it for you – have yourself a little wash and forget it. Somebody petting another cat or dog in the same room, and you are annoyed over that – be nonchalant; wash. Feel sad – wash away your blues. Been picked up by somebody you don’t particularly fancy and who didn’t smell good – wash him off immediately and pointedly where he can see you do it. Overcome by emotion – a wash will help you to get a grip on yourself again. Any time, anyhow, in any manner, for whatever purpose, wherever you are, whenever and why ever that you want to clear the air, or get a moment’s respite or think things over – WASH!
“And,” concluded Jennie, drawing a long breath, “of course you also wash to get clean and to keep clean.”
“Goodness!” said Peter, quite worried, “I don’t see how I could possibly remember them all.”
“You don’t have to remember any of it, actually,” Jennie explained. “All that you have to remember is Rule 1:‘When in doubt – WASH!’”
Peter, who like all boys had no objection to being reasonably clean, but not too clean, saw the problem of washing looming up large and threatening to occupy all of his time. “It’s true, I remember, you always do seem to be washing,” he protested to Jennie, “I mean all cats I’ve seen, but I don’t see why. Why do cats spend so much of their time at it?”
Jennie considered this question for a moment, and then replied, “Because it feels so good to be clean.”
“Well, at any rate I shall never be capable of doing it,” Peter remarked, “because I won’t be able to reach places now that I am a cat and cannot use my hands. And even when I was a boy, Nanny used to have to wash my back for me …”
“Nothing of the kind,” said Jennie. “The first thing you will learn is that there isn’t an inch of herself of himself that a cat cannot reach to wash. If you had ever owned one of us, you would know. Now watch me. We’ll begin with the back. I’ll do it first, and then you come over here alongside of me and do as I do.”
And with that, sitting upright, she turned her head around over her shoulder with a wonderful ease and grace, and with little short strokes of her tongue and keeping her chin down close to her body, she began to wash over and around her left shoulder blade, gradually increasing the amount of turn and the length of the stroking