<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus010.png" width-obs="400" height-obs="202" alt="The White Persian" title="The White Persian" /></div>
<h2>The White Persian</h2>
<div class='cap'>I WAS a handsome, discreet, middle-aged,
respectable, responsible, domesticated
tabby cat. I was humble. I knew
my place, and kept it. My place was
the place nearest the fire in winter, or
close to the sunny window in summer.
There was nothing to trouble me—not so
much as a fly in the cream, or an error in
the leaving of the cat's meat, until some
thoughtless person gave my master the
white Persian cat.</div>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus011.png" width-obs="248" height-obs="400" alt=""She was very beautiful."" title=""She was very beautiful."" /> <span class="caption">"She was very beautiful."</span></div>
<p>She was very beautiful in her soft,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></SPAN></span>
foolish, namby-pamby, blue-eyed way. Of
course, she did not understand English,
and when they called "Puss, puss," she
only ran under the sofa, for she thought
they were teasing her. She was mistress
only of two languages—Persian and
cat-talk.</p>
<p>My master did not think of this. He
called her "Puss"; he called her "Pussy";
he called her "Tittums" and "Pussy
then"; and a thousand endearments that
had formerly been lavished on me were
vainly showered on this unresponsive
stranger. But when he found she was
cold to all of them, my master sighed.</p>
<p>"Poor thing!" he said; "she is deaf."</p>
<p>I sat by the bright fender, and washed
my face, and sleeked my pretty paws, and
looked on. My master gave up taking
very much notice of the new cat. But I
had a fear that he might learn Persian or<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></SPAN></span>
cat-talk, and make friends with her; so I
resolved that the best thing for me would
be a complete change in the Persian's behaviour—such
a change as should make it
impossible for her ever to be friends with
him again; so I said to her:</p>
<p>"You wonder that our master looks
coldly at you. Perhaps you don't know
that in England a white cat is supposed to
mew twenty times longer and to purr
twenty times louder than a cat of any
other colour?"</p>
<p>"Oh, thank you so much for telling me,"
she said gratefully. "I didn't know. As
it happens, I have a very good voice."</p>
<p>And the next time she wanted her milk,
she mewed in a voice you could have
heard twenty miles away. Poor master
was so astonished that he nearly dropped
the saucer. When she had finished the
milk, she jumped upon his knee, and he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></SPAN></span>
began to stroke her. She nearly gave
herself a fit in her efforts to purr loud
enough to please him. At first he was
pleased, but when the purring got louder
and louder, the poor man put his hands
to his ears and said, "Oh dear! oh dear!
this is worse than a whole hive of
bees."</p>
<p>Still he put her down gently, and I
congratulated her on having done so well.
She did better. She was an affectionate
person, though foolish, and in her anxiety
to do what was expected of a cat of her
colour in England, she practised day and
night.</p>
<p>Her purr was already the loudest I have
heard from any cat, but she fancied she
could improve her mewing; and she mewed
in the garden, she mewed in the house,
she mewed at meals, she mewed at prayers,
she mewed when she was hungry to show<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></SPAN></span>
that she wanted food, and she mewed when
she had had it to show her gratitude.</p>
<p>"Poor thing," said the master to a friend
who had come to see him, "she is so deaf
she can't hear the noise she makes."</p>
<p>Of course, I understood what he said,
but she hadn't yet picked up a word of
English; and if the master <i>had</i> begun to
learn Persian, I don't suppose he had got
much beyond the alphabet.</p>
<p>The Persian's mew was rather feebler
that day, because she had a cold.</p>
<p>"I don't think it's so bad," said his friend.
"If you really wanted to get rid of her, she
is very handsome; she would take a prize
anywhere."</p>
<p>"She is yours," said the master instantly;
and the strange gentleman took her away
in a basket.</p>
<p>That evening it was I who sat on my
master's knee—I who superintended the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></SPAN></span>
writing of his letters on the green-covered
writing table—I who had all the milk that
was left over from his tea.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus012.png" width-obs="232" height-obs="300" alt=""I who superintended the writing of his letters."" title=""I who superintended the writing of his letters."" /> <span class="caption">"I who superintended the writing of his letters."</span></div>
<p>In a few days he had a letter. I read
it when he laid it down; and if you don't
believe cats can read, I can only say that
it is just as easy to read a letter like the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></SPAN></span>
master's as it is to write a story like this.
The letter begged my master to take back
the fair Persian.</p>
<p>"Her howls," the letter went on, "become
worse and worse. The poor creature is,
as you say, too deaf to be tolerated."</p>
<p>My master wrote back instantly to say
that he would rather be condemned to keep
a dog than have the fair Persian within
his doors again.</p>
<p>Then by return of post came a pitiful
letter, begging for help and mercy, and
the friend came again to tea. I trembled
lest my foreign rival should come back to
live with me. But she didn't. The next
morning my master took me on his knee,
and, stroking me gently, said—</p>
<p>"Ah, Tabbykins! no more Persians for
us. I have sent her to my deaf aunt.
She will be delighted with her—a most
handsome present—and as they are both<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></SPAN></span>
deaf, the fair Persian's shrieks will hurt
nobody.</p>
<p>"But I will have no more prize cats,"
he said, pouring out some cream for me
in his own saucer. "You know how to
behave; I will never have any cat but
you."</p>
<p>I do, and he never has.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus013.png" width-obs="137" height-obs="300" alt="Cat on chair" title="Cat on chair" /></div>
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