Miss
Coker saw the kitten again next morning from the window of her
bedroom. It was prowling round the Fergusons' cottage, plainly
seeking a way in. She made a mental note to keep her own doors and
windows securely shut.
It
had in fact already made several attempts to get into the empty
cottage. This time it unexpectedly succeeded.
Two
of the ground floor windows had been opened by Mr. Trim in the
course of his caretaking duties. Once a week, whatever the weather,
he aired the cottage for precisely two hours. In the summer he kept
the garden tidy, mowing the front lawn, trimming the hedge and
scything the long grass at the back.
Promptly
at ten o'clock on this Friday morning he unlocked the front door,
went into the living room and opened the windows and then went into
the kitchen where he baited and set the mouse trap.
The
kitten, watching from the rank grass under the apple trees, heard
the casement hinges creak. As soon as the click of the garden gate
signalled Mr. Trim's departure it jumped on to the sill and into
the living room of the cottage.
The
air smelt stuffy and dank. No fire had been lit since September. The
walls, to which layers of paper clung like snails on a stone, were
stained with rising damp. The woodwork glistened with moisture.
The
kitten crept about with extreme caution. This was the first time it
had been inside a house. The vastness of it, the many objects and
their strange smells, were alarming. After inspecting everything in
the room very thoroughly and feeling reassured that there was no
immediate danger, it gave its attention to the narrow boxed-in
staircase rising from one corner to the upper floor.
Sniffing
at every tread and inhaling dust from the haircord carpet it was
seized by a fit of sneezing. When this was over, it was about to
make a daring scurry to the top of the stairs when a loud metallic
snap sounded from somewhere down below. The kitten crouched flat
in alarm. The noise was not repeated and nothing further happened,
so after an interval it went to investigate.
The
sound had come from the kitchen, where the trap set by Mr. Trim had
found an early victim. The mouse was a young one, plump and sleek.
It sprawled flat under the metal flange which had broken its back,
tiny black eyes like beads of jet as yet unclouded, a spot of blood
on its mouth. The kitten smelled the blood and was at once reminded
of its hunger. It began to paw the mouse, tentatively at first,
nervous of the trap, then more wildly as its hunger grew unbearable.
It seized the mouse, lifting the trap as well, and carried it to a
recess under the sink.
Here,
after frantic experiment, it discovered how to hold down the trap
while eating the mouse., It also ate the piece of cheese impaled on
the wire beside the spring. When nothing was left it washed its face
and tried to scrub off the dried blood, but the effort was too
painful. It leapt on to the draining board and drank some water from
a puddle in the sink, then took a short nap, after which it returned
to the living room, mounted the stairs and continued to explore the
premises.
The
whole place smelled of mice. The kitten was in one of the bedrooms
investigating a hole in the skirting board when Mr. Trim came back
to shut up the cottage. He was in a hurry and did not go into the
kitchen but simply closed the front windows and went straight out
again, locking the door behind him and imprisoning the kitten for
the rest of that day and night. It might well have stayed there all
the following week, living well on a copious supply of fresh meat,
had not fate decreed otherwise.
WHAT'S
NEW? 