Daisy: the autobiography of a catSwan, Miranda Eliot
General
Daisy: the autobiography of a cat
Swan, Miranda Eliot
Cats -- Fiction
She sponged around the wound, soaking the clotted blood from my fur so
tenderly that I suffered very little.
My heart was so full of thankfulness that I would not murmur at my
pains. And I do not think it was such a great virtue, though the
suffering was fearful, for I think animals bear pain always with more
fortitude than human beings.
Miss Eleanor went into Boston as soon as possible. Mrs. Knight was very
much distressed, and at once went with her to see the great doctor for
animals, Dr. Watts. He said he could not leave his office the Fourth of
July. He said he thought my shoulder bone was bent, and as I was so old,
he should advise bathing, without trying to have it operated upon. He
gave them a liniment, saying he did not think I would ever get over it.
Miss Milly said he evidently thought me an old cat, and that I had
better die than live and suffer. "He shall not die," she added, "if we
can save him."
The liniment was just fearful, Miss Milly held my head in her arms,
covering my eyes and nose; for it was very strong, and drew tears from
their eyes. Miss Eleanor applied it slowly. I winced and moaned, but
tried hard to restrain myself, for I knew they were suffering with me.
And I was anxious to bear it; for somehow I had faith in Dr. Watts, and
I believed it would help me.
Never had a patient better care. They made me catmint tea, and rubbed it
on their hands so I could smell of it, and never left me alone. They
kept the sheet smooth under me, for I could not turn over. It was like
heaven to me, and after I had slept a little while, I opened my eyes,
and seeing Miss Milly bending over me, I purred and put out my tongue to
lick her hand. She kissed me with delight, and both of them caressed me,
saying, "He will live, and no matter how much trouble he is, we will be
only too glad to do for him."
It was very true. From that day I got better slowly. I could turn over,
and the hanging skin and fur fell off; and they kept soft greasy
handkerchiefs on the wound till it closed over and healed. In two weeks
the fur began to grow, and soon I had as lovely a coat as before my
accident.
Just one week did I keep good, because I could not help myself. Then,
one day, they went down to dinner, leaving me asleep on the lounge.
I said to myself when I awoke, "This has lasted long enough; I will not
be an invalid longer." I crawled down and surprised them. They gathered
me up, and carried me back, saying: "You will not get well so soon if
you behave like this. We will close the door when we leave the room
after this, for we see that you are not to be trusted."
It did put me back, but my one desire was to get about, and I was soon
able to. My shoulder was stiff, and it was a good six weeks before I
could walk about with comfort. I limped a little, but my mistress
laughed over it, saying it was an aristocratic limp--like some old
gentleman leaning on his gold-headed cane.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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