Gobbolino the Witch's Cat

Gobbolino was delighted to see how many prizes they would carry home in the shabby little cart. He had not even noticed that his own cage held no prize-card at all, when the chief judge stood up to announce the name of the champion – the best cat in the show.

It was Gobbolino.

For a moment there was a great silence, and then a murmuring ran through the Town Hall that rose to a hissing. It came from the cages.

The hissing grew to a spitting, and the spitting to a yowling.

In vain the judges tried to quell the noise, in vain the owners rattled on the cages or covered them with rugs – the angry cats yowled on and on, till one great voice arose from every cage announcing:

“But Gobbolino is a witch’s cat!”

The judges turned pale, so did the owners.

The cat-fanciers, who had come to buy, looked at each other in horror, for each of them had been ready to offer the little old man large sums of money for Gobbolino.

The little old man himself, crimson with fury, shook his fist at the judges, and then at Gobbolino, while round and round the cages ran the angry murmur:

“Gobbolino is a witch’s cat!”

“Oh, my goodness!” said Gobbolino, cowering on the blue velvet cushion in a corner of his cage. “Why was I born a witch’s cat, oh why? I don’t want to win prizes!” he sobbed. “I don’t want to be a champion and have people admire me! I only want a friendly home with kindly people, that’s not very much to ask. But oh, my goodness! What is going to happen to me now?”

He was not left long in doubt, for the angry judge turned on the little old man and ordered him to leave the Town Hall immediately. His cats were all disqualified, and especially Gobbolino. The little old man was bundled out into the street with all his cages, and at the last moment the judges sent his prize-cards after him. Perhaps after all, they said, he had not known he was showing a witch’s cat.

But the little old man’s rage was not cooled by saving his prize-cards.

He opened the door of Gobbolino’s cage and dropped him out into the road.

“Miserable creature!” he raged. “Look what trouble you have brought upon me! Why didn’t you tell me you were a witch’s kitten? Be off with you directly and let me never see a whisker of your face again!”

He whipped up the scraggy pony and galloped away in a cloud of dust, with the cats’ cages rocketing and banging, and the cats peering and mocking over their shoulders at Gobbolino.

He was not sorry to see the last of them, or to stretch his paws, which had become very cramped and stiff from sitting so long on a velvet cushion.

He was very sorry to have brought such trouble upon the little old man, but he had not really enjoyed being a show cat, and living in a cage had become very irksome and monotonous.

“I am sure there is a home not far away where I shall be welcome,” thought Gobbolino.

10

Gobbolino at Sea

Gobbolino left the Town Hall far behind him and trotted steadily southward towards the sea.

He passed through towns and villages, past cottages and farmhouses, and small lonely dwellings, but every hearth had its tabby and every farm its brood of sleek mousers. There was no welcome anywhere for Gobbolino.

He kept himself from starving by killing rats in a rickyard, or mice in the hedges. He drank from the streams, where he sometimes caught a little fish, smiling to think of his clumsiness when, as an ignorant kitten, he had fallen into the millrace and nearly drowned himself – oh – ever so long ago it seemed today!

Sometimes he met a passer-by, walking along the road with a bundle on his back, or a stray dog or cat trotting down the highway on his own business, but they offered little companionship to Gobbolino.

Travellers had no hearth to share with him – they gave him a friendly nod and tramped away. Dogs gave him one look of terror and ran for their lives, yelping madly till they reached their own kennels with their hair standing on end, while cats hissed savagely at him and would not answer the most civil greeting:

“Good morning, sister!”

“Hiss-ss!”

“It is a very fine morning, ma’am!”

“Hiss-ss-ss!”

“Can you tell me the way to the nearest village, my lady?”

“Hiss-ss-ss-ss! Ss!”

So that Gobbolino was lonely enough on his travels, and no wonder that his heart bounded to see the silver, sparkling sea, the ships lying at anchor with brown sails furled, distance making a pattern of their masts, and all the cheerful, busy life of the port.

Gobbolino trotted here and there among the boats, the bustling sailors, the women with their baskets, and the noisy, mischievous children, who were as eager as he to watch everything that was going on.

Nobody took any notice of a little cat, but there was a feeling of companionship in the stir and bustle, and Gobbolino did not hurry away, but sat on the quay in the yellow sunshine watching the ships and the gulls and the sailors on the decks below.