The Whispering Land

"Good morning, Gerry," he said, and then stopped short and examined my bloodstained condition. His eyes widened, for I was still bleeding profusely from a number of minor scratches.

"What's this?" he asked.

"A cat… gato. "* I said irritably.

"Puma… jaguar?" he asked hopefully.

"No," I said reluctantly, "chico gato montes."*

"Chico gato montes" he repeated incredulously, "do this?"

"Yes. The bloody little fool won't eat. I tried it on the bottle, but it's just like a damned tiger. What it really needs is an example…" my voice died away as an idea struck me. "Come on, Luna, we'll go and see Edna."

"Why Edna?" inquired Luna breathlessly as he followed me down the road to Helmuth's flat.

"She can help," I said.

"But Gerry, Helmuth won't like it if Edna is bitten by a gato montes" Luna pointed out in Spanish.

"She won't get bitten," I explained. "I just want her to give me a kitten."

Luna gazed at me with dark, puzzled eyes, but the conundrum* was too much for him, and so he merely shrugged and followed me round to Helmuth's front door. I clapped my hands and went into Helmuth's and Edna's comfortable sitting-room, where Edna was ensconced over a huge pile of socks, darning placidly and listening to the gramophone.

"Hello," she said, giving us her wide, attractive smile, "the gin is over there, help yourself."

Edna had a beautiful and placid nature: nothing seemed to worry her unduly. I am sure that if you walked into her sitting room with fourteen Martians in tow* she would merely smile and point out the location of the gin.

"Thank you, dear," I said, "but I didn't come for gin, strange though it may sound."

"It does sound strange," agreed Edna, grinning at me mischievously. "Well, if you don't want gin, what do you want?"

"A kitten."

"A kitten?"

"Yes… you know, a small cat."

"Today Gerry is loco"* said Luna with conviction, pouring out two liberal measures of gin and handing one to me.

"I have just bought a baby gato montes" I explained to Edna. "It's extremely wild. It won't eat by itself, and this is what it did to me when I tried to feed it on the bottle." I displayed my wounds. Edna's eyes widened.

"But how big is this animal?" she asked.

"About the size of a two-week-old domestic cat."

Edna looked stern. She folded up the sock she was darning.

"Have you put disinfectant on those cuts?" she inquired, obviously preparing herself for a medical orgy.

"Never mind the cuts… I washed them… But what I want from you is a kitten, an ordinary kitten. Didn't you say the other day that you were infested with kittens over here?"

"Yes," said Edna, "we have plenty of kittens."

"Good. Well, can I have one?" Edna considered.

"If I give you a kitten will you let me disinfect your cuts?" she asked cunningly. I sighed.

"All right, blackmailer," I said.

So Edna disappeared into the kitchen quarters, from whence came a lot of shrill exclamations and much giggling. Then Edna returned with a bowl of hot water and proceeded to minister unto my cuts and bites, while a procession of semi-hysterical Indian maids filed into the room, carrying in their arms groups of kittens of all shapes and colours, from ones still blind to ones that were half grown and looked almost as wild as my Geoffrey's cat. Eventually I chose a fat, placid female tabby* which was approximately the same size and age as my wild cat, and carried it back in triumph to the garage. Here I spent an hour constructing a rough cage, while the tabby kitten purred vigorously and rubbed itself round my legs, occasionally tripping me up. When the cage was ready I put the tabby kitten in first, and left it for an hour or so to settle down.