by Janet Frame
Nothing much to tell. I met the Vacuum Cleaner last week, and fled and nearly died of fright and Ginger Cat-Blue Jay had to give me a hot water bag ha ha and cuddle me to stop me from shivering and I insisted on inspecting the house, my house, entire, furniture by furniture, my sniffing working overtime. I haven’t yet solved the problem of what it was that made the terrifying noise.
b. Garden
Spend a good deal of time there lately. Can climb two trees but wish Jay would hang around to see me and congratulate me, and I wish she would chase me through the grass. Play chasey with the next-door cat and enjoy myself immensely but he/she’s bigger ’n me. Hope to find a rat or mouse this week but so far no hope. Smell all the flowers—great perfume those daffodils have. Still like to suck at mama’s tassels for comfort.
Personalities
A woman called the other afternoon, a poet friend of Jay’s. She admired me, saying, –He’s a bright kitten.
I played around to show her how bright I was. She was hoping I would climb into her lap—you know what people are, always wanting to be flattered by us animals—flattered, reassured and so on—well I think I failed my first social test because I didn’t climb in her lap, I was just a little apprehensive. I went to sleep in Jay’s lap, which I like to do, getting into all kinds of weird relaxed postures, making a long kitten (I believe, Ned, you’re expert at the Long Cat—I’ve seen drawings of you by that famous artist you board at your house, and I’ve seen a picture of you sailing to New Zealand, painted by your other star boarder. I’m thinking of taking in boarders myself, if things get tough—I can put Jay down in the basement, she can sleep on the coal, and I’ll let the front apartment. I must of course have my own apartment as I have now. I employ Jay to clean it.) No other personalities. Jay seems to be busy. She’s trying to write but this week there’s a bit on her mind as she’s going into hospital overnight. Nothing serious. She’ll be home the next day, fitter than a fiddle. I know she doesn’t like leaving me at Mr Aberdeen’s but she’s heard he’s very good with animals and he did take a fancy to me when he inoculated (how do you spell that word???) me. He sure treated me like one of the gang. I think Jay thinks I’ll be corrupted; but it has to come some time hasn’t it, Ned old boy? She’s giving me all kinds of lectures about not accepting lifts in automobiles from strangers, about not accepting sweets and so on; nor pieces of fresh beef or mutton. You’ll see, however, by the enclosed headlines that I’ve already become something of a character in this country.
Work
Who said Work? Jay makes a pretence of working but her characters have suddenly thinned out, like diarrhoea (you mentioned it Paul Cat), no substance at all, oh hell she says; and she is anxious to get out of New Zealand as it is crippling her, she thinks, to be here, she’s noticed herself going downhill. She’s grown fond of me, you know, and her sister phoned and said their cat Tinkerbell who’s a few months older than I is dying to meet me and so when Jay leaves Dunedin I’m travelling with her to Auckland. I’m a keen traveller already. I told you how I travelled with Jay on the bus—it’s forbidden but I was as quiet as—you know what.
Play
I do it all day, when I’m not asleep. Jay’s a bit short of play, I can tell.
Mice
None.
Music
I ran from the room when I first heard Bach but now I stay and listen. Unfortunately I can’t get at the record player. Jay has had to arrange in special places all that furniture which must not be got at. I think I must be the cunningest kitten in Catdom.
Literature
I like to choose a book from the shelf at the close of my boisterous play. I chose A Room of One’s Own the other evening. (It’s slim enough to carry in my mouth.) I tried to take hold of Boys and Girls Who Became Famous, but I couldn’t manage it. That is a book Jay has had for ages—she got it as a prize when she was young and it sure gave her a false idea of Fred Chopin and Mozart and Marie Antoinette.
Art
Jay showed me a lovely drawing—I forget the artist’s name—called A Plan of Kittens, showing the exact geometrical plan of kittens feeding and sleeping and so on. Very delightful. Your Fred (hope I don’t sound too familiar) might be interested. I haven’t been to my Bottom of the Class in Art Studio recently. I declare I’ll have to get Vocational Guidance. I don’t know what to be when I grow up. All I can think of now is being a tomcat. Wow! Did you find it so hard to decide, Ned? And did your two lovely big cats have any trouble? Jay says I’ll have to go through stages.
Weather
Frosty. Cold. Jay uses me as a handwarmer. I told her she can hire me and hire me out as a white furry handwarmer, and then I’ll save for my fare to U.S., charter my own plane, I think.
Time
Lost and regained. Time now to mail this letter. Jay’s unloading boxes of love to you and your two big prowling painting cats and their plants and Steinway, and I’m sending my love too, and deference of course as to an older cat who could, if he were here, teach me the tricks of a lifetime.
Yours & Yours & Yours & Yours & Yours
L.B.&Jay
106. Dunedin September 24
Dear B and P and N,
Hello, Hi from faraway J who opens transmission with her usual cry,
Bee I’m missing you!
Was saying yesterday
to Somebody you all know
(Lucas) a visit was due.
What happened last week?
I suppose Paul’s settled and at work,
you too, stretched on the rack.
– I’ve run out of ideas for what’s warm and thick.
Sweaters are, of course.
And cat’s fur; and my
thoughts of the Live Oaks across
Pacific sea, under Pacific sky.
You’ll get my letter by
next week.
Blue Jay has this to say:
She’s pretty homesick.
Hi again, after that first spurt from the old typewriter. Would you believe it, it’s snowing! This is the second snowfall I’ve seen down in the city since I’ve lived in Dunedin. It’s a rare thing, and the time is out of season and it makes me homesick for North American snow. How differently it is falling here! It is in such a hurry, rushing down as if this were the only chance it had, and perhaps it is, whereas in North America the snow takes its time, is leisurely, drifts down. It is so business-like about its being here, possibly because it has so little time and will be gone tomorrow whereas North American snow has all the time in the world.
Yesterday I took Lucas to Dr Aberdeen’s for four days (cost two dollars). Oh heartbreak, heartbreak! He’ll never forgive me, I’m sure. He’s getting big enough to demonstrate now and he wasn’t so happy about going in a bag though he was quiet on the bus (where travelling with animals is forbidden) and all the gloved and hatted ladies who were on the bus little dreamed that I was carrying a kitten-in-a-bag, and not my weekly groceries: though he felt so warm, like a little hot pie being carried. I hadn’t realised how much he has taken possession of the house and I felt absolute agony, perhaps unwarranted, at the thought of how he would feel, deprived of all the freedom he has here. I hope they pet him some. He is so happy here, so full of delight. He knows all the hiding-places, all the scratching-places. If he is denied something he goes on a wilful bout of destruction which usually includes tearing the pictures from the walls—yes! I hear bang crash from the sittingroom if I happen to have deprived Lucas of some attention or refused to play with him. I don’t know how much cats feel the agonies that human beings feel—maybe more so. He’s made friends with the kitty next door who’s maybe about six months old, and they play together in Lucas’ garden, and last evening after I had taken Lucas away and I was downstairs hanging out some washing, little Kitty next door came to see me, meowing plaintively. He was saying, –Hey, where’s Luke? Isn’t Luke coming out to play? They play such a lot together and then they just sit looking at each other for ages and ages, no doubt conversing.
He w
akes me every morning at half-past six by springing on the bed and buffeting my fuzzy head with his paw; and from then on the day, for me, is just a succession of surrenderings.
I’m quite enjoying my return to pre-Lucas days!
Tonight I go into hospital to stay overnight and if I’m well enough I’ll come home that day, or the next and then I’ll hasten to collect Lucas Burch. I assure you dear people that my health is very rude, so rude it’s unmentionable . . . I’m only having tests which are unlikely to be taken further as my health is as before mentioned, obscene. It is just something that was recommended by the doctor I saw in Baltimore, and I put it off until I arrived here, and then I put it off until I started getting ready to leave here!
I’m taking Short Novels of the Masters to read and will reread Death in Venice.
Apart from above I haven’t done anything been anywhere seen anyone.
All my daffodils are out, and as my garden is bewitched, vegetables are springing up though I’ve never planted them, and the former tenants didn’t plant them, but every year from the time I first planted a garden of vegetables they have sprung as if eternally. I have carrots, parsnips, silver beet, spinach, parsley and a variety of herbs the names of which I don’t know. And of course the cabbages! (Jo is amused by the cabbages!) They are now in yellow flower, quite astonished at my policy of laissez-faire.
Did I tell you that every so often during the day I glance at the clock and translate N.Z. time to Los Angeles time? Then I visit you.
It’s a miracle I’m able to type this—Lucas has discovered that the best way to stop me from typing and make me realise it’s my duty to play with him, is to come and sit on the typewriter keys and refuse to move. I tried writing with a pen but he kept blotting everything with his paw.
Haven’t been in Peedauntal Country recently. Am pretty hungry to be at your place and hear B at the piano.
More when I return home. Plain starched laundered (no ironing) love plus a few of the newer lines of affection,
(I’m dotty, aren’t I?)
(I’m dotty, aren’t I?)
love anyway
beyond my ken
unrestricted free
to Bee and Pee
and their master N.
107. Dunedin September 28
This letter will be waiting for you on your return from Santa Fe. I do hope you have a pleasant time there. I remember vividly the conversation about Santa Fe the evening the Haydns came to visit and you (B) showed us your Indian books (I can see them now, on the bookshelf).
The letter from Ned to Lucas and from B to J came at such a nice time & both letters were so full of interesting details of the world-with-you & laying waste your powers—so appropriate to read when I emerged from the anaesthetic! My friend Ruth brought my mail to me & when she arrived I was still encased in my theatre gown and not properly awake.
I spent a couple of nights in hospital & had an anaesthetic trip during which a dark handsome young doctor did what I’ll never know, & I blush to guess, to me. I have been pronounced (as I knew already) in rude health & I’m so immensely relieved it’s all over. I was so sure I’d die under the anaesthetic. You can’t (perhaps you can) imagine how wonderful it was to wake up to a letter full of life from the Lively Oaks.
I went to a private hospital (the Sisters of Compassion) & it was worth the 70 dollars I’ll have to pay. The actual hospital cost is 5 dollars a night.
So now I’m writing this from 61 Evans St. sitting on my bed, feeling very cosy, while Lucas plays with my toes under the blanket. I collected him when I came home yesterday & he & I have spent the time since then sleeping the sleep of recovery, while outside it’s been snowing & hailing & a wild wind has been rocking the house and wailing between the walls, & in the trees. And each time I’ve switched on the radio I’ve heard news of fire in California, the worst emergency since the San Francisco Earthquake . . . nothing will harm the Live Oaks.
I’ll now hand the pen to Lucas as my letter writing is less up to scratch than his & I’m still dwelling a little on the curiously lost day & the relief of it’s being all over.
Hi Ned & others, namely Bill and Paul. I’m very grateful to you, Ned, for pointing out that the large animals you employ are merely training to be cats. I had suspected this but my knowledge of the world is limited and I shall ever be grateful to you for giving me the benefit of your wider deeper (deeper) experience. The final proof was revealed to me when J and I returned after a few days vacation. I guess on my return I must have used up more purr than I’ve ever used. And do you know there was not one single purr from J who was obviously pleased to phone and to be able really to eat instead of putting up with delicate-looking non-food.
Actually, J looked sadly at me and said—I wish people could purr.
Well, she’s people & what they are, I have no idea. You and I have already reached agreement on their shortcomings.
Thanks also, Ned for details of the food trick. It’s one I learned quite early & I have to hide my smirking face with my paw when J throws the uneaten food away & produces something more expensive.
When I returned from my vacation I practised now and then, as a torture-reminder, my Abandoned-Loveless-Homeless look (abandoned on the mountains of the heart). It works well on J. She gets all apologetic and says she would never have dreamed of leaving me but an emergency cropped up . . . you know the talk . . . and then . . . cream for tea!
I’m growing up fast, Ned. My friend the grey & white cat next door, a few months older, is teaching me a lot. We plan to go on the prowl one evening.
By the way, I can’t see why you think liver’s so wonderful. I really mean that I like it but I’m not yet ready to let J know. I like to keep her in suspense. She gives me a dinner of kidney & I rave over it and then the fool buys kidneys to last 3 days. Well, after that first meal, I act as if I despise them; and then it’s the paw-over-the-smirking face once again.
This letter is pretty weak & so is J’s but we’ve both recovering & we do want to send our love to you and B and P and Fred & her lot who will probably grow up to be motor mechanics. J says her thoughts are rooted & growing where you are. No comment from your ever more mature tom-cat pen friend
Lucas.
108. Dunedin September 30
Dear Steinway,
Others younger fairer thinner furrier silkier taller less magnificently keyed, polished, but maybe sweeter, in their ways, have had all the attention lately, so now I’m writing this letter to you to tell you, dear Certain, that I have not forgotten you, that I think of you often, and I do want to thank you for sending me the first seven bars of Schubert’s B Flat. There was no trouble at all in their transportation and they were received as good as new, as one of your servants plays them. I hope your servant is keeping you well polished and your other servant is vacuuming around your sturdy legs and that you no longer have that recurring dream of being a mere upright. I believe it’s a common dream among the Grands. I advise you to count your many blessings, think of your relatives, of Carnie tendrilled and touching, so attentive to you, and of the lesser-toothed two-legged (my arithmetic may be incorrect here) human beings who are your keepers and of him who plays upon you, who fingers you when you might otherwise remain untouched, silent, imprisoned.
Today I believe your servants set out for Santa Fe. I hope you have a marvellous time when they are gone. When they return they’ll come rushing to you for comfort, I’m sure.
Well, Steinway, I haven’t much news from here of any of your relatives. I think the Marama Hall Steinway in the University is being much played upon and attended to but I fear for the ego of the older Steinway who remains on the platform and is used, I suppose, only when two pianos are needed. All solo performers choose the new. I don’t know if I told you that about a year ago I knew a colony of your relatives in the wilds of New Hampshire. One in particular, a library piano was beautifully played upon. Well, Steinway, here is the end of my paltry letter. I hope the time is not too far
away when I see and hear you again; otherwise I shall waste away my sturdy legs and polished skin and my teeth or keys will decay.
Give my love to B and P and that cat Ned who tickles your legs with his fur.
Yours,
J.
Now, unLucassed, unSteinwayed and UnCarnied, I turn my attention and typewriter to Bill the Pill, Paul the Doll, Ned the Fed, Fred the Wed, and say hello from plain uncluttered Jay who lives a quiet life and is hoping to finish a book some day, some day, now the unpleasant hospital experience is over and the rudeness of her health has been confirmed leaving no doubts.
Stars.
The weather has been foul, and cold but gradually, yesterday and today, the sun is beginning to shine and the air to recover its warmth. A frightful storm came up from Antarctica, just to show us, to teach us a lesson not to forget the neighbouring ice. As if we could forget either ice or fire. I’ve been worried about your sister Paul in San Diego, as the news says the fire has been there—the visible fire. I think of you driving your car through flames and emerging unscathed.
Today I shall walk down to the Gardens Corner to post this. All the blossoms are out, and most are withered now. Two of my lilac bushes have withered in late frosts but the dooryard lilac persists healthily though it will not bloom yet. The lilac elsewhere is in bloom. Cats are also in bloom. I notice that most of the cats in this neighbourhood wear white waist-coats. If Lucas does not have his attention turned to lower things the waistcoats of the new generation of cats will be even whiter.
I think what I appreciate most about Lucas is his capacity for pure delight and wonder at everything, and his enjoyment. You know . . . ‘What shall man do who can whistle tunes by heart and know to the bar when death shall cut him short, like the cry of the shearwater?’
I’m inclined to think, though, that animals do know about death, and that they include it in their range of delight and wonder. ????