by Felix Salten
Djibi’s paw hit out lazily, but missed the bird, who fluttered back and emitted a deep call, which sounded like “Ohe!”
The magpie returned to Djibi almost immediately, and poked her beak into Djibi’s flank.
This time the cat shot up.
But the magpie flew buzzingly across the room, and settled on the lamp, calling out again: “Ohe!”
The teacher and his wife watched her as she sat up there surveying the room with intelligent eyes.
“What an elegant bird,” said the teacher.
“A clever bird,” agreed Bertha. “But don’t let us forget that she steals. You know the saying: ‘Thievish as a magpie’!”
“Since we have nothing of value, my dear, there is no harm in her stealing.”
Bertha wondered: “I can’t think what she has come for . . .”
“Company,” replied the teacher. “Entertainment, play . . . just look at her!”
Djibi and Tasso were looking up at the lamp, full of anticipation.
The magpie chatted away. It almost sounded as if she were laughing.
Suddenly she fluttered down and flew at Djibi.
Tasso stood in front of Djibi in order to protect her.
But the magpie did no harm: she behaved in a nice and playful manner.
Tasso and Djibi were only partly amused; they were partly suspicious, as though expecting an attack.
To everybody’s surprise, the magpie settled on Tasso’s back, and began pecking at his head.
Tasso shook himself violently. This upset the bird’s balance and she fluttered down toward the floor, but flew up again, obviously because Djibi was standing by with raised paws, ready to catch her.
The magpie kept fluttering up and down, rose to the ceiling and came down to the floor.
She seemed to be teasing.
Tasso alternately raised and lowered his head, following her movements with amazement.
Djibi vainly tried to catch the bird. The magpie returned to the lamp, where she took a seat.
“Ohe!” she called in a deep voice, then laughed.
“This bird will come to a bad end,” feared Bertha.
“Why so?” contradicted her husband. “They are only playing with each other!”
“I have no objection,” said Bertha, “but I doubt whether they will go on playing all the time. I think there will be some trouble soon.”
At first the teacher’s view seemed to prevail, but when the farmer arrived the situation became critical.
The magpie refused to tolerate his presence in the room.
At first he treated her attacks jocularly.
“One always meets strange creatures at your place,” he remarked.
“Isn’t she lovely?” smiled Bertha.
“She would be lovely if she gave me some peace,” he said, trying to ward off the bird.
But the magpie attacked him with increased violence.
He hit out at her with his cap, but she escaped him nimbly, fluttered onto his shoulder and stabbed his cheek with her beak.
He gave a forced laugh: “Stop it, it hurts!”
But the magpie would not let go and pressed still closer to him.
He hit out with his cap again, and demanded: “Teacher, call this vulture off!”
The teacher was amused. “This bird won’t obey me! And it isn’t a vulture, only a magpie.”
The farmer turned his head right and left, but in vain.
“Ohe!” said the magpie, suddenly in her full voice.
The farmer was quite startled. “You damned creature!” he cried angrily. “The devil take you!” he shouted again, as the magpie grew still bolder and dug her beak more and more vigorously into his face.
“Look here!” he roared at least, “if you refuse to help me, I’ll leave!”
“I would like to help you,” said the teacher, “but how can I? I don’t know the bird!”
“It’s no good trying to fib to me! I know you’re on terms of intimacy with all animals!”
Perhaps the farmer’s loud and angry voice provoked the magpie; her attacks increased and became unbearable.
“Things have come to a pretty pass when you allow a bird to drive me out!” grumbled the farmer as he made for the door.
“I assure you I’m not responsible!” called the teacher. But the farmer did not hear him. He was already gone.
“Some animals have sound instincts,” said Bertha, laughing.
Djibi climbed deftly up to the teacher’s shoulder.
“Coming back home, puss?”
She pressed her head under his chin and purred.
He stroked her gently, delighted. “Dear, dear puss . . .”
But she did not stay long; one leap brought her down to the floor, and she whisked out through the open door.
“Where are you hurrying to, puss?”
Djibi paid no attention to his question.
As the teacher stood outside the front door, he saw her run toward the fields.
“Let her be,” said Bertha. “She is out on a mouse hunt.”
“I wish that were all . . . but she always goes into the street afterward.”
“Send Tasso for her! He’ll get her back.”
“Tasso!”
The dog arrived eagerly, wagged his stumpy tail and pricked his ears attentively.
“Fetch pussy, Tasso!”
The dog departed promptly on his mission.
He stayed away a long time. At last, the teacher, who was waiting impatiently outside the house, saw Tasso arrive from the street, with Djibi in his mouth.
“In the street again!” he said, very displeased. “Heaven only knows why the cat is so attracted to the street!”
Djibi continued to prowl about. In the fields, in the street, and also in the farmer’s yard, where she stole a rabbit again.
The farmer, who immediately discovered her misdeed, came to accuse the cat.
“You see,” said the teacher, “that is the proper way to act. Now we can settle the matter in a decent way.”
“Will you pay me damages? You know you said you would!”
“Of course I’ll pay! I am in the habit of keeping my word. How much?”
The farmer named a sum, which the teacher was about to pay without bargaining, when Bertha intervened.
“You mustn’t take advantage of us like that! For that amount I can get three rabbits. You’re only entitled to the usual price!”
They agreed on a figure; the teacher held Djibi in his arms while Bertha paid.
“Is this a nice thing to do, puss?” he talked softly to her. “Don’t we give you enough to eat?” But Djibi tore away from him and ran out.
Soon afterward she could be heard screaming in the field.
Tasso was already on his way to her.
“Help her!” cried the teacher. The dog rushed off.
A huge tomcat had attacked Djibi and was about to maul her badly.
She turned and wriggled under his unfriendly wooing. She scratched and bit him furiously, but as he was the stronger, he would undoubtedly have damaged her seriously before he had his way.
At this juncture Tasso arrived to her rescue, seized the dangerous suitor and flung him away.
The tomcat remained lying motionless on the ground.
Tasso’s murderous teeth had bitten right through his neck.
Djibi crawled up to the dead body, sniffed at it and wailed plaintively.
Tasso stood by, dumbfounded, looking from Djibi to the dead cat. He couldn’t understand what had happened; he had meant well and was mystified at Djibi’s sorrow.
“Don’t grieve, pussy,” said the teacher, who had followed Tasso and picked Djibi up, fondling her. “You will never lack suitors.”
But Djibi did not purr, nor did she wish to stay in his arms. She leaped down and disappeared before he had time to stop her.
This time peril overtook her.
She had resumed her attacks on the rabbits, and grew wilder as her lust to ki
ll increased.
The farmer knew it, and waited for her as he saw her coming.
He took up his post behind a tall threshing machine. All sorts of farming implements were scattered there, a ploughshare, several spades, a heavy spare wheel of the lorry.
The farmer’s eye took stock of all these articles, with no other intention than to frighten Djibi and chase her away should she steal up to the rabbit hutch again. He only meant to clap his hands, or possibly rattle with the spade.
But when he saw Djibi stalking up to the rabbits, he flew into a blind rage.
The teacher would have found her supple tiger step and her lion attitude enchanting. In the farmer, however, it provoked suddenly such violent fury that he did what he least intended. He seized the first thing he could lay hands on, and threw the ploughshare at her.
The cold steel hit Djibi with such force that it smashed her spine.
She collapsed with a stifled cry. The heavy piece of metal tipped over and fell over the cat, killing her after a brief death struggle.
The farmer grew pale as he hurried to her.
Subconsciously, he felt a revengeful satisfaction. He had hated Djibi from the first. But his dread of the teacher and his wife was stronger than any other feeling.
Tasso, who had been sent to look for Djibi, drew back in terror from his dead friend, and began to mourn for her with loud, long wails. He did not budge from her side, and howled persistently until the teacher and his wife came running by.
“So you have been her destruction, after all!” cried Bertha, while the farmer stammered: “It really isn’t my fault . . .”
“No,” said the teacher bitingly. “You are innocent! The poor creature has deliberately thrown herself under the ploughshare!”
The farmer repeated, stammering: “It isn’t my fault . . .”
The teacher eyed him sternly from head to foot: “Listen to me, man! From now on we are complete strangers, remember that! Don’t ever let me set eyes on you again!”
With these words, he turned away. “Let’s go, Bertha! Come, Tasso, or something might happen to you of which this fellow is innocent!”
On their way home with the dead cat, the teacher sighed bitterly. “My poor, dear, pussy!”
Bertha consoled him. “It’s all for the best,” she said. “Pussy was well on her way to lose her mind. Believe me, she would have had rabies before long!”
The teacher was so despondent that he was willing to believe anything.
The farmer remained behind, alone, scratched his head and murmured: “Once a fool, always a fool! All this fuss for a measly cat!”
Felix Salten was an author and critic in Vienna, Austria. He was the author of plays, short stories, novels, travel books, and essay collections. His most famous work is Bambi.
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Also by Felix Salten
Bambi
Bambi ’s Children
Renni the Rescuer
A Forest World
The Hound of Florence
The City Jungle
Fifteen Rabbits
Florian
Perri
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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This Aladdin hardcover edition February 2016
Text copyright © 1945 by Albert Müller Verlag
English language translation copyright © 1948 by Julian Messner, Inc.
Originally published in German in 1945 by Albert Müller Verlag as Djibi, das Kätzchen.
Jacket illustration copyright © 2016 by Richard Cowdrey
Also available in an Aladdin paperback edition.
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Jacket designed by Karin Paprocki
Interior designed by Hilary Zarycky
The text of this book was set in Yana.
Library of Congress Control Number 2015936613
ISBN 978-1-4424-8765-9 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8764-2 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4424-8766-6 (eBook)