Aloud, he said to Jennie-`Jennie, dear. It was so lonely without you. Nothing seemed the same any more, and I thought that was how it was always going to be, and I didn't know what to do. But won't it be just too dreadful for Poor Buff. She was so happy to have found you again. Jennie, why does someone always have to be unhappy?'
Peter saw the shining in Jennie's eyes before she turned her head away for a few washes as seemed indicated by the emotional content of the moment, and they were brighter and more glistening than even the moon could have evoked. But she said after she had smoothed her fur down somewhat and gained control of herself and her voice:
`Buff isn't a child any longer, Peter, and doesn't need me as much as she once did. She is almost fifteen now. People change too, Peter, and as they grow older things no longer mean the same to them. She will cry when I don't come back, but she will get over it, because she has other things that interest her now, and above all she will remember that I did come back once and that I understand that she didn't abandon me on purpose. And actually,' she added with that queer and sometimes frightening wisdom she seemed to possess, `what made Buff most unhappy all the three years was the thought that I believed she had deserted me. Which of course I did, because I was a fool, until you came along and taught me what people really can be like …'
She gave herself a long stretch and an inverted `U' bend, and concluded, `Well, anyway, that's all over and done with. And now here we are together again. But oh, Peter, for a little you gave me a bad turn. I was so afraid you might be going to do something foolish for my sake and not keep your promise to come and meet me here. Never, never do that, Peter. ..'
Peter thought it best not to say that he had been tempted for Jennie's sake. Instead, he gave a great sigh. He was very happy now. They lay down side by side, curled up together, and soon went fast to sleep. As the disc of the moon slid away from the opening of the roof, the soft light went out from the inside of the bombed house and all its ruins and sleeping cats vanished in the shadows of the night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Lulu-or, Fishface for Short
The next morning was a fine day. Peter awakened to find Jennie curled up in a tight ball, one paw over her eyes to keep out the light, and emitting just the tiniest of snores. Although the roof overhead was now the blue sky, and soon the sun would be streaming into the hostel, she was still fast asleep. Most of the other cats were already up and about their business. Some had departed, others were sitting about making their toilet with a serious wash, or giving themselves a lick and a promise, depending upon the state of their personal pride and how low they had come down in the world.
Peter thought he would go out and forage. It would be nice if when Jennie woke up there he would be with maybe a mouse, if he could find one, or perhaps a bone dug out of last night's refuse from some of the better houses on the square, or even a bit of melon rind of which Jennie was extraordinarily fond.
And so, moving quietly in order not to awaken her, he stole away from her side, bade an amiable good morning to Putzi and Mutzi who were tidying up close to the door, slipped through the narrow spot at the bottom, and found himself in Cavendish Square just as the All Souls' clock struck nine.
Simultaneously with the chime of the steeple clock, Peter was aware of a little shriek close by and then the most extraordinary voice he had ever heard: `Oh, I say. You did give me a turn. I wasn't expecting anyone. Lumme, but you are tall, white and handsome. Whooooooooooeee! Where do you think we all ought to go, then?'
Peter himself was startled, because the voice was so deep, husky and disturbing, and turned around quickly to see who it was had spoken. And what he saw was the most astonishing and beautiful creature on which he had ever laid eyes, either as boy or cat.
She was a small puss, much smaller than Jennie, but with a wonderfully firm and compact body that was coloured a kind of smoky pearl, or biscuit, or maybe it was more cream-coloured, or the colour of coffee with a lot of milk in it, and he had never in all his life seen a cat exactly that shade.
But this was only the beginning of the surprises for Peter, for she had a seal-coloured face and mask, coal-black triangle of a nose, cream head and dark brown ears. She also had four almost black feet, and tail. But the most marvellous and beautiful of all, out from the middle of the dark face gleamed two of the loveliest, shining, liquid and deep blue eyes he had ever seen. They weren't violet, and they weren't sapphire; they weren't really the colour of the sea, nor did they quite match the sky; one couldn't exactly describe what shade of blue they were, except that having once seen them one could only think of blue being that colour thereafter. Peter also noticed that they were slightly crossed, but this in a way added, rather than detracted, from the interest and beauties of her countenance. He was quite aware that he was standing there dumbstruck staring at this lovely vision, and also that it seemed as if he could do nothing else.
The spell was broken by the little creature herself who skipped three steps sideways and three steps back again, bushed her tail and said, `Good evening! I know it's morning, but I don't care. I say what I please. In the evening I say 'good morning" if I feel like it, and I never say "good afternoon." Well?'
The last being a direct question addressed to him, Peter felt he must reply, but was so bewildered by the charm of the cat as well as her odd way of speech that he could think of nothing to say but `Good evening, Miss,' which brought another shriek from her and this time she jumped straight up into the air, and when she came down she cried-Oh, I say, you are going to be fun. My name is Lulu, but all my friends call me Fishface for short. That's because when I eat bloaters, or kippers, or have a little hake, brill, cod or pollock my breath always smells of fish. Here, I'll show you. SMELL?' And she came over quite close to Peter and breathed in his face. The aroma of fish was unmistakable, but somehow, perhaps now that he was a cat, Peter did not find it unpleasant.
He smiled and said, `My name is Peter, and-' but could get no further, for Lulu made a backwards and forwards dash almost simultaneously and cried `Peter, Peter! There was a poem that started that way, but I've forgotten the rest. Anyway, I think up my own poetry. I am thinking of one now about thimbles. Very well then, I'll recite it for you,' and here she sat down with her tail folded about her and a most sanctified look on her face that reminded Peter of some of the saints he had seen on the stained-glass windows in church, and recited as follows”
`Thimble,
Thimble, Thimble,
Thimble, THIMBLE!
`You see,' Lulu explained to him after she had finished, `unlike most poetry, it ALL rhymes. Whoooooeeee!' With a leap and a bound she was away, chasing a wholly imaginary leaf, whirling, striking at it with her swift, dark paws, then finally imagining that it had been blown back close to Peter where she landed on it with a terrific pounce and crouched there, looking up intensely into Peter's face as she said: 'Do you like tea? Do you like coffee? I love olives. Wasn't it a nice day next Thursday?'
'Never mind answering!' she cried in her deep voice before Peter could even so much as think of a reply, and got up and danced away from him with one shoulder all hunched up and crooked-'Come on, dance with me, all sideways and twist about. Up you go, and down you go, and AROUND you go; now RUN!!'
Swept away, Peter found himself dancing sideways beside her, then leaping up into the air and turning all about before he came down, and then when he landed on the pavement, running, running, running with her as hard as he could. He could not remember when he had ever had so much fun or been in the presence of such a wholly fascinating and enchanting creature.