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Journal of Katherine Mansfield

The Little Cat

The Little Cat.

“Here he used to sit and sometimes on the path below there sat a small white and yellow cat with a tiny flattened face. It sat very still and its little peaked shadow lay beside it….

“This little cat never ran straight. It wound its way along the path, skirting the tufts of grass, crept now by the fence, now to the side of a rubbish-heap, and its little paws seemed to touch the ground as lightly as possible as though it were afraid of being followed,—traced.”

I shan't say it like that. It's only a note. But Ah, my darling, how often have I watched your page 162 small, silent progress! I shall not forget you, my little cat, as you ran along your beat on this whirling earth.

When Jean-Paul was undressed, his breast was like a small cage of bent bamboos. And she hated to see it. “Cover yourself!” And he shot his small arms into his woollen shirt.