Rama the Gypsy Cat Read Online Free Page B

he looked, as he went out the door, like a very young and troubled boy. It bothered his mother that he already had to do a man’s work, and the expression she had seen on his face made her put down the dishes she was taking from the table and walk back to the fireplace.
    “Cat, you gotta live,” she said. She knelt beside him, the stone of the fireplace warm beneath her knees, and reached for the tin cup of milk beside the cat. Slowly she began to stroke Rama’s forehead. “Come on, Cat,” she said. “Open your eyes, hear?”
    Rama did not move.
    “Oh, Cat, come on. The boy needs you.”
    She took a spoonful of the warm milk and held it beneath his nose. “Here’s some milk for you. It’s good and warm.”
    Rama did not move.
    The woman held the milk closer and continued to stroke Rama’s forehead. And as Rama lay there in the black cloud of unconsciousness, he slowly became aware of the warmth of the fire. He felt the fingers stroking his forehead and he thought it was the gypsy woman and that he lay before the camp fire.
    He stirred. Although his movement was slight, it made him feel the pain that started in his head and enveloped his whole body.
    “That’s right! Come on, Cat,” he heard a voice say. It was not the gypsy woman, but there was kindness in the voice. “You’re all right here. Ain’t nobody going to hurt you.”
    Rama’s eyes blinked slowly and he smelled the milk. The woman put the spoon closer and let a few drops soak into Rama’s mouth.
    “Swallow it,” she said.
    The milk ran out the side of his mouth. Again she gave him milk.
    “Swallow.”
    She waited anxiously, because she felt somehow that a crisis had been reached, that Rama’s life lay in the balance. She knew, too, that the deciding factor was the cat’s own will to live. She and the boy might do all they could to help him, but the cat had to try.
    “Swallow,” she begged.
    And this time, although the pain in his throat was great, Rama swallowed the drops of milk.

RECOVERY
    O N THE SECOND DAY, Rama was able to walk about the cabin. He had come, even in that short time, to trust the woman. Now he knew well that she was not the gypsy. Her hands were rougher, her step softer, and her voice was quiet. The gypsy woman had been demonstrative, lavish in her affection. She would pick him up as if he were a baby and croon to him, or put him on her shoulder and scratch his back, or rock him on her lap. But this woman touched him gently—if at all—and she had never picked him up.
    Jimmy, too, he trusted, for the boy was taking his time and did not attempt to hold Rama or pet him against his will.
    The father Rama avoided. He was not afraid of him, but the man’s brusque manner indicated that he had little time for play. Rama was quick to sense this and to move out of the way when he heard the heavy footsteps on the cabin floor.
    On the third day Rama wanted to go outside. The woman hesitated, but only a moment, and then she opened the door and waited while Rama stood in the doorway, looking out into the clearing.
    “Well, go on. I can’t hold the door open all day long,” she said, but she continued to stand there.
    Rama took his time. He licked his paw, his bib, and then moved slowly outside into the clearing. When the woman shut the door, he moved back and crouched beside the steps. He was aware that he was not in condition to meet an enemy no matter how small, and he remained partly hidden by the steps.
    The air was cold, but it felt good after the heat of the cabin, and Rama was content. He had no way of knowing the circumstances that had taken him from the gypsy woman and brought him here, but in his contentment there was a shadow of longing. He wanted the gypsy woman and he wanted the wagon he knew so well; he wanted the comfort of the soft pillows on the chest and he wanted the meats the gypsy woman gave him so generously. He did not know how to recapture these pleasures, and so he waited and watched, accepting what was