P G Wodehouse – Man Upstairs

“It did, monsieur. But what would you? It is necessary to break eggs in order to make an omelette. All is fair, you say, in love and war, and this was both. Moreover, you must understand, I do not dictate his movements to the parrot. He is free agent. I do but open the cage-door. Should he ‘op out and proceed to the floor where is the cat, that is his affair. I shall continue, yes?”

Alors! I open the cage-door and disappear discreetly. It is not politic that I remain to witness what shall transpire. It is for me to establish an alibi. I go to the drawing-room, where I remain.

At dinner that night Mr. ‘Enderson has laughed.

“In the ‘all this afternoon,” he has said, “I have seen by chance the dickens of a funny occurrence. That parrot of yours, Marion, had escaped once again from its cage and was ‘aving an argument with that cat which Captain Bassett has given to you.”

“Oh! I hope that Alexander ‘as not hurt poor Polly, of whom I am very fond,” she has said.

“The affair did not come to blows,” has said Mr. ‘Enderson. “You may trust that bird to take care of himself, my dear. When I came upon the scene the cat was crouching in a corner, with his fur bristling and his back up, while Polly, standing before ‘im, was telling ‘im not to move or he would shoot. Nor did he move, till I ‘ad seized the parrot and replaced him in the cage, when he shot upstairs like a streak of lightning. By sheer force of character that excellent bird ‘ad won the bloodless victory. I drink to ‘im!”

You can conceive my emotion as I listen to this tale. I am like the poet’s mice and men whose best-laid schemes have gone away. I am baffled. I am discouraged. I do not know what I shall do. I must find another plan, but I do not know what.

How shall I remove the cat? Shall I kill ‘im? No, for I might be suspect.

Shall I ‘ire someone to steal ‘im? No, for my accomplice might betray me.

Shall I myself steal ‘im? Ah! that is better. That is a very good plan.

Soon I have it perfected, this plan. Listen, monsieur; it is as follows. It is simple, but it is good. I will await my opportunity. I will remove the cat secretly from the ‘ouse. I will take him to an office of the District Messenger Boys. I will order a messenger to carry him at once to the Cats’ House, and to request M. le Directeur immediately to destroy him. It is a simple plan, but it is good.

I carry it through without a ‘itch. It is not so difficult to secure the cat. ‘E is asleep in the drawing-room. There is nobody at hand. I have in my bedroom a ‘at-box which I have brought from Paris. I have brought it with me to the drawing-room. I have placed in it the cat. I have escaped from the ‘ouse. The cat has uttered a cry, but none has ‘eard. I have reached the office of the District Messenger Boys. I have ‘anded over the cat in its box. The manager is courteous, sympathetic. A messenger has started in a cab for the Cats’ House. I have breathed a sigh of relief. I am saved.

That is what I say to myself as I return. My troubles are over, and once more I can be gay, debonair, vivacious with Miss Marion, for no longer will there be present the cat Alexander to ‘arass me.

When I have returned there is commotion in the ‘ouse. I pass on the stairs domestics calling “Puss, puss!” The butler is chirruping loudly and poking beneath the furniture with a umbrella. All is confusion and agitation.

In the drawing-room is Miss Marion. She is distressed.

“Nowhere,” she has said, “can there be found the cat Alexander of whom I am so fond. Nowhere in the ‘ouse is he. Where can he be? He is lost.”

I am gentle, sympathetic. I endeavour to console her. I ‘int to her that am I not sufficient substitute for a beastly cat? She is, however, inconsolable. I must be patient. I must wait my time.