The discussion of cats has me thinking... strange thoughts:
- - Mr Nicolae Carpathia ate with relish the inner organs of beasts,
fowls, and dissenters. He liked ground Christian soup, a stuffed roast heart,
liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked
grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented
urine.
- - Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the airplane softly,
righting her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Perfect light and air were in
the planekitchen, outside gentle mushroom clouds rose everywhere. Made him
feel a bit peckish.
- - The coals were reddening. And a faint smell of sulfur wafted up.
- - Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right. She didn't like
her plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle off the hob
and set it sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck
out. Cup of saint's blood soon. Good. Mouth dry.
- - The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the table with tail on high.
— Mkgnao!
— There you are, Mr Carpathia said, turning from the hellfire.
- - The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the
table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my Poten-table. Prr. Scratch my
head. Prr.
- - Mr Carpathia watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Clean to
see: the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail,
the green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on his knees.
— Milk for the pussens, he said.
— Mrkgnao! the cat cried.
- - They call them stupid. They understand what we say better than we
understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel.
Could learn from her. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. What do I look
like to her. Height of a tower? No, she can jump me.
— Afraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly. Afraid of the
chookchooks. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens.
— Mrkrgnao! the cat said loudly.
- - She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, mewing plaintively
and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. He watched the dark eyeslits
narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones. Then he went to the
cabinet, took the jug a GC servant had just filled for him, poured
warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor.
— Gurrhr! she cried, running to lap.
- - He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light as she tipped
three times and licked lightly. Wonder is it true if you clip them they can't
mouse after. Why? They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Or kind of
feelers in the dark, perhaps. Like the tentacles of my Lord?
- - He listened to her licking lap. Ham and eggs, no. No good eggs with
this drouth. Want pure fresh water. Thursday: not a good day either for a
human kidney in Paris. Fried with butter, a shake of pepper. Better a
pork kidney at Dublin. While the kettle is boiling. She lapped slower,
then licking the saucer clean. Why are their tongues so rough? To lap
better, all porous holes. Nothing she can eat? He glanced round him. No.
- - On custom baby seal leather boots he went to the sleeping hall, paused
by the bedroom door. Hattie might like something tasty. Thin bread and
butter she likes in the morning. Still perhaps: once in a way.
- - He said softly in the opulent hall:
— I'm going to nuke a few cities. Be back in a minute.
- - And when he had heard his voice say it he added:
— You don't want anything for breakfast?
- - A sleepy soft grunt answered:
— Mn.
- - Without warning the hall started to move, the plane was taking off
could I grab- No. What about- Too late. Brace for- OWW! Subpotentates
must have heard that. They'll come to gather all around. Bootlickers all
probably do it literally if I asked them. I should do that. Ask them.
Step in some shit first.
— Potentate, are you all right?
— I am all right, Mr. Carpathia insisted. It is my own fault. I will be fine.
fowls, and dissenters. He liked ground Christian soup, a stuffed roast heart,
liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods' roes. Most of all he liked
grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of faintly scented
urine.
- - Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the airplane softly,
righting her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Perfect light and air were in
the planekitchen, outside gentle mushroom clouds rose everywhere. Made him
feel a bit peckish.
- - The coals were reddening. And a faint smell of sulfur wafted up.
- - Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right. She didn't like
her plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle off the hob
and set it sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and squat, its spout stuck
out. Cup of saint's blood soon. Good. Mouth dry.
- - The cat walked stiffly round a leg of the table with tail on high.
— Mkgnao!
— There you are, Mr Carpathia said, turning from the hellfire.
- - The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the
table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my Poten-table. Prr. Scratch my
head. Prr.
- - Mr Carpathia watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Clean to
see: the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her tail,
the green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on his knees.
— Milk for the pussens, he said.
— Mrkgnao! the cat cried.
- - They call them stupid. They understand what we say better than we
understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too. Cruel.
Could learn from her. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. What do I look
like to her. Height of a tower? No, she can jump me.
— Afraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly. Afraid of the
chookchooks. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens.
— Mrkrgnao! the cat said loudly.
- - She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, mewing plaintively
and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. He watched the dark eyeslits
narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones. Then he went to the
cabinet, took the jug a GC servant had just filled for him, poured
warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor.
— Gurrhr! she cried, running to lap.
- - He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light as she tipped
three times and licked lightly. Wonder is it true if you clip them they can't
mouse after. Why? They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Or kind of
feelers in the dark, perhaps. Like the tentacles of my Lord?
- - He listened to her licking lap. Ham and eggs, no. No good eggs with
this drouth. Want pure fresh water. Thursday: not a good day either for a
human kidney in Paris. Fried with butter, a shake of pepper. Better a
pork kidney at Dublin. While the kettle is boiling. She lapped slower,
then licking the saucer clean. Why are their tongues so rough? To lap
better, all porous holes. Nothing she can eat? He glanced round him. No.
- - On custom baby seal leather boots he went to the sleeping hall, paused
by the bedroom door. Hattie might like something tasty. Thin bread and
butter she likes in the morning. Still perhaps: once in a way.
- - He said softly in the opulent hall:
— I'm going to nuke a few cities. Be back in a minute.
- - And when he had heard his voice say it he added:
— You don't want anything for breakfast?
- - A sleepy soft grunt answered:
— Mn.
- - Without warning the hall started to move, the plane was taking off
could I grab- No. What about- Too late. Brace for- OWW! Subpotentates
must have heard that. They'll come to gather all around. Bootlickers all
probably do it literally if I asked them. I should do that. Ask them.
Step in some shit first.
— Potentate, are you all right?
— I am all right, Mr. Carpathia insisted. It is my own fault. I will be fine.
-
Yeah, didn't spend much time in on that. It was just discussion of Nicolae and his cat that got me thinking of it.
[Left Behind Index]
As always, with one post you do what twelve, fifteen, fifty-five, I've lost count, books couldn't: in this case, you make Carpathia not just evil but convincingly nasty.
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