The Fat Cat


The Fat Cat Sits on my Feet. Fat is not enough to describe him by now. He must weigh pounds & pounds. And his lovely black coat is turning white. I suppose its to prevent the mountains from seeing him. He sleeps here & occasionally creeps up to my chest & pads softly with his paws, singing the while. I suppose he wants to see if I have the same face all night. I long to surprise him with terrific disguises. M. calls him “my Breakfast cat”, because they share that meal – two boys – alone together. M. at the table and Wingley on. Its awful the love one can lavish on an animal.

[Letter from Katherine Mansfield to Dorothy Brett, 2 November 1921. Source.]