KISA THE CAT

Edition and rights: Original English text from Project Gutenberg ebook #31201, marked public domain in the USA. The literary text below is reproduced without AI rewriting.

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Once upon a time there lived a queen who had a beautiful
cat, the colour of smoke, with china-blue eyes, which she
was very fond of. The cat was constantly with her, and
ran after her wherever she went, and even sat up proudly
by her side when she drove out in her fine glass coach.

‘Oh, pussy,’ said the queen one day, ‘you are happier
than I am! For you have a dear little kitten just like
yourself, and I have nobody to play with but you.’

‘Don’t cry,’ answered the cat, laying her paw on her
mistress’s arm. ‘Crying never does any good. I will see
what can be done.’

The cat was as good as her word. As soon as she
returned from her drive she trotted off to the forest to
consult a fairy who dwelt there, and very soon after the
queen had a little girl, who seemed made out of snow and
sunbeams. The queen was delighted, and soon the baby
began to take notice of the kitten as she jumped about
the room, and would not go to sleep at all unless the
kitten lay curled up beside her.

Two or three months went by, and though the baby
was still a baby, the kitten was fast becoming a cat, and
one evening when, as usual, the nurse came to look for
her, to put her in the baby’s cot, she was nowhere to be
found. What a hunt there was for that kitten, to be sure!
The servants, each anxious to find her, as the queen was
certain to reward the lucky man, searched in the most
impossible places. Boxes were opened that would hardly
have held the kitten’s paw; books were taken from
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bookshelves, lest the kitten should have got behind them,
drawers were pulled out, for perhaps the kitten might
have got shut in. But it was all no use. The kitten had
plainly run away, and nobody could tell if it would ever
choose to come back.

Years passed away, and one day, when the princess
was playing ball in the garden, she happened to throw
her ball farther than usual, and it fell into a clump of
rose-bushes. The princess of course ran after it at once,
and she was stooping down to feel if it was hidden in the
long grass, when she heard a voice calling her: ‘Ingibjörg!
Ingibjörg!’ it said, ‘have you forgotten me? I am Kisa,
your sister!’

‘But I never had a sister,’ answered Ingibjörg, very
much puzzled; for she knew nothing of what had taken
place so long ago.

‘Don’t you remember how I always slept in your cot
beside you, and how you cried till I came? But girls
have no memories at all! Why, I could find my way
straight up to that cot this moment, if I was once inside
the palace.’

‘Why did you go away then?’ asked the princess. But
before Kisa could answer, Ingibjörg’s attendants arrived
breathless on the scene, and were so horrified at the sight
of a strange cat, that Kisa plunged into the bushes and
went back to the forest.

The princess was very much vexed with her ladies-in-waiting
for frightening away her old playfellow, and told
the queen who came to her room every evening to bid her
good-night.

‘Yes, it is quite true what Kisa said,’ answered the
queen; ‘I should have liked to see her again. Perhaps,
some day, she will return, and then you must bring her
to me.’

Next morning it was very hot, and the princess
declared that she must go and play in the forest, where it
was always cool, under the big shady trees. As usual,
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her attendants let her do anything she pleased, and,
sitting down on a mossy bank where a little stream
tinkled by, soon fell sound asleep. The princess saw with
delight that they would pay no heed to her, and wandered
on and on, expecting every moment to see some fairies
dancing round a ring, or some little brown elves peeping
at her from behind a tree. But, alas! she met none of
these; instead, a horrible giant came out of his cave and
ordered her to follow him. The princess felt much afraid,
as he was so big and ugly, and began to be sorry that
she had not stayed within reach of help; but as there
was no use in disobeying the giant, she walked meekly
behind.

They went a long way, and Ingibjörg grew very tired,
and at length began to cry.

‘I don’t like girls who make horrid noises,’ said the
giant, turning round. ‘But if you want to cry, I will give
you something to cry for.’ And drawing an axe from his
belt, he cut off both her feet, which he picked up and put
in his pocket. Then he went away.

Poor Ingibjörg lay on the grass in terrible pain, and
wondering if she should stay there till she died, as no one
would know where to look for her. How long it was
since she had set out in the morning she could not tell—it
seemed years to her, of course; but the sun was still
high in the heavens when she heard the sound of wheels,
and then, with a great effort, for her throat was parched
with fright and pain, she gave a shout.

‘I am coming!’ was the answer; and in another
moment a cart made its way through the trees, driven by
Kisa, who used her tail as a whip to urge the horse to
go faster. Directly Kisa saw Ingibjörg lying there, she
jumped quickly down, and lifting the girl carefully in her
two front paws, laid her upon some soft hay, and drove
back to her own little hut.

In the corner of the room was a pile of cushions,
and these Kisa arranged as a bed. Ingibjörg, who by this
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time was nearly fainting from all she had gone through,
drank greedily some milk, and then sank back on the
cushions while Kisa fetched some dried herbs from a
cupboard, soaked them in warm water and tied them
on the bleeding legs. The pain vanished at once, and
Ingibjörg looked up and smiled at Kisa.

‘You will go to sleep now,’ said the cat, ‘and you will
not mind if I leave you for a little while. I will lock the
door, and no one can hurt you.’ But before she had
finished the princess was asleep. Then Kisa got into
the cart, which was standing at the door, and catching up
the reins, drove straight to the giant’s cave.

Leaving her cart behind some trees, Kisa crept gently
up to the open door, and, crouching down, listened to
what the giant was telling his wife, who was at supper
with him.

‘The first day that I can spare I shall just go back
and kill her,’ he said; ‘it would never do for people in the
forest to know that a mere girl can defy me!’ And he
and his wife were so busy calling Ingibjörg all sorts of
names for her bad behaviour, that they never noticed Kisa
stealing into a dark corner, and upsetting a whole bag of
salt into the great pot before the fire.

‘Dear me, how thirsty I am!’ cried the giant by-and-by.

‘So am I,’ answered his wife. ‘I do wish I had not
taken that last spoonful of broth; I am sure something
was wrong with it.’

‘If I don’t get some water I shall die,’ went on the
giant. And rushing out of the cave, followed by his wife,
he ran down the path which led to the river.

Then Kisa entered the hut, and lost no time in
searching every hole till she came upon some grass, under
which Ingibjörg’s feet were hidden, and putting them in
her cart, drove back again to her own hut.

Ingibjörg was thankful to see her, for she had lain, too
frightened to sleep, trembling at every noise.

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‘Oh, is it you?’ she cried joyfully, as Kisa turned the
key. And the cat came in, holding up the two neat little
feet in their silver slippers.

‘In two minutes they shall be as tight as ever they
were!’ said Kisa. And taking some strings of the magic
grass which the giant had carelessly heaped on them,
she bound the feet on to the legs above.

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‘Of course you won’t be able to walk for some time;
you must not expect that,’ she continued. ‘But if you are
very good, perhaps, in about a week, I may carry you
home again.’

And so she did; and when the cat drove the cart up
to the palace gate, lashing the horse furiously with her
tail, and the king and queen saw their lost daughter sitting
beside her, they declared that no reward could be too
great for the person who had brought her out of the
giant’s hands.

‘We will talk about that by-and-by,’ said the cat, as
she made her best bow, and turned her horse’s head.

The princess was very unhappy when Kisa left her
without even bidding her farewell. She would neither
eat nor drink, nor take any notice of all the beautiful
dresses her parents bought for her.

‘She will die, unless we can make her laugh,’ one
whispered to the other. ‘Is there anything in the world
that we have left untried?’

‘Nothing, except marriage,’ answered the king. And he
invited all the handsomest young men he could think of
to the palace, and bade the princess choose a husband
from among them.

It took her some time to decide which she admired
the most, but at last she fixed upon a young prince, whose
eyes were like the pools in the forest, and his hair of
bright gold. The king and the queen were greatly pleased,
as the young man was the son of a neighbouring king, and
they gave orders that a splendid feast should be got ready.

When the marriage was over, Kisa suddenly stood
before them, and Ingibjörg rushed forward and clasped
her in her arms.

‘I have come to claim my reward,’ said the cat. ‘Let
me sleep for this night at the foot of your bed.’

‘Is that all?’ asked Ingibjörg, much disappointed.

‘It is enough,’ answered the cat. And when the
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morning dawned, it was no cat that lay upon the bed, but
a beautiful princess.

‘My mother and I were both enchanted by a spiteful
fairy,’ said she, ‘and we could not free ourselves till we had
done some kindly deed that had never been wrought
before. My mother died without ever finding a chance of
doing anything new, but I took advantage of the evil act
of the giant to make you as whole as ever.’

Then they were all more delighted than before, and
the princess lived in the court until she, too, married, and
went away to govern one of her own.

[Adapted from Neuisländischen Volksmärchen.]

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