baby. Not at all put out‚ he just stood there and watched her.
With infinite care‚ she offered the cup to the animal‚ which greedily lapped it up. When it was finished the woman said‚ ‘Ah! Thank you!’ She hesitated‚ then added‚ ‘Can I stay here in the warmth for a while?’
The first soft drink‚ Théophile bought for her. She remained sitting there for a long time in silence. She gazed round fearfully‚ looking everywhere‚ especially into dark corners. She left only when she felt completely reassured.
She returned the next day‚ then the following days. She always carried a cat in her arms‚ but never the same one. Sometimes she was also laden with a heavy shopping bag full of things she didn’t show anyone.
We learned that her name was Mina‚ that she begged‚ or worked if the opportunity arose‚ that she took in stray cats and shared her home with them‚ in a wooden shed at Gentilly from which she was soon to be evicted.
She was terribly upset about this‚ primarily because of the animals she cared for and fed‚ to which she devoted her time and her life.
I don’t know which one of us was the first to nickname her ‘Mina the Cat’. But it was impossible‚ yes‚ impossible‚ to think of her in any other way.
At the Trois-Mailletz‚ the regulars ended up adopting Minaas the symbol of the profound indifference of everyday-life to what most preoccupied the rest of the world. People spoke in veiled terms of the difficulties of the German advance in Russia‚ of what was going on in Greece‚ in North Africa and here of course. They harped on about repressive measures likely to be introduced‚ on rationing to be feared‚ on the validation of the next fortnight’s bread vouchers.
And then Mina would come in‚ cradling a ‘nursling’: and no one was worried about anything else any more but the cat’s health‚ the circumstances in which it had been found. And every day all of us would keep aside some scraps of food.
One day we were awaiting Mina with a kind of gleeful impatience. Séverin had found an attic to live in‚ at Dumont’s place‚ on Rue Maître-Albert‚ where‚ if she introduced them discreetly‚ one by one‚ she could accommodate her lodgers.
With a few soap boxes‚ a bit of sawdust‚ and some bleach – which could be gathered together easily enough – all the requirements of relative hygiene and temporary refuge could be met. Two skylights opened on to the roof‚ to which the animals would have easy access‚ and where they could caterwaul at the moon to their heart’s content.
In the event of any objection from Dumont‚ who sheltered – and hid – a good many men on the run‚ we undertook to square things with him.
The main thing was that Mina should move in.
At last she turned up. She sat down as usual. We broke the good news to her. But she seemed not to give it as much attention as we were entitled to expect.
This time more than ever before‚ her charge of the day alone claimed her care and solicitude. It was a dreadful little mog‚ a mangy one-eyed ginger tom. And vicious‚ stupidly vicious‚ because it scratched its benefactress when she tried to get it to drink. We advised her to leave to its own fate this ugly and ungrateful beast – dangerous too‚ for it looked diseased‚ and was likely to infect its fellow felines. Advice‚ exhortations were of no use. Mina stubbornly replied that she would devote herself to this animal more than any other‚ firstlybecause it spurned her‚ and also because it was sick and disfigured‚ and therefore the most unfortunate.
There was nothing left to say.
The next day Mina moved to Rue Maître-Albert. We helped her transport her personal belongings‚ her cats‚ and a few carefully wrapped cardboard boxes – what they contained we made no attempt to find out.
Bizinque gave us a hand and lent his trolley.
That same evening‚ worn out‚ having taken care of her animals‚ Mina was able to
With infinite care‚ she offered the cup to the animal‚ which greedily lapped it up. When it was finished the woman said‚ ‘Ah! Thank you!’ She hesitated‚ then added‚ ‘Can I stay here in the warmth for a while?’
The first soft drink‚ Théophile bought for her. She remained sitting there for a long time in silence. She gazed round fearfully‚ looking everywhere‚ especially into dark corners. She left only when she felt completely reassured.
She returned the next day‚ then the following days. She always carried a cat in her arms‚ but never the same one. Sometimes she was also laden with a heavy shopping bag full of things she didn’t show anyone.
We learned that her name was Mina‚ that she begged‚ or worked if the opportunity arose‚ that she took in stray cats and shared her home with them‚ in a wooden shed at Gentilly from which she was soon to be evicted.
She was terribly upset about this‚ primarily because of the animals she cared for and fed‚ to which she devoted her time and her life.
I don’t know which one of us was the first to nickname her ‘Mina the Cat’. But it was impossible‚ yes‚ impossible‚ to think of her in any other way.
At the Trois-Mailletz‚ the regulars ended up adopting Minaas the symbol of the profound indifference of everyday-life to what most preoccupied the rest of the world. People spoke in veiled terms of the difficulties of the German advance in Russia‚ of what was going on in Greece‚ in North Africa and here of course. They harped on about repressive measures likely to be introduced‚ on rationing to be feared‚ on the validation of the next fortnight’s bread vouchers.
And then Mina would come in‚ cradling a ‘nursling’: and no one was worried about anything else any more but the cat’s health‚ the circumstances in which it had been found. And every day all of us would keep aside some scraps of food.
One day we were awaiting Mina with a kind of gleeful impatience. Séverin had found an attic to live in‚ at Dumont’s place‚ on Rue Maître-Albert‚ where‚ if she introduced them discreetly‚ one by one‚ she could accommodate her lodgers.
With a few soap boxes‚ a bit of sawdust‚ and some bleach – which could be gathered together easily enough – all the requirements of relative hygiene and temporary refuge could be met. Two skylights opened on to the roof‚ to which the animals would have easy access‚ and where they could caterwaul at the moon to their heart’s content.
In the event of any objection from Dumont‚ who sheltered – and hid – a good many men on the run‚ we undertook to square things with him.
The main thing was that Mina should move in.
At last she turned up. She sat down as usual. We broke the good news to her. But she seemed not to give it as much attention as we were entitled to expect.
This time more than ever before‚ her charge of the day alone claimed her care and solicitude. It was a dreadful little mog‚ a mangy one-eyed ginger tom. And vicious‚ stupidly vicious‚ because it scratched its benefactress when she tried to get it to drink. We advised her to leave to its own fate this ugly and ungrateful beast – dangerous too‚ for it looked diseased‚ and was likely to infect its fellow felines. Advice‚ exhortations were of no use. Mina stubbornly replied that she would devote herself to this animal more than any other‚ firstlybecause it spurned her‚ and also because it was sick and disfigured‚ and therefore the most unfortunate.
There was nothing left to say.
The next day Mina moved to Rue Maître-Albert. We helped her transport her personal belongings‚ her cats‚ and a few carefully wrapped cardboard boxes – what they contained we made no attempt to find out.
Bizinque gave us a hand and lent his trolley.
That same evening‚ worn out‚ having taken care of her animals‚ Mina was able to
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