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The Yorkshire Christmas Cat
My strongest memory of Christmas will always bound up with a certain little cat．I first saw her when I was called to see one of Mrs．Ainsworth’ dogs，and I looked in some surprise at the furry1 black creature sitting before the fire．“I didn’t know you had a cat，”I said．
The lady smiled．“We haven2’t，this is Debbie，at least that’s what we call her．She’s a stray．Comes here two or three times a week and we give her some food．I don’t know where she lives but I believe she spends a lot of her time around one of the farms along the road．”
As I watched she turned，crept soundlessly from the room and was gone．“That’s always the way with Debbie，”Mrs．Ainsworth laughed．“She never stays more than ten minutes or so，then she’s off．”
Mrs．Ainsworth was a plumpish，pleasant－faced woman in her forties and the kind of client veterinary surgeons dream of －－well－off ，generous，and the owner of three cosseted3 Basset hounds．And it only needed the habitually4 mournful expression of one of the dogs to deepen a little and I was round there posthaste．
So my visits to the Ainsworth home were frequent but undemanding，and I had ample opportunity to look out for the little cat that had intrigued5 me．On one occasion I spotted6 her nibbling7 daintily from a saucer at the kitchen door．As I watched she turned and almost floated on light footsteps into the hall and then through the lounge door．The three Bassets were already in residence draped snoring on the fireside rug，but they seemed to be used to Debbie．
Debbie sat among them in her usual posture：upright，intent，gazing absorbedly into the glowing coals．This time I tried to make friends with her．I approached her carefully but she leaned away as I stretched out my hand．However，by patient wheedling8 and soft talk I managed to touch her and gently stroke her cheek with one finger．There was a moment when she responded by putting her head on one side and rubbing back against my hand，but soon she was ready to leave．Once outside the house she darted9 quickly along the road then through a gap in a hedge，and the last I saw was the little black figure flitting over the rain－swept grass of a field．
It must have been nearly three months before I heard from Ainsworth，and in fact I had begun to wonder at the Bassets’ long symptomless run when she came on the phone．
It was Christmas morning and she was apologetic．“Mr．Herriot，I’m so sorry to bother you today of all days．I should think you want a rest at Christmas like anybody else．”But her natural politeness could not hide the distress10 in her voice．
“Please don’t worry about that，”I said．“Which one is it this time？”
“It’s not one of the dogs．It’s．．．Debbie．”
“Debbie？She’s at your house now？”
“Yes．．．but there’s something wrong．Please come quickly．”
Mrs．Ainsworth’s home was lavishly11 decorated with tinsel and holly，rows of drinks stood on the sideboard and the rich aroma12 of turkey and sage－and－onion stuffing wafted13 from the kitchen．But her eyes were full of pain as she led me through to the lounge．
Debbie was there all right，but this time everything was different．She wasn’t sitting upright in her usual position；she was stretched quite motion less on her side，and huddle14 close to her lay a tiny black kitten．
I looked down in bewilderment．“What’s happened here？”
“It’s the strangest thing，”Mrs．Ainsworth replied．“I haven’t seen her for several weeks then she came in about two hours ago－－sort of staggered into the kitchen，and she was carrying the kitten in her mouth．She took it through the lounge and laid it on the rug，and at first I was amused．But I could see all was not well because she sat as she usually does，but for a long time－－over an hour－－then she lay down like this and she hasn’t moved．”
I knelt on the rug and passed my hand over Debbie’s neck and ribs15．She was thinner than ever，her fur dirty and mud－caked．She did not resist as I gently opened her mouth，a knell16 sounded in my mind．
Mrs．Ainsworth’s voice seemed to come from afar．“Is she ill，Mr．Herriot？”
I hesitated．“Yes．．．yes，I’m afraid so．She has a malignant17 growth．”I stood up．“There’s absolutely nothing you can do．I’m sorry．”
Mrs．Ainsworth reached out and lifted the bedraggled black morsel18．She smoothed her finger along the muddy fur and the tiny mouth opened in a soundless miaow．“Isn’t it strange？She was dying and she brought her kitten here．And on Christmas Day．”
The tears had dried on Mrs．Ainsworth’s cheeks and she was bright－eyed as she looked at me．“I’ve never had a cat before，”she said．
I smiled．“Well it looks as though you’ve got one now．”
And she certainly had．The kitten grew rapidly into a sleek，handsome cat with a boisterous19 nature which earned him the name of Buster．On my visits I watched his development with delight．
As I looked at him，a picture of health and contentment，my mind went back to his mother．Was it too much to think that that dying little creature，with the last of her strength，had carried her kitten to the only haven of comfort and warmth she had ever known in the hope that it would be cared for there？Maybe it was．
But it seemed I wasn’t the only one with such fancies．Mrs．Ainsworth turned to me and though she was smiling her eyes were wistful．“Debbie would be pleased，”she said．
I nodded．“Yes，she would．．．It was just a year ago today she brought him，wasn’t it？”
“That’s right．”She hugged Buster to her again．“The best Christmas present I ever had．”
□by James Herriot
最好的圣诞节礼物
我对圣诞节最深刻的记忆总是和一只小猫联系在一起。我第一次见到它是我出诊去给安斯沃思太太的一只狗看病。我有点惊奇地瞧着蹲在炉前的那个毛茸茸的黑色小生灵。“我还不知道你有只猫，”我说道。
那妇人微笑着说：“我们没有猫，这是戴比，至少我们这么叫它。它没主，一个星期来两三次。我们给它点吃的。我不知道它住哪儿，可我相信它在沿路的一个农场附近待过很长时间。”
就在我注视戴比的时候，它转过身，静悄悄地出了客厅走了。“戴比总是这样，”安斯沃思太太笑道。“它从来就只待１０分钟左右，然后就走了。”
安斯沃思太太４０多岁，微胖，慈眉善目。她是那种兽医外科医生理想的客户---富裕、慷慨、３条受宠的短腿猎犬的主人。这几条猎犬惯常就是忧伤的表情，只要有一条加重了一些，我就得火速赶到她家。
所以，虽然我经常去安斯沃思太太家出诊，但都不是非急不可的，我总有足够机会留心观察那只激起我好奇心的小猫。有一回，我发现它津津有味地在小口吃着厨房门旁碟中的食物。我注视它时，它转过身来，踩着轻步，几乎是飘游进过道，然后穿过客厅门。那３只短腿猎犬已经四肢舒展地躺在壁炉边的铺垫上呼噜呼噜地睡觉了，但它们看来很习惯戴比。
戴比以惯常的姿势蹲在３只狗中间---挺直、专注、目不转睛地盯着燃烧的煤块。这回我试着和戴比建立友谊。我小心翼翼地靠近它，可我伸出手时，它却俯身避开了。然而，我耐心地说了一番甜言蜜语后，终于摸到了它，并用一个手指轻柔地抚摸它的面颊。戴比把头歪向一边，蹭着我的手，但很快它就起身要走了。戴比一出屋就沿路飞奔，然后穿过树篱一处空隙，最后只见那小黑影轻快地在雨淋过的草地上一掠而过。
我再次和安斯沃思太太有联系必是在将近３个月以后了。实际上，她来电话前，我已经感到奇怪，这么长时间她那３只短腿猎犬竟然一点病症也没有。
那是圣诞节的早上，安斯沃思太太道歉说：“赫里奥特先生，我非常抱歉偏偏在今天打搅你。我想你跟别人一样今天也该休息。”但是这些随口而出的客气话未能掩饰她话语中的不安。
“请不必担心，”我说道。“这回是哪一只？”
“哪只狗也不是，是……戴比。”
“戴比？她此刻在你家吗？”
“在……可有点不对劲。请马上来。”
安斯沃思太太的家铺张地用金银箔和冬青装饰着，餐具柜上摆着成排的酒水，火鸡和撒尔维亚干叶加葱头填料的浓郁香味自厨房扑鼻而来。但是，安斯沃思太太领我进客厅时，她眼中充满了痛苦。
戴比是在客厅里，但是这回情形完全不同。它没有像平常那样挺直地蹲着，而是侧身四肢伸展着一动不动，紧靠它身旁躺着一只小黑猫。
我困惑地朝下看。“这儿出了什么事？”
“真是再奇怪不过了，”安斯沃思太太回答说。“我已经有几个星期没见过它了。大约两个钟头前它进来了，有点瘸拐地进了厨房，嘴里叼着那只小猫。然后又叼着它进了客厅，把小猫放在铺垫上。开始时，我觉得挺逗乐。可是我能意识到很不对劲，因为虽然戴比像平常那样蹲着，可是这回蹲了很长时间---有一个多小时---后来就这么躺着，再也没动过。”
我跪在地毯上，用手摸戴比的脖子和肋骨。它比以前更瘦了，毛很脏还粘着泥块。我轻柔地掰开它的嘴，它没有拒绝。丧钟在我脑海里敲响。
安斯沃思太太的说话声像是从远处传来。“赫里奥特先生，它病了吗？”
我支吾地回答说：“是的……是的，我想是病了。它长了个恶性肿瘤。”我站起身来。“我很抱歉，你绝对是无能为力了。”
安斯沃思太太伸出手举起那在泥水中拖脏的小黑猫仔，用手顺着沾满泥的毛抚摸着。猫仔的小嘴张开做喵叫状，但却没有声音。“是不是有点怪？戴比活不长了，可它把它的孩子带到这儿来，而且是在圣诞节这一天。”
安斯沃思太太面颊上的泪珠已经干了，望着我，目光明亮。她说道：“我以前从没养过猫。”
我微笑着说，“看来你现在有一只了。”
她确实就有了猫。小猫仔很快长得浑身油亮、漂亮，生性调皮，由此赢得“欢闹鬼”的称号。我每次去安斯沃思太太家时，都怀着喜悦的心情看着“欢闹鬼”慢慢长大。
我看着它，一副活泼健康、心满意足的样儿，不禁想起了“欢闹鬼”的妈妈。那临终的小生灵用残存的最后一点力量，把自己的后代带到它所知道的惟一能获得温暖和舒适的地方，希望孩子能得到照料。是不是我想得太多了？也许是的。
但是，看来有这种想法的不止我一个。安斯沃思太太转向我，虽然微笑着，可眼中流露出思念之情。她说，“戴比会感到高兴的。”
我点头称是。“是的，它会的……正好一年前它把‘欢闹鬼’带来的，不是吗？”
“没错。”安斯沃思太太又紧抱住“欢闹鬼”。“这是我有过的最好的圣诞节礼物。
收听单词发音 |
1
furry
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| adj.毛皮的；似毛皮的；毛皮制的 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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3
cosseted
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| v.宠爱，娇养，纵容( cosset的过去式 ) | |
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4
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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5
intrigued
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| adj.好奇的，被迷住了的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的过去式)；激起…的兴趣或好奇心；“intrigue”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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7
nibbling
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| v.啃，一点一点地咬（吃）( nibble的现在分词 )；啃出（洞），一点一点咬出（洞）；慢慢减少；小口咬 | |
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wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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10
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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11
lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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13
wafted
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| v.吹送，飘送，（使）浮动( waft的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
huddle
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| vi.挤作一团；蜷缩；vt.聚集；n.挤在一起的人 | |
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15
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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16
knell
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| n.丧钟声；v.敲丧钟 | |
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17
malignant
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| adj.恶性的，致命的；恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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18
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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