Scoopy is on vacation this week. Taking his place is a Scoopy from November 10, 1938, when it was called Scoopy Mewses and written from the point of view of the office cat.
Well, now, I guess maybe I forgot my manners a little bit in all the excitement of things happening around here lately, but I never did say a “Happy welcome to you, Miss Smyth” to the young lady that I employed to go around and do what my nice Mary Nichols did, although I did purr up to her here in the office and we are very good friends already. I stopped taking care of things long enough the other day to have a little private conversation with her and she said she had already met quite a lot of my special friends and she likes our folks very much, as how could she help it, I’d like to know.
You know I’ve learned that there are things called coincidences, and I had one of them happen to me the other day. First I got a letter that was signed “A disgusted citizen” telling about some woman that goes prowling around and puts mean traps in yards to catch cats, and I guess some little dogs, too, and then puts them in a bag and takes them away so their folks never see them again. I thought that was pretty bad but I wasn’t going to say much about it because I thought it might be just in one little section of this big town, because the person who wrote me doesn’t live anywhere near my Village. And then here comes along dear old cat friend Peter Pan Westcott, who wrote me from where he has been all summer, and says almost exactly the same thing and asks me to warn all our good friends around. Of course I don’t want to start anybody getting scared without any cause, but caution is my motto (though the folks here say I don’t always practice what I preach).
Peter writes a very good letter. He told me all about what he did all summer, and the fourfoot friends he made, including some good dogs, and from the way he describes his place I think it certainly must be very nice to stay so long there, but it is plain to be seen that Peter is not a working cat, fine fellow though he is. And I am glad to know that with all his opportunities to catch birds up there he never does, which just goes to prove that even though my race seems to have had a bad name given to us in that direction, it doesn’t always fit. He says quite a lot of nice things about my paper and how his whole family reads it all the way through every week and then passes it on to some other folks who used to live in my Village, all of which is very fine, Pete, unless, of course you could persuade them to subscribe to it themselves so they won’t wear your copy all out. (Helper says that to be what she calls quite ethical I ought to put adv. after that sentence).
And then he goes on to discuss the milk question and advises me to get mine out of a can instead of a bottle because it tastes better according to his way of thinking. And, Pete, old boy, I wish you could have been here to chuckle with me at the helper when I let her read what you said about putting preservative in bottled milk. I thought she was going to explode because she took it personal like for her farm friends. Seems that they don’t put anything in but heat to keep the milk—they wouldn’t be allowed to, so I guess we’ll have to find some other reason for not liking milk—might be our own tasters. Anyway, come in and see me sometime, Peter Pan, and see now that you are back in town and that goes for the two-foots you own too.
Seems that there was a holiday called Hallowe-en not long ago that I wouldn’t have thought anything about if Tuppeny Richmond and his friend Jule hadn’t sent me a card to give me a big pumpkin smile. That surely was friendly of you two and I thank you very much.
I had such a lovely visit from a beautiful little twofoot girl the other day by the name of Wendy Warbasse, who lives over 10th St. way. We played together for quite a while and I hope she will come again. I do like to have my boy and girl friends come to visit me and they are always welcome.
