My Dog Tulip by J.R. Ackerley

faultless style, had it not been for a ginger cat that was idling in the shrubbery. I was quite unprepared for this cat, which had never been mentioned in the kind of farmyard inventory to which, in our correspondence about the Cairns, Pugh had apparently thought it advisable to extend his concern, so I was too late to prevent Tulip, who saw it first, from sailing into combat. She pursued it into a small potting shed that stood alongside the house. I apologized profusely; but it turned out to be not at all an important cat; it belonged to the category neither of pet nor of livestock, but was a mere hireling, engaged for the purpose of keeping down the mice, in which capacity, I gathered, it was not giving the utmost satisfaction; and since Pugh observed its narrow escape without apparent emotion, remarking offhandedly, as he clapped-to the potting-shed door, “It can stay there now,” I permitted myself to be amused. Little did I think that this cat, who was scowling wrathfully at us through the dusty panes, was to take its revenge upon us later.
    As I have said, Pugh’s personal idiosyncrasies had gained ground. I scarcely saw him during my stay. He had arrived at the conclusion, which I might have foreseen if I had given the matter thought, that rest and relaxation were the key to efficient health, the art of life, so that the only problem that appeared to trouble him was whether, for half an hour or more, both before and after every meal, it should be “Head-down” or “Bed-down,” by which he meant whether it would be more rewarding to nap on a sofa or to undress and return to bed. Earnestly recommending me to follow an example which, he declared, would enable me to derive the maximum amount of benefit from my short stay with him, his phrase was “One rises like a giant refreshed”; and, indeed, that did seem to be the effect upon himself, for at those rare moments when he was not horizontal he would stalk about the farm buildings with great vigor, making many pertinent remarks in his military voice and spreading consternation among the cows. The house, which he had built himself, managed to be bleak without being actually cold; the wide wooden staircase, with its low treads to reduce leg-strain, was uncarpeted and so was the gallery above, on to which the bedroom doors opened. I had been allotted the bedroom of the absent Mrs. Pugh, a large room, strewn with a number of small mats and rugs, which adjoined the Captain’s and communicated with it. Besides the bed, it contained, I was glad though not surprised to find, a comfortable sofa for Tulip: there was a sofa in every room, including the dining room and bathroom.
    When Pugh finally retired, at an early hour, he observed that he was a light sleeper and therefore hoped that Tulip was a sound one. He added that he always slept with his passage door and window wide open in order to obtain the maximum amount of fresh air. In fact Tulip is a very quiet sleeper, though she will usually pay me one visit in the night and put her nose against my face. Perhaps I cry out in my dreams—or do not, and she wishes to reassure herself that I am not dead. It was, therefore, well precedented when she wakened me at about 2 am on this particular night. I patted her drowsily and recomposed myself for slumber. But Tulip did not go away. Instead she rose up on her hind legs and pulled in an urgent kind of way, with her paw, at the shoulder I had turned towards her. Looking up, I could discern in the gloom the shape of her head with its tall ears cocked down at me as she stared intently into my face. What could she want? I fumbled about on the side-table for my matches and lighted the candle (the farm was too remote for electricity), whereupon Tulip hurried over to the door and stood in front of it, looking eagerly back at me.
    â€œWhat’s up, old girl?” I asked uneasily.
    She made a little whinnying sound, pawed excitedly at the door and