November 30, 1941

Sunday morning we tried for hours to keep alive our kitten Pippy and the big yellow cat. We had been treating them for three days with a medicine dropper. While I was warming Pippy with my hands, he died. I wept. He was such a crazy, joyous kitten. I couldn’t believe life would leave so fast. We were sad as we buried him before the children arrived from Sunday School. We continued to work over Tiger though he was dying. It was so hard for him to breathe that I couldn’t stand it. We called the veterinary again to put him to sleep. This was two in one day and we felt weary, working against death and getting nowhere. The children cried bitterly so we went to ride to help them forget. June wailed, “Mummie, I can’t bear it. Aren’t we ever going to see Pippy dance about the garden any more?”

In the night a noise awakened me and I flashed the light on Bedie’s bed. There were sounds in the kitchen, as if our remaining Persian cat might be poking about. Next morning Nida greeted us with the news that thieves had
cut the screen. come in the kitchen window and stolen oranges, eggs, sugar jar, tea, ketchup, cereals and a dish full of cheese whose Chinese cover we found in the yard. The police came to check but found no fingerprints, for later we discovered two socks in the road which they had used to cover their hands.

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