Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

Mrs. Dearly smiled, for she knew he was only joking. Then she said, “Oh, dear! As we’ve dined with them, we must ask them to dine with us. And there are some other people we ought to ask. We’d better get it over before Missis has her puppies. Good gracious, what’s that?”

Something soft was rubbing against her ankles.

“It’s Cruella’s cat,” said Mr. Dearly. “Go home, cat. You’ll get lost.”

But the cat followed them all the way to their house.

“Perhaps she’s hungry,” said Mrs. Dearly.

“Very probably, unless she likes pepper,” said Mr. Dearly. He was still gulping the night air to cool his throat.

“You stroke her while I get her some food,” said Mrs. Dearly. And she went down the area steps and into the kitchen on tiptoe, so as not to wake Pongo and Missis, who were asleep in their baskets. Soon she came up with some milk and half a tin of sardines. The white cat accepted both, then began to walk down the area steps.

“Does she want to live with us?” said Mrs. Dearly.

It seemed as if the white cat did. But just then Pongo woke up and barked loudly. The white cat turned and walked away into the night.

“Just as well,” said Mr. Dearly. “Cruella would have the law on us if we took her valuable cat.”

Then they went down into the kitchen to receive the full force of Pongo’s welcome. Missis, though sleepy, was fairly formidable too. There was a whirling mass of humans and dogs on the kitchen hearthrug—until Mrs. Dearly remembered, far too late, that Mr. Dearly’s dress suit would be covered with white hairs.

It must have been about three weeks later that Missis began to behave in a very peculiar manner. She explored every inch of the house, paying particular attention to cupboards and boxes. And the place that interested her most was a large cupboard just outside the Dearlys’ bedroom. The Nannies kept various buckets and brooms in this cupboard, and there wasn’t a spare inch of space. Every time Missis managed to get in, she knocked something over with a clatter and then looked very ill-treated.

“Bless me, she wants to have her puppies there,” said Nanny Cook.

“Not in that dark, stuffy cupboard, Missis, love,” said Nanny Butler. “You need light and air.”

But when Mrs. Dearly consulted the Splendid Veterinary Surgeon, he said what Missis needed most was a small, enclosed place where she would feel safe, and if she fancied the broom cupboard, the broom cupboard she’d better have. And she’d better have it at once and get used to it—even though the puppies were not expected for some days.

So out came the brooms and buckets and in went Missis, to her great satisfaction. Pongo was a little hurt that he was not allowed to go with her, but Missis explained to him that mother dogs like to be by themselves when puppies are expected, so he licked his wife’s ear tenderly and said he quite understood.

“I hope the dinner party won’t upset Missis,” said Mr. Dearly, when he came home and found Missis settled in the cupboard. “I shall be glad when it’s over.”

It was to be that very night. As there were quite a lot of guests, the food had to be normal, but Mrs. Dearly Kindly put tall pepper-grinders in front of the de Vils. Cruella ground so much pepper that most of the guests were sneezing, but Mr. de Vil used no pepper at all. And he ate much more than in his own house.

Cruella was busy peppering her fruit salad when Nanny Butler came in and whispered to Mrs. Dearly. Mrs. Dearly looked startled, asked the guests to excuse her, and hurried out. A few minutes later Nanny Butler came in again and whispered to Mr. Dearly. He looked startled, excused himself, and hurried out. Those guests who were not sneezing made polite conversation. Then Nanny Butler came in again.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said dramatically, “puppies are arriving earlier than expected. Mr. and Mrs. Dearly ask you to remember that Missis has never before been a mother. She needs absolute quiet.”

There was an instant silence, broken only by a stifled sneeze. Then the guests rose, drank a whispered toast to the young mother, and tiptoed from the house.

All except Cruella de Vil. When she reached the hall she went straight to Nanny Butler, who was seeing the guests out, and demanded, “Where are those puppies?” Nanny Butler had no intention of telling, but Cruella heard the Dearlys’ voices and ran upstairs. This time she was wearing a black satin dress with ropes of pearls, but the same absolutely simple white mink cloak. She had kept it round her all through dinner, although the room was very warm (and the pepper very hot).

“I must, I must see the darling puppies,” she cried.

The cupboard door was a little open. The Dearlys were inside, soothing Missis. Three puppies had been born before Nanny Butler, on bringing Missis a nourishing chicken dinner, had discovered what was happening.

Cruella flung open the door and stared down at the three puppies.

“But they’re mongrels—all white, no spots at all!” she cried. “You must drown them at once.”

“Dalmatians are always born white,” said Mr. Dearly, glaring at Cruella. “The spots come later.”

“And we wouldn’t drown them even if they were mongrels,” said Mrs. Dearly indignantly.

“It’d be quite easy,” said Cruella. “I’ve drowned dozens and dozens of my cat’s kittens. She always chooses some wretched alley-cat for their father, so they’re never worth keeping.”

“Surely you leave her one kitten?” said Mrs. Dearly.

“If I’d done that, I’d be overrun with cats,” said Cruella. “Are you sure those horrid little white rats are pure Dalmatian puppies?”

“Quite sure,” snapped Mr. Dearly. “Now please go away. You’re upsetting Missis.”

And indeed Missis was upset. Even with the Dearlys there to protect her and her puppies, she was a little afraid of this tall woman with black-and-white hair who stared so hard. And that poor cat who had lost all those kittens! Never, never, would Missis forget that! (And one day she was to be glad that she remembered it.)

“How long will it be before the puppies are old enough to leave their mother?” asked Cruella. “In case I want to buy some.”

“Seven or eight weeks,” said Mr. Dearly. “But there won’t be any for sale.” Then he shut the cupboard door in Cruella’s face, and Nanny Butler firmly showed her out of the house.

Nanny Cook was busy telephoning the Splendid Vet, but he was out on another case. His wife said she would tell him as soon as he came home and there was no need to worry—it sounded as if Missis was getting on very well.

She certainly was. There was now a fourth puppy. Missis washed it, and then Mr. Dearly dried it, while Mrs. Dearly gave Missis a drink of warm milk. Then the pup was put with the other three, in a basket placed where Missis could see it. Soon she had a fifth puppy. Then a sixth—and a seventh.

The night wore on. Eight puppies, nine puppies! Surely that would be all? Dalmatians do not often have more in their first family. Ten puppies! Eleven puppies!

Then the twelfth arrived, and it did not look like its brothers and sisters. The flesh showing through its white hair was not a healthy pink but a sickly yellow. And instead of kicking its little legs, it lay quite still. The Nannies, who were sitting just outside the cupboard, told Mr. and Mrs. Dearly that it had been born dead.

“But with so many, its mother will never miss it,” said Nanny Cook comfortingly.

Mr. Dearly held the tiny creature in the palm of his hand and looked at it sorrowfully.