The Three Lives of Thomasina

# Who's called...

Thomasina!

# Thomasina

# What are you thinking now?

# Thomasina

# What makes you so highbrow?

# For I do think it very odd

# If you are an Egyptian god

# That the wee, little mouse

# Runs in and out his house

# Each time you blink or nod

# Thomasina

# Though you may love to roam

# Thomasina

# Don't go too far from home

# There are beasties in the garden

# Who would never accept your pardon

# If you left the jungle yard in

# Which we play

# Thomasina

# Don't ever run away

# Thomasina

# Come along with me now

# Thomasina

# Though you've seen a

# Little bird leave the bough

# Thomasina

# Even if it's a lark or dove, you

# Let them all fly away above you

# But I guess I'll always love you

# Anyhow

# Thomasina

# Come along with me now

# Thomasina

# I love you anyhow

# Thomasi... #

Yes, I am Thomasina.

This story's all about me.

I'm a self-made cat,

and here's the house I live in

with the MacDhui family,

whom I'd adopted when they first came here.

They started off by calling me Thomas,

but when they, well, got to know me better,

they changed that to Thomasina.

Humans are funny that way.

That the MacDhuis are a happy family

is entirely due to me.

I made them what they are today...

although I had to be murdered first.

Here's the scene of the crime -

Inveranoch, in Scotland,

in 1912.

And this is Mr. Andrew MacDhui.

From a cat's point of view, even before my murder,

he was a most difficult man,

believe me.

His wife had died sometime before he came here,

so there was just himself

and Mrs. MacKenzie, his housekeeper,

and Mary, his daughter.

I'd moved in on them a few days after they'd arrived,

and on the whole, I got on with them very well,

though mostly because of Mary MacDhui.

She appreciated my rather special qualities

from the start.

Thomasina, there you are.

Of course I had this sort of thing

to put up with every day -

fussed over, treated like a doll,

being dressed up...

and over a fur coat, too!

Everything that happened to me from here on

was due, in a way,

to a blind man and his dog.

Here they are now - Tammas and Bruce.

Good morning, Tammas.

Good morning, Mary.

Say good morning to Tammas and Bruce, Thomasina.

Good morning, Thomasina.

She's not in a very talkative mood today.

I have the same trouble with Bruce here.

He can be very reserved at times.

Isn't that right, laddie?

But what would we do without them, you and me?

Where are you going?

Oh, just to get some tobacco for my pipe.

Mind how you go, Tammas.

Och, Bruce is my eyes, lassie.

Come on, say goodbye to Thomasina.

Be good now, Mary.

Thomasina, it's rude not to answer

when you're spoken to.

Aah!

Hello, Geordie.

Oh, what have you got there?

I found him down by the loch.

I think his leg's broken.

He can't hop or swim or anything.

Oh, he looks fair sick.

Doesn't he, Thomasina?

Ah! Don't touch.

Why don't you go and ask my daddy to cure him?

Och, I don't know. Do you think he would?

My daddy can cure anything -

dogs and cows and cats and lions and pigs and...

Aye, but frogs?

And frogs.

Everything.

You take him in, then.

Och, I'm not allowed in the surgery.

You go, Geordie.

Well, if you say so.

I'm only saying I'm here against my better judgment, minister, that's all.

You'll be glad you listened to me, Dobbie.

Mr. MacDhui's a clever man.

Maybe so, but up till now,

I've never found much wrong with dosing Jock here

with Watson's patent powders.

Ah, you must move with the times, man.

MacDhui's a man of science.

Aye. I haven't heard tell much good of that.

Ha! Book learnin'.

Up at Kinkairale's farm, they're grateful enough to him.

Two hundred sheep cured of the foot rot

and not one lost.

Aye, you're a good persuader, Mr. Peddie,

but farm beasts are one thing.

A man's pet is another.

You wait and see.

Och, I'll give him a try.

No one can say I'm not a fair man,

but it's for him to convince me.

How old is this dog, Mrs. Laggan?

Fifteen years and a bit.

I've had him since he was a puppy,

the year my husband died.

He's been ailing a wee bit this past year

but not so sick as this.

Well, he's very old.

The kindest thing would be to have him put to sleep.

Oh, no. You see how bad he is with the asthma.

The poor dog can hardly breathe.

He's in pain, Mrs. Laggan.

But you can't put Rabbie to sleep, Mr. MacDhui,

or I wouldn't have come.

He's all I have in the world.

Couldn't you give him a wee bit of medicine

to tide him over till he's well again?

There is no medicine that can make him well.

He's very old, he's in great pain,

and his life is a misery to him, can't you see?

But I can't lose him.

What would I do without him?

Poor Rabbie.

Be fair now. It's yourself you're pitying, not the dog.

Oh, dear.

I don't know what to do.

I've told you what I think is for the best.

Now I've told you it's up to you

to make up your mind.

Very well.

I suppose if he is suffering...

You'll be gentle with him?

He won't feel a thing. He'll just go to sleep.

Willie?

Fifteen years.

Poor Rabbie. Poor Rabbie.

You're doing the right thing. It's for his sake.

Oh, no, there'll be no charge.

Just leave him here with me.

You're leaving Rabbie to be cured, then, Annie?

Mr. MacDhui says there's no cure.

He's to be put away.

Now, Mrs. Laggan, that's a shame.

No cure for him?

If it was my dog, I'd want a second opinion, I'm thinkin'.

I'll go with you, Annie.

Good day to you, Mr. MacDhui.

Good day, sir.

Good day.

Who's next, please?

Please, sir, Mr. MacDhui?

Uh-oh. Who are you?

Geordie MacNab, please, sir.

I'm a bit of a friend of Mary's.

I found him down by the loch.

He's hurt his leg.

Can you make him better, please, sir?

No one can cure a hurt frog, Geordie.

You put him back where you found him.

But he might die.

Could you not mend his leg, please, sir?

No, nature's the only doctor can do that, laddie.

Come on, now. Come on, off you go.

I'm busy.

You've lost another customer, Andrew.

Is there really nothing you can do

about old Mrs. Laggan's dog?

No, not a thing, just put it out of its misery.