Carrie’s talk is both disturbing and delightful, the hallmark of a writer dancing through the eternal battle between moral lessons of discipline (perhaps the children’s literature scorned by weary souls) vs. A half-articulate cat would speak like Caliban, cursing her enchanter. It turns out that the talisman grants only half a wish at a time - a lesson hard learned as the four children in the book watch half a house fire and see a neighbor’s iron Scottie dog come half alive. No one could be more surprised when Carrie the cat stops meowing and starts making half-recognizable sounds, but somehow the result makes perfect sense: This is how a cat would speak, or almost speak, if her enchantress managed to get a job only half done. One of his lonely little-girl characters, a girl who doesn’t realize she has a magic token, let alone how it works, has wished aloud that her cat might speak and keep her company. In situ, that string of nonsense syllables stems from a rookie mistake - but not Eager’s.
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