[_See Note M, Addenda._]
HOME TIES AND AFFECTIONS.
Are cats more attached to places than to persons? I have taken
considerable pains to arrive at a correct answer to this question, and not
satisfied with my own judgment and experience, as in the case of pussy's
honesty, I "appealed to the country." I am happy to find that the opinion
of all cat-lovers, nearly all cat-breeders, and the large majority of
people who keep a cat for utility, is that cats are as a rule more
attached to their masters or owners than to their homes. This question
then must be considered as set at rest, and a stigma removed from the name
and character of our dear little friend the cat. The popular fallacy, that
cats are fonder of places than persons, first took its origin in the days,
long gone by, when cats were kept for use only, and never as pets; and it
only obtains now among people who look upon pussy as a mere animated
rat-trap, and who starve, neglect, and in every way ill-treat the poor
thing.
Pray don't mistake me, reader, I am not saying that pussy isn't fond of
her home, in fact I am going to prove that she is immensely so; but I most
emphatically deny, that she ever allows that fondness, to obscure her love
for the hand that feeds and caresses her, or the kind voice of a loving
master or mistress.
Six years ago, an intimate friend of mine, who "loveth all things great
and small," went to reside for a time with a family in town. A fine blue
tabby was an inmate of the same house.
"That cat," said the mistress, "belongs to the family that lived here
before, it has been five times removed, and always comes back."
My friend only remained there for six weeks, when he changed his residence
for a house he had taken only a few streets off, but when he left, that
bonnie blue tabby trotted by his side all the way home, and it _has not
returned yet_.
But there is no doubt pussy is extremely attached to her home; and
nothing, I think, shows her warm-heartedness more, than her willingness to
leave that home with a kind owner. A cat has so many home-ties, that we
need not wonder at her unwillingness to change her residence. Custom has
so endeared her to the old place, that she cannot all at once like the
new. She knows every hole and corner of it, knows every mouse-walk, the
cupboards, the cosy nooks for a quiet snooze, and the places where she may
hide when hiding becomes a necessity, she is acquainted with the manner of
egress and ingress, and is familiar with every sound, so that her rest is
undisturbed by night, and her finely-strung nervous system not put on the
rack by day. Out of doors, too, everything about the old place is
familiar, the trees on which the sparrows perch, the field where she often
finds an egg, the distant meadow corner where the rabbits play, and the
path that leads thereto, which she can traverse unseen and free from
danger, either from farmers' dogs or boys with stones, and above all, the
dear old trysting place, where she knows she can always meet her lovers in
the moonlight. But if she changes her quarters, all this knowledge has to
be learned over again. New dangers have to be encountered, fresh troubles,
and bother of every description. Her new residence, and everything about
and around it, has to be thoroughly surveyed, mentally mapped out, and got
by heart before she can feel anything like at home. So that if pussy has
not the love of a kind human friend, to counterbalance all her trials, it
is no wonder she will do anything or walk any length, to get back to the
place where she was so happy. And when she goes back, what does she find?
"A change,
Faces and footsteps and all things strange."
She is treated as a stray cat, and sent adrift every time she dares to put
her unhappy nose inside the door. But, nevertheless, she will hang about
her old home for days and weeks, until, impelled by the pangs of hunger,
she casts aside the mantle of virtue, becomes a thief, and revenges
herself on the new inhabitant's pigeons, rabbits, and chickens. _Facilis
descensus Averni._ Having once robbed a roost, she would rob a church; so
she takes to thieving as a means of subsistence. The way of the
transgressor is hard: her coat becomes dry and hard, her ribs stick out;
she loses all respect for her personal appearance, frequents low
neighbourhoods, keeps low company, makes night "hideous with her howling,"
and in a general way does everything she can to earn for herself and the
whole cat community a bad name; and finally, in a few months--if not
sooner by accident--succumbs to disease and dies on a dunghill.
It is with a feeling of deep regret, that even the best-treated cat bids
farewell to a place, which has so long been her home. You shall often see
poor pussy, after all the furniture and fixings have been packed in the
vans, run back and take a walk all round the empty desolate chambers, then
return and submit herself to be quietly taken off to her new abode. On
arriving there, her very first act will be to make a tour of inspection,
through every room and corner of the house; she will then count the
members of the family, and if all she loves are present, if she gets a
drink of milk, and especially if there be a good fire, she will at once
settle down and begin to sing.
Some time ago, a pussy of my acquaintance was condemned to death for
taking a slight liberty with the canary--in fact, she ate him. It was
certainly very thoughtless of poor puss; however she suffered for it,
although not to the extent that was intended. She was confined in a sack
with a large stone, and sunk in the adjoining river. Nothing more was seen
or heard of pussy--which, under the circumstances, wasn't considered at
all surprising--for a fortnight, when one evening she walked in, and laid
herself down before the fire as if nothing had happened. Wherever she had
been, the cat had lived well, for she was both plump and sleek. Probably,
on escaping from the river, she had thought that a two weeks' holiday in
the woods would both benefit her health, after treatment so rough, and
give time for the evil impression which her crime had induced to wear
off. If so, she was right; for she was received with open arms, and freely
forgiven, and is still alive and well.
A cat will travel almost incredible distances to regain her home.
I know of a cat that, along with her three kittens, was sent in a hamper a
long journey across country, to a mill, where it was intended she should
mount guard over the rats. Pussy, however, had no such intention; and next
morning, to the great surprise of the inmates, she was found sitting at
her own door with one kitten beside her. She disappeared that same
evening, and next morning returned with another kitten. In the same
manner, next night she brought home the third and last, and so settled
quietly down to rear her family. This cat, I think, showed great
determination, and a knowledge of country that would have pleased Von
Moltke himself.
Dozens of such anecdotes might be given, but I will only trouble the
reader with one more. There is a river in Scotland called the Spey; that
I suppose is no news. You will also know that this river is celebrated for
two things--salmon and celerity, it being the most rapid river in the
kingdom. Near this river, on one side, is the farm of Dandilieth; and on
the other, but four miles distant, stands the dwelling-house of Knockan.
Once upon a time, then, the tenants of Dandilieth were removing to
Knockan; and after the household furniture was packed on the carts, a
search was made for the household cat. She was found in a corner of the
empty house, on some straw, faithfully nursing her family of three blind
kittens. A bed was made for her in the lap of one of the children; and in
due time all arrived safe at Knockan, and pussy and her family were duly
installed in the new house. But pussy was not happy. She longed for her
old home at Dandilieth; and to think, with her, was to act; and this she
did to some purpose, for on the farmer returning next day to his old place
for the purpose of conveying home the farm implements, he was astonished
to find the cat in her old corner, and the three kittens safe beside her.
Now, as the nearest bridge is twenty miles distant, it is quite evident
that pussy must have swum the Spey five times in a single night (three
times with a kitten in her mouth), to say nothing of the long journeys
backwards and forwards between the two farms.
Although of a nature not so demonstrative as that of the dog, still a cat
is capable of loving its master or mistress with a love equally strong, if
not stronger. "Absence makes the heart grow fonder," may certainly be said
with regard to pussy.
"Don Juan," says a lady, "is a beautiful dark tabby, with back almost
black, legs ringed like those of a tiger, short ears honourably scarred by
various encounters with rats, stoats, etc., which he has succeeded in
killing; long tail, also ringed with tabby; rich tabby shirt, around which
there are beautiful rings of black and tabby; paws with black pads--a most
loving and lovable old cat. Two years ago we left home for a 'parson's
week,' during which time the house, pussy included, was in the charge of
servants. The first sound which met us upon opening the garden-gate on our
return, was a most pitiful scream from poor Juan, who recognized our
voices and came bounding across the garden to greet us. For more than a
week he could hardly be persuaded to leave us, but spent his time in
purring and rubbing round us, as though to assure himself of our
presence."
"My own cat," writes a lady correspondent, "although greatly petted by its
master, appears quite wretched whenever I go on a visit. After mewing
piteously at my door for a day or two, it leaves the house, often
remaining away for weeks; but his delight at seeing me, the fond rush
towards me, and his song of joy are very pretty." The same lady gives an
account of a venerable old tortoise-shell puss, who goes to sea with its
master,--officer in an East Indiaman,--and keeps watch with him by night
or day in all weathers. No wonder he is fond of her.
I know an instance of a cat that was very strongly attached to a boy. When
this boy was sent to a distant school, pussy, after mourning for him
several days, took to the woods and never returned.
There is surely strong proof of how deeply a cat loves its owner, in the
anxiety and sorrow it evinces on seeing that owner in grief or in pain.
I have an instance of a cat that is extremely attached to a little boy.
This young gentleman has very great objections to having his nails cut.
Whenever this necessary operation is being performed, he sets up a howling
which very speedily brings his faithful playmate pussy to his aid. She
comes running with all speed, and growling in unmistakable anger. She
jumps on his knee, and after giving him one hurried kiss and embrace, as
much as to say, "Be of good cheer, I shan't let them hurt you," she wheels
round and stands on the defensive; and the nurse has to retire and wait
for a better opportunity.
Another cat is extremely attached to a little girl, whom she follows about
wherever she goes. When the child comes to grief, in some of the various
ways incidental to early years, pussy does all she can in her humble way
to pacify and comfort her, rubbing herself round her and caressing her,
and saying, "Oh! oh!" in the same fond pitying tone she uses to her
kittens.
I was called the other day to see a lady in a hysterical fit; and it was
most affecting to witness the grief of her poor cat. Hearing her
mistress's screams, she darted into the room, and at once threw herself on
the lady's breast, licking her neck and hands and face in the most
passionate manner, stopping only occasionally to look about and growl
fiercely at me, as if I had been the cause of her mistress's illness.
The following anecdote shows, I think, in a very marked manner, how deeply
attached pussy can be to her master, and how forgiving is her nature.
Robert D----, a young man of nineteen, lived in the same house with his
mother and sisters. He was by no means an exemplary youth. In fact, if he
had had his due, the ravens, according to Solomon, would have made short
work with his eyes. He had early taken to habits of dissipation, and was
in the constant custom of bullying his poor mother, for money to continue
his debauches. He must have had some little good in him however, for he
was fond of his mother's beautiful black cat. Not so fond, however, as
pussy was of him; for, poor thing, she never seemed happy save in his
company. One morning he was leaving his mother's room after an unusually
stormy scene, when pussy met him at the top of the stair, running towards
him with a fond cry, and singing as she rubbed herself against his leg.
"Curse you!" he cried, and kicked her to the door-mat. The look the poor
cat gave him would have softened a less hard heart; in him it only roused
the innate devil.
"You're like the rest," he shouted; and, seizing the unhappy puss, he
dashed her with all his force over the banisters. The poor creature was
not killed outright; but was so severely wounded that she died in three
hours. Although bleeding all the time, and evidently in great pain, never
a cry escaped her, only a low moaning mew. For one moment only she
brightened up a little, when her hard-hearted, but still loved master
came in to see her before she expired. She even tried to sing, apparently
anxious to show she had forgiven him; and actually died licking his hands.
I know the case of an old gentleman, who was extremely fond of a very
pretty cat he had; and pussy loved her master dearly. Indeed, cats seem
always particularly partial to the aged. They love to sit beside them at
the fireside, and soothe them with their low, murmuring song; for they
seem to know by instinct that age is but a second childhood, with only the
grave beyond. The gentleman in question died at an advanced age. Every one
missed and mourned him, but none so sincerely as pussy. She never sung
again, and nothing could induce her to leave his sitting-room. She would
sit and gaze for hours at the vacant arm-chair, as if she couldn't
understand why her eyes no longer beheld him she loved. This went on for a
fortnight; then one morning poor pussy was found lying stiff and dead on
the hearth-rug. She had died of grief.
I may close this chapter with another similar instance of pussy's
affection for a kind master.
He was an old fiddler, who dwelt all alone in a cottage on a moor. He had
lived to see friend after friend laid under the sod, and now he had none
on earth to care for him. Ah! yes; he had one friend--his cat. This little
pet cheered him in many a lonely hour; and when sickness came at last, she
never left his bedside. Then he died. She sat like a dazed creature as she
saw him lifted and placed in his coffin, and she followed the loved
remains to their long home, and saw where they laid him. She never left
that churchyard living. For three days she sat on the grave; and it would
have made your heart bleed, reader, to have heard her pitiful cries.
"Oh!" she seemed to say to every passerby, "he is here--my master is here
with all this load of earth on his breast. Will no one come and help me?"
On a cold sleety morning in November she was found stretched on the
grave--in a hole she had scraped--_dead_.
Has this gentle and affectionate creature met her master? Is there no
hereafter for pussy? The sun of her sinless life set in sorrow.
"Alas for love! if this be all,
And nought beyond an earth."