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[Transcriber's Note: Obvious printer errors in the original have been
corrected without note. References to "Hospice du Chats" have been
retained as they appear in the original, despite the grammatical
error.]
PUSSY
AND
Her Language
BY
MARVIN R. CLARK.
Including a Paper on the Wonderful Discovery of the Cat Language.
BY
ALPHONSE LEON GRIMALDI, F.R.S., etc.
COPYRIGHT 1895
BY MARVIN R. CLARK
CHAPTERS.
I.--"IT WAS THE CAT."
II.--A LITTLE INNOCENT WHO KNOWS THE FAMILY SECRETS.
III.--LIKE UNTO OURSELVES.
IV.--NELLY AND TOM.
V.--MEMORY AND INTELLIGENCE.
VI.--FRIENDS OF THE CAT.
VII.--SOME REMARKABLE TRUE STORIES.
VIII.--HOSPICE DU CHATS.
IX.--ASTOUNDING REVELATIONS BY THE CAT.
X.--PROFESSOR GRIMALDI'S WONDERFUL DISCOVERY.
XI.--SIGNS AND SOUNDS.
XII.--DESCRIPTIVE LANGUAGES.
XIII.--LANGUAGE OF DIVINE ORIGIN.
XIV.--POWER OF SPEECH IN THE FELINE.
XV.--ILLUSTRATIVE STORIES.
XVI.--SUPERIORITY OF THE CAT OVER OTHER QUADRUMINA.
XVII.--INTELLECTUAL POWER OF THE CAT.
XVIII.--SOME CHARACTERISTICS OF THE CAT.
XIX.--GENEROSITY, CUNNING AND CAMARADERIE.
XX.--VOWELS AND LIQUIDS PREDOMINATING.
XXI.--CAT WORDS IN COMMON USE.
XXII.--A COMPREHENSIVE LIST OF WORDS.
XXIII.--A MUSICAL LANGUAGE.
XXIV.--THE IMPORTANCE OF SIGNS.
PUSSY AND HER LANGUAGE.
I.
"IT WAS THE CAT."
When, in the fable, that humorous progenitor of the human species,
according to that slicker, slyer and still more humorous, practical
joker, Darwin, the monkey, cast about him in a sudden emergency for
some useful utensil adequate to the purpose of pulling his chestnuts
out of the fire, his selfish ambition was rewarded by the sight of no
less distinguished a person than the Cat. Notwithstanding the piteous
protests and flowing tears of Pussy, she was forced into the service
of the monkey, and ever after there lived in the memory of man that
wonderful story, from which we get the expressive saying of "making a
cat's paw" of anything or anybody.
The cruelty of the act and the subsequent greed of the simian who,
despite the appeals of the feline for a share in the delicious roast,
gave her nothing but the smell, of which he could not have deprived
her, appeals to the indignation of a just public. But the suffering
and the tears and the cries of the Cat command the sympathy of all
right-minded people who rest in peace under the "Banner of Freedom,"
and fight against oppression. The moral is demonstrative, as you will
see.
The presiding genius who carries the portfolio and administers
the affairs of the most important of all the divisions of the
household--the culinary department--the cook, wisely appreciates the
inestimable value of the Cat, and never fails to make convenient
use of the animal, even employing her upon occasions when Pussy
becomes nothing short of a miracle-worker. Of course, the reader
may differentiate the story with common sense, but rarely, for the
word of the queen of the realm of the culinary department is as the
verity of the Law and the Gospel. The mistress may wonder, and a
smile of incredulity may pass over the countenance of the master of
the house, but the breakage of crockery and the lavish disappearance
of spirits, wine and ale, the wonderful growth of the butcher's bill,
the prodigal wanderings of butter not strong enough to sustain its
own weight, the overdone appearance of the breakfast steak, and the
underdone appearance of the dinner joint are attributable only to the
household pet, for the cook hath said "It was the Cat!" Even when the
mistress sadly discovers the queen of the sacred domain, who has the
power to poison the food she dispenses, lying prone upon the kitchen
floor at the dinner hour, the fumes of the best brandy escaping from
her stentorian lungs and her limbs limp as fresh putty, the bouquet
of the spirits of 1840 comes to the sensitive nostrils of the lady
laden with the murmurings of the cook, "It was the Cat!" and the
faithful mistress intuitively realizes that there has been a battle
royal between the queen regent and the agent of the king of that
realm where ice appeareth not, and all skating is done upon rollers.
When the extensive disappearance of the family preserves causes
inquiry, and the heir of the house is questioned concerning his
knowledge of the loss, he unhesitatingly and solemnly declares that
"It was the Cat!" which is in the usual course of events, and always
to be believed, even when it is noted by the nurse that the nose of
the urchin resembles, in color, that of a man whose ways are not
those of the temperate, and smelleth of strawberry jelly, and his
chin resembleth that of one who has but recently been thickly coated
with raspberry jam.
Now, mark the moral. We loudly censure the monkey in the fable, and
smile at the charges of the others, not pausing to consider that the
sufferings of the flesh are endurable, but the tortures of the mind
from undeserved censure are frequently beyond endurance. The great
lover of the Cat, Shakespeare, as if the wrongs of the calumniated
feline in his mind aptly expresses the feelings of the Cat, when he
says, through the medium of Othello:
"Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;
But he that filches from me my good name,
Robs me of that which not enriches him,
And makes me poor indeed."
"Give a dog a bad name, and you send him to"--the place not hung
with icy stalactites. It is a solemn and well-known fact that one of
a million dogs gets a bad name, while not one out of a million Cats
gets a good one. It is out of the shadow of this cruel prejudice that
I would lead the Cat, and place her upon the pedestal to which she
should have been raised for the admiration of the world, long, long
ago.
II.
A LITTLE INNOCENT WHO KNOWS THE FAMILY SECRETS.
When a startling discovery which virtually concerns every atom of
humanity has been rounded into a fact, so that the average human
intellect may grasp and, after thoroughly comprehending its value,
make the proper application of it, the sooner it is given to the
world for the benefit of the human race, if benefit there be in the
discovery, the better for the world and all that are upon it.
Such a fact, and one which will go far to revolutionize society, has
certainly been discovered, and, I hope, may be presented in so clear
and comprehensive a manner that "he who runs may read," and readily
realize its vast importance to the world, although its development
will, undoubtedly, spread the greatest alarm wherever it is made
known.
It will not be denied, when I make the assertion, that in every
household, in the hovel of the poorest as well as in the mansion of
the richest, in the storehouse, the factory, the workshop, the mill,
the foundry, the newspaper office, the schoolhouse, the hospital,
the theatre, the counting-room, the great libraries, the ships and
the political headquarters, even in the grand capitol buildings at
Washington, and penetrating, without hindrance, into the very secret
Cabinet meetings at the White House, and almost everywhere throughout
the whole inhabitable globe, there exists a spy upon whose ears fall
the secrets of a nation, which, if breathed at some inopportune
moment, might be its ruin. With an air of insouciant nonchalance,
this ever-present spy meanders everywhere and, with ears alert to
catch the softest whisper, gives token only of a feeling of innocuous
desuetude when scenes and secrets of the most astounding character
are being developed to the understanding.
From time immemorial these facts have existed with the knowledge and
consent of everybody, but, strangely enough, without a thought that
it might be possible for the Cat to communicate the secrets thus
surreptitiously obtained through the careless confidence of humanity.
The safety of such confidences lies entirely in the assumption
of what has hitherto been regarded as a fact, and, although such
utterances have been made in the presence of this universal spy,
there was no possibility of their communication to the outer world
because of its lack of power to do so. The astonishment following the
recent discovery lies in the fact that this overweening confidence of
man has been sadly misplaced, for I may state with the firmest faith
in the proofs which have been presented to me, that, notwithstanding
the belief to the contrary, the whole world has been misguided and
the ever-present feline community has a language of its own, and,
further, that it has become intelligible to more than one individual,
myself among the number.
The importance of this startling discovery cannot be overestimated.
It vitally concerns every human being in the known world, as may
readily be perceived after a moment's thought. The possibility of
the existence of a language as a means of communication of thoughts
and ideas between animals has, for ages, been a subject of comment
with many, while to those whose association with and fondness
for the animal kingdom cannot but admit that there is no doubt
concerning the truth. In fact, innumerable evidences of signs and
verbal communications between what are incorrectly stigmatized as
dumb beasts are constantly being demonstrated to the world but,
unfortunately, described as evidences of instinct, although bearing
every proof of thought emanating from the soul as uttered by the
human being.
I may be considered as aiming too high in my declaration of what I
shall proceed to prove, but it is with a firm belief that I shall
be fully able to substantiate my assertion and convince the reader.
Such wonderful evidences of the astonishing sagacity of animals
have come to the knowledge of every man and woman that, when these
instances are remembered, I consider myself well on the road toward
demonstrating the assertion that there is a language of communication
between animals.
Explain to me, if you can, why, if they do not possess souls, when
shrouded in slumber, the horse will neigh and prance, the Cat will
cry, the lion will roar, the monkey will chatter and the dog will
bark and whine while dreaming, even as a human being will give
evidence of a restless mind when the animal senses are dormant.
Some years ago I possessed a dog who learned, without instruction
and with little difficulty, to turn the knob and thus gain admission
through the outer door of my house to the interior. Last Winter I was
in possession of two Skye terriers, to whom I frequently remarked in
a quiet tone of voice, in the morning, that I would take them out
for a walk in the afternoon, and, at the hour when they had been
taken out by me upon previous occasions, they invariably put their
noses together and communicated their ideas. As a result of such
communication first one and then the other, then both worried me
with their paws and called to me unceasingly, until I kept my word
with them. These are but two of the countless instances which have
come under my observation, as numberless cases have been met with by
others, proving, beyond denial, that these and other animals are as
fully possessed of memory as is that nobler animal, man.
Call it instinct, if you will, but is that not to be considered as
more than instinct which prompts the Cat to distinguish between
the friend and the enemy of its master and mistress, and even to
protect them from the attacks of an enemy at the risk of the life
of the animal? The number of such instances is legion. Surely the
faithfulness of our domestic animals cannot be doubted, but we may
doubt the humanity of man to the animal kingdom when the evidence of
the same senses in what are termed the lower animals is said to be
instinct, while in the human it is called soul and mind.
It has frequently been remarked by those who have made a study of
the animal kingdom that the intelligence of the lower animals, in
many matters, is far superior to that possessed by human beings. For
instance, the natural, living, breathing barometer is a Cat, and
there are none better. When a Cat washes herself in the ordinary
manner, we may be sure of bright, sunshiny weather, but when she
licks herself against the grain of her fur or washes herself with her
paw over the ear, or sits with her tail to the fire, there will be a
storm.
III.
LIKE UNTO OURSELVES.
At certain stages in our great journey we sit down and take a
retrospect, going over, hand in hand with memory, the old road
and carefully treading in the same footsteps, looking upon the
same scenes, suffering the old pains and rejoicing in the same
joys. At such times we wonder at the misplaced confidences and
our unexplainable, as well as our unjust prejudices. We admit our
proneness to go with the current when in the swim, and the natural
lassitude which prompts us, rather than argue a point or spur
ourselves to the task of disproving what may be false, which means
work, to take for granted the theory of another. We often excuse
ourselves upon the plea that one cannot find time, in this short
life, to prove everything, and we must necessarily take for granted
many things, perhaps upon the guarantee of those in whom we have
confidence, sometimes because it has passed into a proverb and at
other times for the reason that we are too tired to go against the
current and set ourselves up for oddities or cranks. But we do stop
and wonder at our prejudices, more particularly because we have had
occasion so many times to completely reverse our opinions, wondering,
at the same time, how we ever could have jumped at the conclusion
that because a nut has a sour rind it must necessarily have a sour
kernel, or that the bristling appearance of the prickly outside
denoted that it was prickly all through, and for this reason to be
avoided. We hear a man derided by the mob and follow the crowd--we
discriminate when a woman is talked about derogatively and avoid her
because it is the rule--then, perhaps, it is in after years, when the
object has lived down the false assertions, at some certain stage in
our journey, we look back, wonderingly, commiserate the sufferings of
one and another and say that it was nothing but prejudice, and then
what? Then we go on our way and do the selfsame thing over and over
again.
How easy it is to do all these things we people of experience can
testify. We say, "Give a dog a bad name," and so on, but how singular
it would sound if one should say, "Give a Cat a bad name!" Why,
the Cat has it, already! Are you sure that the almost universally
bad name of the Cat is not pure and unadulterated prejudice, and,
considered as a generality, with the least foundation in fact?
You say that the Cat is treacherous, a thief and a lover of places,
not persons. This is the sum and substance of humanity's grievances
against the feline. I know of no other despicable attributes ascribed
to the Cat, and admit that these would be enough to condemn her, were
they true. But they are not true, saving only in exceptional cases.
Providentially for the Cat, she is provided with natural means of
defence and uses her claws at times and very justly when imposed
upon. I never knew, or heard of, a Cat who deliberately and out of
pure viciousness, scratched or fought a person whom she might have
reasonably supposed to be her friend. Be just and admit this fact.
Concerning the charge of thievery, I admit that Pussy's derelictions
have been proven in exceptional cases, but plead, in partial
justification, the neglect of master or mistress to properly provide
for her, and that her food was due to her for labor performed, upon
the principle that "the workman is worthy of his hire." Consider
that Pussy has ridden your house of mice and rats, and continues,
day by day, to perform her duty of keeping the thieves from your
dwelling--that if you profit by her prognostications, she tells
you, far better than a barometer, the truth about the weather, long
before there comes a change--that she even guards your home from
intruders--that she is the first, if permitted to do so, to welcome
your home-coming--that she is ever ready, with her gentle purr, to
express her love for you and with her soothing song--the gentlest
ever heard--to calm your troubled mind. Think for a moment how her
winning ways and pretty playfulness have amused you for many an hour
and won a warm place in your heart for the little household pet, then
justify her for helping herself when you either forgot or refused to
give her the nourishment she had so richly earned. This is by way
of justification of the feline, in the exceptional case, when she
takes what may not be regarded as technically her own, although the
equivalent of the same is rightfully her due. Ask yourself if, when
you walk into your landlady's larder and help yourself to the viands
there because your luncheon is not ready on time, you are not as
great a criminal as Pussy, who has been equally neglected. Concerning
the accusation that she is fond of places and not of persons, I will
have something definite to say further on.
There is one undeniable fact concerning animals, which is that when
associated with man they acquire his ways and imitate his habits.
Thus the Cat, but, in a more delicate manner, soon takes upon herself
the temper, mannerisms, actions and ways of her mistress, and in
her life imitates the actions of the one who is her admiration and
involuntary teacher. Cats, in short, are like ourselves, and are
subject to the same rules that govern all humanity throughout the
habitable globe. I cannot better illustrate and prove this fact than
by relating a story that came under my observation, and from which,
while I vouch for the truth of it, you may draw your own conclusions.
IV.
NELLIE AND TOM.
I was a boy of eighteen years of age when my mother brought home with
her, all the way from the State of Maine, a Maltese Pussy, of full
breed. We called her "Nellie." After mother had buttered Nellie's
feet, a process which she said would always keep a cat from running
away from home, the aristocratic Nellie became an important member of
our household, and never deserted us.
One day I brought home to Nellie a companion who had been presented
to me by a friend. "Tom," as we called the boy, was a pure Maltese,
and a giant of his kind, a cheerful, clever and peaceable fellow and
an ornament and pet, for he was admired by everybody who saw him. His
feet were also buttered, and after a little spat with Nellie, who,
at first, could see no just reason why Tom should encroach upon her
domain, the two became fast friends, and finally married and raised
several litters of pure Maltese kittens, all of whom we gave to
longing friends save one, which we kept for Nellie's sake.
Tom remained true to his marriage vows for a long time, but one day,
about six months after his advent in the household, he was missing,
and the neighborhood was searched for Tom. He remained away until the
following afternoon, when he returned, looking sheepish, while his
appearance bore unmistakable evidence of his having been indulging
in a debauch. Tom was very crestfallen and expressed his sorrow to
his spouse Nellie, who would have nothing to do with him for several
days. Poor Tom was disconsolate, and applied to me for sympathy. Of
course every member of the family reproved Tom for his waywardness,
but the story of the "Prodigal Son" and his return, in tatters, was
not forgotten, although the fatted calf was omitted, and I was the
first to forgive and console Tom. I used my influence so successfully
with Nellie, who was very fond of me, that once more Tom was taken
into Nellie's favor and everything went on as usual, excepting that
Nellie gave every evidence of keeping a close eye upon her erring
liege-lord, who was not fully restored to her confidence.
Some five weeks after, while Nellie was nursing a new brood of
kittens, Tom turned up missing again. We did not go to any trouble
that time to search for him, nor did we feel any anxiety concerning
the wandering minstrel, knowing from our former experience that he
was big enough and old enough to take care of himself. Three weary
weeks for Nellie went by while she was worrying for her Romeo,
although she tried to conceal her anxiety behind an appearance of
unconcern, while lavishing her affections upon her infants. At the
end of the third week Tom leisurely strolled into the house and
sought Nellie's presence. He bore an air of bravado which seemed to
say that he was lord and master of his own family, that he had a
right to go whither, and stay there as long as he pleased. But he was
battered and torn, almost beyond recognition. One eye was completely
closed, much of his fur was gone, he limped when he walked, one ear
was entirely bitten through and a portion of it missing, and his head
was covered with bloody wounds, while his general appearance was
emaciated, tattered and forlorn. Nellie's tail was a sight to behold
when she spied Tom, and she raised herself to a sitting posture and
threw upon the debauchee a withering look of contempt which sent his
tail between his legs in less time than it takes to tell it, while he
completely lost his braggadocio air and slunk off to a corner of the
room and Nellie returned to her babies.
After the tramp had received a scolding from each one of the family,
and been thoroughly cleansed and his wounds dressed, he sat down a
few feet from his lawful wife and moaned and cried for an hour or
more, without once attracting a look of pity from her. After that
he approached Nellie and attempted to ask her forgiveness for his
absence upon some fictitious ground, but that faithful one raised
herself upon her hind legs, spat upon the battered tramp and then
deliberately beat him with her paws and scratched him with her claws
until he slunk out of the room, a well reproved if not a better Cat.
For more than a week, every time Tom made overtures looking toward a
reconciliation, Nellie repeated her chastisement, and I fully believe
if any other Maltese Tom had presented himself during that time, she
would have taught Tom a lesson which he would have remembered to
the end of his life, by adopting him in Tom's place, and, with his
assistance, driven out upon the charity of a cold world, her wayward
and presumably unfaithful consort. But, although we refused to
intercede for him with Nellie, in the course of time Tom was partly
forgiven and was again kept under the watchful eye of Nellie.
Three months later the vagabond again forgot his marriage vows and
disappeared. This time we gave him up for lost, as he did not return
for a month. Considering him a thing of the beautiful past, I bought
another Tom and brought him home to Nellie. Singularly enough, the
two did not fraternize, although it was not the fault of the new
Tom, and Nellie remained, as she supposed, a widow, with her kittens
as her constant care. Upon them she lavished all of her affections,
spitting at and boxing the new Tom whenever he approached them.
One fine day, to our utter astonishment, the scoundrel, Tom, strolled
in upon the scene as nonchalantly as if he had not been off on a long
protracted cruise. But this time he was covered with sores, and had,
in addition, the mange. He was a sorry-looking Tom, and an animal to
avoid. Even in that condition, I am sure, Nellie would have nursed
him and doctored him until he recovered, had he been faithful to her.
But there was no hope of it now. She had evidently been thinking
deeply about the newcomer, and was making comparisons.
At first he showed contrition, but when he discovered the new Tom,
who he supposed had assumed his duties in the household, he did not
become an Enoch Arden, but, with fire in his evil eye and without
making proper inquiries concerning Nellie's unexceptionable conduct,
with a great bologna sausage of a fuzzy tail and a fearful shriek for
vengeance, he made for Tom Number Two with the speed of lightning, in
the stereotyped manner of an outraged husband whose lapses of fealty
and so on are forgotten in the greater sin of an interloper.
What might have become of the innocent new fellow was illustrated in
the story of the Kilkenny cats, with this difference, that one of
the two would have been left on the earth, and it wouldn't have been
the new fellow, for Tom was the maddest Cat you ever saw. When the
tocsin of war was sounded by the mangy deserter, Nellie sprang for
him and there ensued a battle royal. There was war to the knife, from
the point to the hilt. The screams of the combatants were terrific,
and the dining-room floor was covered with a constantly accumulating
mass of Maltese fur. In both the new Tom and Nellie, who, alone, was
a host in herself, the mangy Tom found more than his match, and he
was beaten, torn, wounded at every point, and a total wreck when he
scurried out of the house and took his sorrowful way down the street,
toward the dock at the foot of Hubert street. Whether or not he did
the best thing he could have done under the circumstances, and went
and drowned himself, is more [Transcriber's Note: The remainder of
this sentence appears to be missing.] original Tom, by the side of
Nellie, never knew him more, for the new fellow thereafter succeeded
to his lares and penates and Nellie and he lived happily together
until Tom number two was shot by some cruel person. After that Nellie
mourned his loss and refused to be comforted with another, although,
of course, there were many Toms who would have lain down and died
for her. She lived but a short time after the death of her second
husband, and died regretted by all of us.
V.
MEMORY AND INTELLIGENCE.
We find, upon looking closely and impartially into our natural gifts,
that it is memory that fails and proves treacherous to us more
frequently than any other faculty, and as we go on with life, the
fact becomes more and more apparent. With the Cat, memory never fails
her. The dog may fail to find his way home, particularly the little
dog, but the Cat, never.
No more conclusive testimony concerning the memory and intelligence
of the Cat can be given to a doubting world than that contained in
the following story from the columns of the New York Press. It is
also illustrative of the love of persons as well as places, by the
feline. It is recited in a straightforward manner, and I have no
doubt of its truthfulness. At any rate, if the reader has his doubts,
he can readily, at the cost of a few cents, paid to Uncle Sam in
postage stamps, satisfy himself concerning the story, for names are
given and the address is plain. "Fritz Heath," says the narrator,
"is the noble son of a worthy mother, and lives in Syracuse, N.Y.
Fritz is a large gray and white tomcat. Fritz and his mother are
the proteges of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Heath. Mr. Heath is a telegraph
operator in the employ of the New York Central Railroad. Both Fritz
and Gyp are cats of unusual size and beauty. Fritz will roll over,
jump through a hoop and turn somersaults at command. He also has the
habit of jumping up to catch the smooth top of the dining-table
with his paws and swinging suspended, while he surveys the prospects
of his coming dinner. Two years ago there was mourning in the home
of Heath. Fritz had suddenly disappeared. At night Gyp came into
the house, sniffed at the basket, which she and Fritz had occupied
together since the latter's kittenhood, and walked disconsolately
away. The Heath family searched diligently, but Fritz could not be
found.
"When two years had passed by, all but Gyp had nearly forgotten
the missing member of the household. She could not be induced to
go near her basket, which was still kept beside the fire, and
persistently refused to be comforted. One night recently Gyp jumped
into her basket and, nestling down, began to purr contentedly. A
few days afterward the Heaths, returning from an evening call, saw
a cat which, in the darkness, they supposed to be Gyp, lying on the
doorstep. When the door was opened the cat ran into the hallway and
out again as quickly. A short time later Mrs. Heath heard the crying
at the door and went down to bring in the homeless cat and give it
something to eat. As soon as she opened the door the cat darted
inside. When it came to the lighted apartments, Mrs. Heath exclaimed,
'Why, Tom, that's Fritz!' Hearing his name, the overjoyed Fritz
bounded into Mrs. Heath's lap, from hers to her husband's, turned
somersaults, rolled over and performed all the tricks he had been
taught, as if to thoroughly establish his identity or express his
pleasure at getting home.
"'It surely is Fritz,' thought the Heaths, and they examined the
cat's right ear. It was split. There was little doubt now, but to
make assurance doubly sure, a small stick was thrown down the stairs,
into the dark hallway.
"'Go get it, Fritz,' said Mr. Heath, and the cat darted down stairs,
returned triumphantly with the stick balanced in its mouth, a trick,
by the way, common enough with retrievers, but which few cats have
ever been taught to perform. After a good supper, the reclaimed
Fritz went straight to his basket behind the stove and cuddled down
contented.
"Gyp at first gave the intruder a sharp rap with her paw, but at once
recognized her prodigal son, fell on his neck and kissed him. Fritz
now stays very closely at home, for his two years' absence seems to
have given him an increased regard for the family roof-tree."
This wonderful power of memory in the Cat has seldom been surpassed
by any other attribute in the feline, but there came under my
personal observation the following astonishing proof of the
intelligence and motherly love of the Cat for her young, the relation
of which will undoubtedly find an echo in the memories of many of my
readers.
While residing on Lexington avenue near Twenty-fourth street, New
York, I had a Pussy who presented the world with a litter of three
as pretty kittens as ever were seen. Their beauty, however, did not
compensate for their burden upon the household, because there was no
yard to the house. I kept the little ones until they were a month
old and had grown to be attractive, and offered them to friends and
neighbors, all of whom admired, but regretted that they had neither
use nor room for them. So, one day I tied about the neck of each
cunning little kitten a bright ribbon, to improve their appearance,
and having secured the mother cat in the kitchen, I took her babies
in my overcoat pockets and carried them to the Twenty-first street
side of Gramercy Park, where I deposited two of them inside the
enclosure. I then went around to the other side of the great iron
fence and placed the other baby in the park and returned to the
house. The day was a cold one in Winter, and the avenue is a very
busy one during the day, being well traveled by pedestrians and
vehicles, and the park a considerable distance from my residence.
Within an hour the mother, who was supposed to be securely imprisoned
in the kitchen, was heard by the servant crying in the front area,
and upon opening the basement door, I discovered the Cat with her
three beautiful kittens, all safe and sound, returned and claiming my
protection. How the Cat released herself from her imprisonment in the
kitchen, and by what wonderful power she found the kittens, whom she
must have brought through the street, at the risk of her life, one by
one, is more than I could surmise, and there they were. My admiration
of her was such that I took in the brood and continued to care for
them a month longer, all the while endeavoring to find homes for the
little ones, but with no success. Finally, recognizing the necessity
of getting rid of the kittens, I carried out the babies, once more,
in my pockets, and deposited them in an area of a house, ten blocks
away, in a busy part of the city, near Fourth avenue. This time I
made sure of the mother by locking her in a room, but, on returning
to the house, two hours later, I found the three kittens there, and
the mother looking at me appealingly. Although much disgusted at the
determination of the mother, I kept her kittens until I had induced
some friends to take them, after telling the story and persuading
them that the children of such a mother must necessarily become
wonderful Cats.
Illustrative also of the intelligence, as well as the praiseworthy
liberality and charitableness of the Cat, is the story in the Sun of
Baltimore, Md., of June 22d, 1892, as follows:
"Mr. James Forwood of Darlington, Hartford County, has a cat which
has developed an interesting trait. Being kittenless, she adopted as
her own a brood of motherless young chickens, which come to her when
she purrs, and follow her around wherever she goes. When any of the
brood stray into a neighbor's premises the cat follows, and, picking
up each chick carefully by the back of its neck, as if it were a
kitten, and in the same manner in which she had been carried when a
kitten herself, deposits it safely upon its own premises. Calling the
chicks to her, the cat lies down and hovers over them as tenderly and
as carefully as their feathered mother would have done. The chicks
appear to accept the situation and are thriving."
VI.
FRIENDS OF THE CAT.
The unjust prejudice concerning Pussy extant in the United States
and England is not common in other lands. In fact, nowhere outside
of the two great countries named is the prejudice tolerated. In
Arabia, the Cat is worshiped and treated with tenderest care and the
consideration which is her due for duties well performed and properly
appreciated. Arabians, who have always expressed a great fondness for
the feline, in their legends trace back the origin of the Cat to the
time of building the great ark by Noah, and they have a fiction that
Pussy was sneezed out of the nostrils of the king of beasts, the lion.
Whatever may be the origin of the Cat, one fact is undeniable, which
is that she is not indigenous to America. Some naturalists declare
that Pussy was brought over to America in a ship, and others have
arrived at the conclusion that it was the wild-cat that took passage
to our shores on a sailing vessel, and our kind little household pet
has evoluted from the wild beast of the denser forests. The tutelary
deity of the Cat is Diana, or Pacht, and, according to Plutarch,
Pussy was not only sacred to the moon, but an emblem of it, and a
figure of a Cat, fixed upon a sistrum, denoted the moon, just as a
frog on a ring denoted a man in embryo. Hence Cats were treated with
peculiar consideration in Egypt during the reign of the Pharaohs.
Throughout Egypt, upon the death of the family pet, the entire
household went into mourning, and the Cat's funeral was invariably
celebrated with great pomp and impressive ceremonies. The bereaved
owners of the deceased feline testified their sorrow and respect for
the memory of the lost pet by shaving off their eyebrows. The body
was always embalmed, and after the funeral placed in the temple of
Babistis, where it was visited at stated intervals by members of the
household and mourned over as one of the family.
In the days of Moses and the prophets it was a very serious thing to
kill a cat. Diodorus relates a story of a Roman soldier, a man of
bravery, who accidentally killed a Cat and was tried, convicted and
condemned to die. This sentence was executed as religiously as if the
Cat had been a human being. It was, in those days, a common thing
to mete out severe punishment for injuries done to the feline, and
it is to be regretted that some of the stern laws of the Egyptians,
relating to outrages perpetrated upon the innocent animals, have not
descended to this land and generation, for the better protection
of the person of an innocent animal that harms no one and is of
inestimable value to mankind.
The Arabs continue to venerate the Cat. Just out of Cairo stands a
mosque, where, in modern times, Sultan El Daher provides all the Cats
of Cairo and its vicinity in need of sustenance with a plentiful
daily repast. From flat roof and from terrace, from the dusty streets
and the multitudes of filthy alleys of the city, and from their
thousands of hiding places, the hungry felines come, at the hour of
prayer, to get their never-forgotten allowance of food, furnished
by their ever-faithful friend of the Orient. It has been declared
to be an outgrowth of superstition, but there is justice in the
remark, "'tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis true," that the
superstition exists only in the nobler breast of Sultan El Daher,
who feeds his pets, the poor, needy and neglected waifs of other
households, then, with a happy heart filled with the glow of a deed
of charity well performed, he turns his face to the setting sun and
prays for the blessing so richly earned.
Napoleon Bonaparte is said to have hated a Cat with as great a
fervor as was expressed by him for his Austrian and Russian foes.
In him we have a strong contrast to the great Sultan, although the
ridiculous superstition of the great soldier of France has gone into
a proverb. Even Shylock, with all his sins and hardness of heart, had
a good word for Pussy, and expressed his disgust of a cowardly man
by saying, "Some men there are that are mad if they behold a cat--a
harmless, necessary cat."
France's greatest Cardinal, Richelieu, was of an opposite temperament
to Napoleon, for he dearly loved the Cat. Mahomet possessed a strong
passion for the feline, which has seldom been equaled. It is recorded
of the immortal prophet that upon one occasion, when a particular
favorite was lying asleep upon his sleeve, he cut off the sleeve and
left Pussy in a peaceful slumber rather than disturb her rest. Horace
Walpole had a favorite Pussy, and when she died he mourned her loss
so much that the ever-living author of "Gray's Elegy in a Country
Churchyard" wrote an ode on the death of Salina, the lovely Tabby of
his friend. Many world-renowned people of all ages have been noted
for possessing large families of Cats, a fact due, in some cases, to
a superstition, but generally from an intense love for the innocent,
beautiful and useful animal. The author of "The Doctor," Robert
Southey, when he lived at Greta, near Keswick, possessed a large
number of plump and healthy Cats, which the kitchen-maids nursed and
the Keswick apothecary dosed.
In fact, from time immemorial Pussy has been a companion of the
learned. Petrarch had his pet embalmed and Andrea Doria, one of the
rulers of Venice, not only had his dead Cat's portrait taken, but
also preserved her skeleton among his choicest mementos. The Cat of
Cardinal Wolsey sat by his side when he gave audience or received
princes. Rousseau loved Cats, and it is said of Sir Isaac Newton that
he cut a large hole in his barn for his old cat and a smaller one,
beside it, for the young kittens. Edgar Allen Poe wrote a thrilling
tale of a black Cat, and even the ambitious, bloodthirsty Lady
Macbeth alludes kindly to the household pet. Dr. Johnson had a Cat
upon which he doted, and being seemingly desirous of perpetuating
her fame, he taught her to eat oysters, a feat never recorded of any
other Cat in history. Henry James, the novelist, wrote with his Cat
upon his shoulder. The effusively polite, sensitively dilettante,
conscienceless and steel-hearted Chesterfield had one redeeming
trait, which was his love for Pussy, if such a cold-blooded man
could be possessed of the faculty of loving. When he died, he left
a pension to his Cats and their posterity after them. Paul de Kock,
the French novelist, had a family of thirty Cats, and De Musset wrote
apostrophes to Cats, in verse.
Chateaubriand was passionately fond of Cats, and when he was sent as
an ambassador to the Pope, the latter could think of no more suitable
present for the devoted son of the Church than his predecessor's
favorite Cat, which present greatly pleased Chateaubriand and cost
the great prelate nothing. There is no more familiar figure in the
memory of an Englishman than Whittington, once Lord Mayor of London,
with his Cat.
The Greek monks of the Island of Cyprus used to train the Cats to
hunt and kill the serpents with which they were plagued. In Sicily
the Cat is sacred to Saint Martha, and whoever, either by design
or accident, kills one, it is believed, undergoes seven years of
punishment. In Hungary they believe that a Cat must necessarily be
a good mouser, and she is highly prized there for her inestimable
qualities.
VII.
SOME REMARKABLE TRUE STORIES.
The delicate movement, characteristic reserve and native modesty
of the Cat may account for the supposition of the ignorant and
unappreciative that Pussy is stupid. This foolish supposition has
been refuted by innumerable instances of her intelligence, which,
in many cases on record and thoroughly authenticated, are marvelous
in the extreme. I will not delve into ancient history for proofs of
the astonishing intelligence of the Cat and relate what is already
patent to the world, but will give some of the best authenticated
incidents which have occurred within a few years in our own land.
Very recently the New York Sun gave an authenticated account of
a Cat owned by Mr. Chester F. Hall, of Danville, Ind., who, when
she desires to enter the house, invariably rings the bell of the
front door and is admitted by the servants. This, I imagine, is an
expression of more intelligence than is often evinced by many of the
Cat's traducers among the country bumpkins who, with the bell handle
under their noses, have frequently been known to knock upon the door
for admission to the house.
The camaraderie of dogs and Cats, in every land, has been
significantly narrated in every tongue, innumerable times. It has
always been noticed that in such associations the dog have always
bossed the Cat, demonstrating his arrogant spirit, resulting from
his appreciation of the fact that he is the stronger animal and that
"might makes right." But within my personal observation this bossism
is of a good-natured character, and often amusing. Frequently, too,
the canine in the full knowledge of his superior strength, uses it
generously for the protection of the weaker comrade, and I propose to
give an instance of this fact, together with an illustration of the
characteristic insouciance of Pussy, and the sense of order and the
amenities of private life as manifested by the stronger comrade.
Some years ago my Skye terrier, "Gyp," had a litter of puppies, and
we saved one of them, "Jessie," who was brought up with a pretty
little kitten. From Jessie's birth she manifested a great liking for
Kitty, and played with her as good-naturedly and freely as if she had
been a dog. It is true that Gyp, the mother of Jessie, looked upon
this fraternizing with disapprobation, often telling her puppy that
she was lowering herself by such close intimacy with the Cat, but
the intimacy went on and on. One never saw Kittie scratch or hurt
Jessie, nor did the latter ever injure, nor even anger, the Cat.
Pussy permitted Jessie to play all sorts of pranks with her tail, and
the laughter of the entire household has often been provoked by the
seeming cunning little ways of both. Jessie would hide behind the
door, and as Pussy came gingerly along in search of her playfellow
suddenly dash out upon Kittie, to her palpable consternation, and
the two would roll over and over each other, on the kitchen floor,
in each other's arms. Neither dog ever interfered with the food set
apart for Kittie, nor was there ever a wistful glance at the dainties
upon her plate.
One remarkable circumstance, however, proved the dogs' ideas of "the
right of domain," and demonstrated the fact that they considered
the kitchen the proper place for Kittie. She had always been kept
"downstairs," and never ventured to go above the kitchen floor,
excepting upon one memorable occasion. The little dogs were permitted
to remain in the dining room during the time when the family were
eating. At all other times they were at liberty to roam about the
house at their own sweet will. One day, the kitchen door being left
open, Kittie thought she would make a new departure, and accordingly
strolled up the kitchen stairs and into the dining room, tail erect
and a "lovely day, to-day" kind of a look upon her smiling face.
Pussy's appearance and her nonchalant impudence overpowered the dogs
for a moment, and before they had recovered from their astonishment
Pussy had pre-empted a soft cushion on a rocking chair, which was
the especial resting place of the mother, Gyp, and always regarded
as particularly sacred to her aristocratic ladyship. This was too
much for the dogs. Every member of the family vacated that chair when
Gyp claimed it, and as for Jessie, she never dared to get upon that
sacred cushion.
When the dogs had recovered their equilibrium, after their
astonishment at the temerity of the "kitchen cat," as they evidently
regarded her, they put their noses together and compared notes,
after the fashion of canines, and then Gyp and Jessie proceeded
to the development of their theory concerning Cats in the dining
room. Together they went up to the chair, and each seized a corner
of the cushion upon which Kittie had made herself comfortable and
at home, and with a suggestion that she was not asked to sit down,
deliberately pulled both Cat and cushion from the chair, landing
Kittie unceremoniously upon the floor in a very indecorous manner and
very much to her disgust. But the affair did not end here. Kittie
looked from one to the other of her household companions as if
doubting the evidence of her senses, and as much as to ask them if
they did not feel ashamed of themselves for treating a lady in such
an undignified manner? She cast a withering glance at them and sidled
toward the table, as it seeking protection from some one of the
family, who were at dinner, and with an injured air sat down at my
side. This was altogether too much presumption for the dogs to stand,
and their good nature left them as, prompted by the mother, Jessie
sidled up to Kittie, who looked at the dogs, appealingly, while they
said, as plainly as could be said by dogs, "You are not an upstairs
Cat, Kittie--you are nothing but a kitchen Cat, and you have no
rights here that we are bound to respect. Go downstairs, like a good
little kitten, and the cook will feed you."
To this remark Kittie shrugged her shoulders and refused to budge.
Then came the funny part of it, which was not at all funny to the
Cat. Jessie edged up to Kittie upon one side and Gyp sidled up to the
other side of the Cat, and together they actually pushed her along to
the kitchen stairs and forced her to descend to her own quarters on
the floor below. Kittie struggled to get away from them and remain in
the dining room, but they were too quick for her, and downstairs she
went, full of dudgeon, and never after attempted to encroach upon the
territory which the little dogs claimed for their own.
This incident did not disturb the friendship existing between Jessie
and Kittie, for they continued to be as fast friends as ever, but the
Cat, certainly, had an idea that Jessie had been put up to the job by
her mother, and I have no doubt that the cunning Jessie told her so.
These two dogs were the terror of the Cats in the neighborhood, and
it was no unusual occurrence to see the feline skurrying away from
our "farm," with both sky terriers at their heels and almost within
biting distance. Woe betide the Cat that either got their teeth into,
for they were dead Cats when either Gyp or Jessie caught them, as
many an occasion proved. Singularly, however, they never injured
Kittie, but, to show that they cherished and protected her, I will
mention one occurrence of the many which came under my own eye. It
was in the summer time, when the windows of the kitchen were open.
Both dogs were reposing in the doorway when there suddenly appeared
upon the window sill, a Tomcat, who had ventured to come courting
Kittie. The "Young Lochinvar" eyed Kittie lovingly, and approached
the innocent young thing with a polite air, saying, no doubt, that
he would like to persuade her to "tread but one measure with young
Lochinvar," and that "in all the wide border his steed was the best."