possessed by an evil spirit. They had gone into the house but a short
time, when she trampled all the flowers on the grave under her feet and
knocked over the flower pot. Then she roved back and forth till she
found a neighbor's cat, with whom she had a feud of long standing, and
worked off all her sorrow in a free fight, where she proved the victor,
and at night she returned to the house just as composed as usual. She
never visited little Pearl's grave to their knowledge again.
The house where the family lived was large and old-fashioned,--one of
the houses Salem was noted for at that time, long ago given up to the
march of improvement. It belonged to a wealthy sea-captain in the India
trade. Since his death it had not been cared for or repaired, and was
therefore within the means of a small family. The remains of his
extensive wine cellar consisted of a multitude of empty bottles.
Topsy was very fond of this cellar. They often remarked that she
probably found kindred spirits of the past, for she always surprised
them with some practical joke on her return to the upper regions.
One day, just at dusk a crash came that shook the house. The sound came
from the cellar, and on taking a light there, they found the floor
covered with bottles. Through some unknown agency, Topsy had moved a
shelf, and all the bottles had fallen to the floor. There she sat on a
barrel, looking on. If ever a cat delighted in a sensation, she did.
Quite a young girl lived with them, to help the girl of all work. She
got the impression that the house was haunted. She said the doors would
fly open without visible agency, and the bells all over the house would
ring, and when she answered them, every one would be surprised; they had
not touched them. They explained to her that the wind moved the
old-fashioned latches, and the doors, being old, would fly open.
Possibly rats would move the bell wires and make them ring. It is
impossible to uproot a belief in the supernatural out of the mind of an
ignorant child.
She said: "It is that black witch cat Topsy. She is an evil spirit. I
shut her up at night in the kitchen, Molly says she never let her up;
but there she is, upstairs, all over the house, during the night."
They could not persuade her to stay, and after she left the mystery was
solved, as such mysteries almost always can be, in a very common,
matter-of-fact manner. Miss Eleanor said at the time that she thought
her room was the way Topsy came, though how, she could not say.
One night, about eleven o'clock, being very wakeful, she heard a slight
scratching sound at the door. She sat up in bed and watched. She was not
afraid, for she was sure the mystery was about to be solved. Another
rattle of the latch, then the door opened wide, swinging back, with some
long black thing hanging from the latch. It was Topsy. She had jumped up
and knocked up the latch with her head, holding on the lower part with
her paws, and in this way had entered the room every night.
Changes came to their home, and the death of their mother made a break
in the household. They moved to Boston and were perplexed about Topsy.
What could they do with a cat of her restless nature in a few rooms?
What could she do without a large house and garden to roam about in,
and, above all, how could she leave that cellar? The people who took the
house were very anxious to keep her, and at last it was decided to leave
her on trial.
Miss Milly said, "After what we have passed through, as we are breaking
the last tie to home, one parting more we can bear."
After a few weeks Miss Eleanor went down to see about Topsy. She had a
tale of woe to listen to. They said: "Topsy searched the house after you
left, and at night she caterwauled in the hall in the most fearful
manner, and paid not the least attention to us, when we tried to coax
her. She refused all food, preferring to steal all that she wanted. She
at last took to the cellar, and would not come up. We put food and drink
for her every day, and it was gone, so we supposed she took it."
They said the night before she had made such a racket that it seemed as
if there were a dozen cats with her. They had that day decided to write,
asking what could be done with her.
When they opened the cellar door, and called her, no answer came; but
the moment Miss Eleanor went to the door, and said, "Topsy," she flew up
the stairs like lightning, and into Miss Eleanor's arms, just like a
child. She held her so tight she could hardly remove her claws from her
shoulder.
"This decides it. I shall have to take her," Miss Eleanor said; "and
indeed I could not face Milly without her, now that we know how unhappy
she has been."
They loaned her a shawl, and in it she wrapped Topsy, who followed every
movement with her yellow eyes, though she kept as quiet as a lamb. Her
trust was perfect; she knew she had found her own. She made no trouble
on the journey by cars to Boston, keeping her eye on Miss Eleanor's face
out of one corner of the shawl.
They were perfect slaves to her, keeping her in one room. Boarding was
not very convenient, even with a quiet, well-behaved cat but with her it
was a dreadful experience. She had come to Boston, a great and gay city,
and she did mean to see the sights. The very first Sunday she crawled
out of the window, though it was only open a very little; but she
squeezed herself out on to the balcony that ran around several of the
houses in that block, and Miss Milly went all over the street hunting
for her. Being a stranger, it was very hard. At last Topsy was found on
the balcony just outside the next house, all in a heap, and for once
well frightened.
After Mrs. Rice and the boys came from the South, and they had a home,
she was very happy, and it was then my mother met her, about which event
I have already written.
I did pity them; at the last, to lose her in such a manner was very
hard.
Miss Milly was so sad after this that Miss Eleanor said she hoped she
would never tell Topsy's story again. Miss Milly would say, taking me in
her arms, "I never felt comforted till I had my Daisy."
This pleased me, and made me very careful to do just as they told me to.
I was very glad I had heard Topsy's story. My opinion is, that the
witches wanted her and called her home. Very likely she rides on their
shoulders when they go through the air on a broomstick.
XI
REMINISCENCES
I was suffering much from my shoulder just at this time, but we were
very quiet, and I enjoyed lying on the lounge or in their laps and
listening to the stories of the pets they had loved in their childhood.
Miss Eleanor would read aloud, and indeed (you may laugh if you please)
I could understand the nice things she selected.
One day she found some of Martin Luther's sayings. He one day remarked
to his dog, that was growling, "Don't growl, little Hans, for in the
resurrection thou, too, shalt have a little golden tail."
Miss Milly caught me up, saying, "Thou, too, Daisy, shalt go to heaven,
and have golden bells on thy collar, for thy tail is more lovely than a
golden one could be."
"How absurd you are!" said Miss Eleanor.
"Well, I do not think it absurd to believe we shall have our dear pets
in the hereafter; heaven would not be heaven without them. God has not
given them to us to love, without making provision for their hereafter.
We have no little hands and feet waiting for us on the 'golden shore,'
but little paws of all colors I know will be extended in welcome, and we
shall be happy with our own again."
This comfortable doctrine suited me and made me very happy. Knowing that
I could not live many years longer, the thought of an eternal separation
from my loved ones would have been unbearable.
I did try to be good and be a comfort to them, but often my good
resolutions were put to a hard test.
My mistress had one young friend who detested cats. She was very
beautiful, and they loved her very much. She came to see us one day, and
after greeting them affectionately, she said as her eye fell upon me,
"Oh! have you got that old Tom cat now?"
How I bristled up! But Miss Milly was equal to her. "Would you like to
have me speak of one of your children in this manner?" she said.
"I should think not," replied her friend; "but this is only a cat."
"And a cat that we both love as dearly as you love your children."
My rage at being called a "Tom cat" knew no bounds; it seemed to degrade
me, and I thought to myself, "How can I avenge this insult?"
One can always find a chance to do wrong, and mine came at once. I
espied her hat, gorgeous with feathers, birds, and wings, and brilliant
beading. To my great discomfort--for it was very scratchy--I seated
myself on the crown. I had no compunction when I heard the crunching of
the beads and feathers, as I bent them under me. They seemed to say,
"Tom cat,--indeed!"
I sat there till I felt pride had been sufficiently levelled; and as I
chewed the delicate end of one of the expensive feathers, I felt that I
might (in vulgar phrase) call myself even with her. Then I went under
the bed, where I could with safety witness the impending tempest.
I was not disappointed. Words are powerless to express her wrath. Had
her wishes been consulted, I should never have seen the light of another
day.
When I saw how my mistress was distressed over my wickedness, my
conscience did prick a little, though I did not repent. I had been
called a "Tom cat," and for once I acted like one.
The climax was reached when Miss Eleanor produced a box containing a
lovely wing and ornaments, and placed them where the broken ones had
been. She said:--
"I do not approve of such decorations. Were I young, I would never wear
anything that had been killed to pander to a foolish vanity. These were
given me to put with some flowers and grasses for exhibition. If you
will accept them in place of those our naughty pet has destroyed, I
shall feel we have atoned for his thoughtlessness."
Accept! I guess she did, and in her heart thanked me for giving her such
a treasure, though she gave me a cross look at parting, which I returned
in full and longed to give her an etching.
I was disgusted. I had been outwitted, as people often are when they
seek for revenge. It made me cynical, and I remained under the bed,
thinking of the wrongs that are beyond redress, going on daily. I said
to myself:--
"Just see! To gratify personal vanity how many millions of beautiful
birds are slaughtered! Innocent creatures that God made, just like the
lovely flowers, to make the world charming! And if a cat or any other
animal kills a bird or chicken, their legitimate prey, knowing no
better, they are called horrid creatures and hunted about just as if
they were murderers."
They did not say anything about my naughty act; but I heard them (after
they had called me to come out, and I had not answered) say, "Daisy is
asleep." Then they laughed, while Miss Milly said: "Who could doubt that
cats can understand, if they had seen Daisy's face when he was called a
'Tom cat.' I believe he sat on that hat to show his indignation."
All our friends were not of this order. One young artist was very fond
of me, and we were quite chummy. He was a great big fellow, with a thick
head of hair, and a mouth like a shoe-brush. I loved to see his teeth
gleam through when he laughed, for they were perfect and white as snow.
I did not like to have him rub his face over mine; it was like a
porcupine, while my fur and whiskers are as soft as silk.
One day he had been fooling with me, and I gave him a good scratch. I
raked his whiskers well, making his lip bleed. After that he called me
his bar-ber-ous friend. Perhaps he thought I did not see the pun
intended, but I did, and the point also.
I was rather sorry, and surprised. Somehow I thought his hair was like
grass, and I could claw it as I pleased.
He brought me very nice catmint from his country home. Once he brought a
pasteboard box with "Daisy" printed on the cover. I was very proud of
that box, and always turned it over with the name on the top. He brought
us a beautiful pitcher called after the Emperor Hadrian. The style of
pitcher was taken from those found in his tomb.
You will see I have a taste for history. There is no doubt, had I lived
at that period, I should have made wonderful excavations. Mummied mice
or rats would have had no mercy from my claws.
My special interest in this pitcher was the beautiful white daisies it
was often filled with. The contrast with the blue pitcher was perfect.
He would bring in a bunch from his country home, and say, "Here, Daisy,
are your namesakes; they are for you," while I would pretend to smell of
them, delighted to make them all laugh. I would mount the table, and lie
down by the side of the pitcher very contented.
My friend went to Virginia to sketch. He wrote word that he had planted
a large grove of catmint for me, and had called it "Daisy's Plantation."
Was I not happy and important! As Miss Milly said, I was a real
landowner.
After his return, he went to Germany to study. In all his letters he
remembered me. I was just as much interested in his progress as his
other friends were, and enjoyed the photographs of his pictures he sent
home.
In my opinion he was a great artist--better than the "old masters" they
talk so much about. The "young masters" are good enough for me. He
wanted to paint my picture, but Miss Milly refused, just as she had all
other offers of this kind.
I did not like it, for I thought my friend would do me justice, and it
might make his fortune, if exhibited. I used to look in the glass and
pose, thinking what a lovely picture I would make.
I say it, and I suppose you will say, "What a vain cat!" But how about
these society women (and men, as to that) who dress in velvets and
jewels, and exhibit their charms, and so much of them that it makes a
modest cat blush? What if they don't say, as I do, that they would make
a lovely picture, do they not act it? You will soon discover, if you
never knew it before, as you read my history of many cats, that animals
are often superior to the human race.
My mistresses would often dress me and make me pose to please them, and
for the life of me I could not see why I should not be painted for the
benefit of others. They would tie a half-handkerchief on my head, the
point trimmed with lace just between my ears, the ends tied under my
chin. They called it a "Marie Stuart point." Whatever that might be, I
knew not. I afterward learned that she was a queen, and was executed. It
pleased my cat vanity to represent a queen.
I myself performed all the tricks I could think of. One day, being in a
large armchair, I just posed, myself. I sat down, hung my two paws over
the arm of the chair, my head on one side, my "Marie Stuart point" all
right, the bow tied under my chin, my collar and padlock in sight, and
then and there I made an impression never to be forgotten by those who
saw me. As long as memory lasts they will remember me in all my beauty.
My mistress fell on her knees beside me, calling me all the pet names
she could think of, while Miss Eleanor said, "If ever a cat lived that
could equal Daisy, that cat I would like to see!"
I remained a long time in the same attitude, proud of my success. When
Miss Milly brought a little hand-glass for me to see myself, I did not
wonder they were delighted, and I wished they would let me pose for the
benefit of poor cats. I knew I could draw a crowd.
I never would pose for those I did not care for. I tore off the
handkerchief as soon as they put it on, and taking it by the lace edge,
I shut my teeth on it and dragged it under the bed. After this they only
asked me to pose for my friends. For them I was very willing to do my
best. I enjoyed being called a "darling" and a "love" by pretty girls,
just as any boy would enjoy it.
One friend of my mistress, a charming little woman and a real
philanthropist, was quite fond of me. She was the mother of my dear girl
friend, whom I introduced to you at my party. This good little woman was
a real friend to animals of all kinds, but she particularly loved cats.
She told us one day when she came to see us about the cruel people in
her neighborhood who went away in summer, leaving their cats to starve.
She said she had the past summer chloroformed eighteen cats in the last
stage of starvation and too far gone to save.
She had two lovely cats named Chico and Sancho. They had very beautiful
clear white fur and blue eyes. They were very bright, learning readily
many little tricks. They would turn a graceful somersault for their
food, and behaved at all times with great politeness.
Chico had trouble with his teeth, and Sancho was in great distress about
it. This sympathy was almost human. When he found he could do no good,
he retired in deep distress to the corner of the room, where he
preserved a grave silence. The family dentist soon made matters right by
extracting the troublesome teeth, making both cats very happy. No doubt
Chico disliked him just as children dislike those who operate upon them,
even though the kindness is evident.
Mrs. M. said, when she was telling my mistress about Chico, "Of course
you will have Daisy's teeth filled with gold when they decay?"
"Certainly," Miss Milly replied; "and I would hold him while it was
done."
For days after this I had no peace. Visions of doctors with horrid
instruments were ever before my eyes. I shut my mouth tight when any one
came in; and at the name of doctor I fled under the bed, where I
remained with fear and trembling, fearing my teeth were to be operated
upon. I could not clean and brush my teeth, but I got a bit of grass and
one of my catmint stalks, and sharpened my teeth on them, keeping them
as nice as possible, to preserve them.
Last year I lost one tooth. It fell out without any pain, and I did not
miss it; but Miss Milly did feel so badly about it, and cried when one
of the family said, "Daisy is quite old; it is the beginning of the
end."
Miss Eleanor was very indignant, saying, "If it is not 'the beginning,'
it is the end, of their visits here; we will not entertain such cruel
people."
They were more careful of me than ever after this. They cut up my food
very fine, and I was very careful not to gnaw meat off of a bone, for
fear it would injure my teeth, and bring the "beginning of the end"
after me. Whatever that might be I did not know; but it was such a scare
to Miss Milly that I thought it must be some monster that would devour
me as soon as I lost my teeth.
Our nice friend told us a great many stories about cats she had known
and loved. Her charming daughter, my girl friend, could make cats
perform tricks very easily. She seemed to charm them. There were
photographs of cats taken in every position, and they seemed to do just
as she wished, for she took the pictures of them herself.
We had very few cats in our neighborhood, and I did long sometimes to
see one of my own old friends. I went out every day when it was
pleasant, and sat upon a high fence, where I could look into back
alleys, where the poor people had one or two miserable rooms, scanty
furniture, and probably very little food, and I noticed with pleasure
that in every one of these poor homes a cat could be seen sitting before
the small fire, an honored member of the family. I wished I could write
a check for these good-hearted people. It made me laugh; for who would
honor a cat's check?
If I could talk, I know my dear friends would help them, if I could tell
how much they need it; but as I cannot, I must content myself with good
intentions.
XII
CAT TALES
There is no doubt that cat lovers will be interested in the true stories
of cats that our friends related to us from time to time. I have them
all in my memory. If they can arouse a love of cats in the hearts of my
readers, this little work of love by one fortunate cat will accomplish
its purpose.
Our friend told us a very wonderful story of a cat named Alexander.
There seems to be a fitness in his name; for he was, in my opinion, very
great. It does look a good deal like a "fish story," though I know it is
strictly true; for he was a Boston cat, and lived not half a mile from
our home.
Alexander was a prime favorite with all the family. He was the master's
special friend and pet, while the mistress had a bird she was very fond
of and had kept a great many years. Alexander had been taught to respect
its rights, and ignored it as beneath his notice.
They had bought a beautiful house at the seashore, reached by the boats
every hour or two from Boston. They closed their city house, and removed
all the family, including dogs, bird, and last, but not least,
Alexander, to their summer home quite early in the season. They went
down by boat, and, as one would suppose, neither dog nor cat could well
find his way back alone.
Alexander was taken in a large basket; one of the most reliable of the
maids had charge of him, while the bird was taken by one of the family.
Alexander had in every way protested against this move. He walked about
the house, superintending the shutting up of rooms, with grave
displeasure.
The dogs, bird, and the family soon settled themselves, and the new
place assumed an air altogether homelike. Alexander was restless and
morose, and the third day he was missing. They had noticed the stolid
air of disapproval with which he had gone around, looking with critical
eye upon the house and its surroundings. He avoided the side of the
house that faced the water, proving that he did not care for
sea-bathing, and the air evidently did not agree with him.
They spared neither money nor trouble in searching for him. No clew
whatever could be found, and they mourned him as dead. They returned
early in September to their Boston home on account of illness in the
family.
They had been at home only a few days, and the house had settled into
that homelike air so pleasant to returned wanderers, when one day, while
they were at dinner, Alexander walked in. He was the shadow of his
former self, thin, rough, and gaunt looking, the very fierce expression
of his eyes making him look like a stranger.
He refused every welcome extended to him, looking at them with disdain.
He marched to a table, mounted it, gave one spring, and before they
could realize his purpose he put his sharp claws through the cage door
and killed the little pet bird.
He looked around upon them all with an expression of satisfaction, as if
to say: "Now I am satisfied. You have enjoyed the company of your pets;
you have not been satisfied with going away and leaving us in our good
home, but you must have another. If the little fools you took with you
were willing to stay, I was not. You left me to wander, and I have taken
my revenge."
The mistress was very unhappy at the loss of her pet, and demanded
Alexander's life in exchange--"a life for a life." Her husband refused.
He sympathized with her loss, but he stood by Alexander. The master was
the only one that cat would trust. He avoided all the other members of
the family, and never recovered his cheerfulness or his good looks. The
iron had entered into his soul.
Where he spent the summer months remains a mystery. From the change
wrought in him, it could not have been in very elevating company. But
the question is, Where did he spend that time, and how did he get back
to the city? Is it not a convincing fact that cats know more than they
are supposed to? And if they are such intelligent beings, ought they not
to be treated with humanity?
It is true they will be hunted and abused by bad children; but properly
taught, might they not be made nice playmates for children, even taking
the place of a nurse maid if trained to do so? It does seem right for
all animals to be studied and their good traits encouraged.
Horses have been, ever since the world was formed, the friend and
patient slave of man. No animal has suffered more abuse patiently borne
than the horse. And now that the fools of fashion have presumed to
improve on their Maker's work, clipping them, cutting their tails, and
using the abominable check-rein, they are objects of pity to every
right-minded person.
My mistress had a friend who often called to take her to ride. She had
been away, for a long time, travelling. On her return she came to see
us, and asked my mistress to ride with her out into the country. We were
very much pleased, for they both needed the air; and as she said she
would take Miss Eleanor the next day (the carriage holding only two),
there was a pleasant prospect for both of my dear friends, and I was
delighted, for they had stitched and stitched till I was nearly frantic,
looking at my sharp but useless claws.
I could only express my satisfaction by walking around her, and rubbing
my head against her dress. She was quite pleased, saying, "Daisy has
grown more lovely then ever," and she patted my head with such soft
dogskin gloves, I did long to chew them.
As Miss Milly prepared for the ride, her friend said: "Just look at my
new horses. Are they not beauties?"
"These are not your horses!" exclaimed Miss Milly, as she looked from
the window.
"Certainly they are," her friend replied, "and I knew you would admire
them."
"I am sorry to disappoint you," Miss Milly said, "but I do not admire,
though I do pity these poor creatures. Is it possible that you had their
tails cut in such an absurd manner? And their heads held up so cruelly?"
"Of course I did," replied her friend, while her face grew red with
anger; "and I mean to have their heads raised an inch every day till
they get used to it."
Miss Milly untied her bonnet, saying, "Much as I need a ride, I could
never enjoy it, in sight of such cruel suffering. How could you do it? I
thought you so kind-hearted, when we were girls together, that I cannot
believe you have changed so sadly."
"How absurd you are! I think you carry your old-fashioned notions too
far, and I must say you are very unkind to refuse to ride with me. Every
one has these things done, why should not I?"
"You need not be cruel because others are; and I thought you had
independence enough to do as you thought right, regardless of the weak
and wicked who know not right from wrong. In your position, with wealth
at your command, you could set an example that others would follow; for
there are always those who are ready to do just as people in better
circumstances than themselves are able to do, no matter what foolishness
it leads to."
"I hope, Eleanor," said their friend as she turned away from Miss Milly,
"you are not going to refuse to ride with me because my horses are in
the fashion, we all know Milly is a crank on such subjects."
"And in this case, I fully indorse her," said Miss Eleanor. "It is cruel
to cripple such noble creatures and make their lives a curse."
"Well," said the other, "I have had a lesson this morning." And tears of
vexation stood in her eyes.
"My dear Laura," Miss Milly said, "just think that all we have said to
you has been in kindness, because we believe in your real nature. Let
your own heart speak for these poor creatures that cannot help
themselves, so wholly in your power."
"And make myself a laughing-stock! No, thank you! I shall keep my horses
like other people's. I am very sorry not to take you to ride; it is a
real disappointment to me."
"It is an equal one to us. We fully appreciate your kindness in offering
us a luxury beyond our means, here we recognize the Laura of bygone
years. Come some day with 'Brown Bess,' the nice horse you used to
drive, and we shall be glad to go with you."
Laura looked very red and confused, and replied, "We did not bring her
to the city with us."
They learned some time after that the good old horse had been sold for a
hack. My mistress was very indignant. She said she would have sold her
own flesh and blood just as soon as a faithful old horse. She said, "If
money hardens one's heart, as it has our friend's, we are better without
it."
I mounted a chair and saw the carriage drive off, and I did pity the
poor horses. The foam fell from their mouths, and they pranced and
glared about in torture from which there was no escape. I was sorry my
friends had lost their ride, but I was very glad they acted up to their
principles.
I looked at the very pretty little woman, sitting so quietly in her
carriage, and I said to myself, "If those poor tortured creatures should
run away and injure her for life, could she complain? Do not animals
have lessons of cruelty taught them every day? What reason have they for
being better than their owners?"
I was sorry I had allowed her to pat my head. It brought on a fit of
indigestion, and I left my nice kidney; I could not swallow it.
XIII
MY FIRST THEFT
Perhaps a confession of my sin may be a warning to others. I know it
will be interesting to my friends. It was in the house of the
"philanthropist" of whom I have written before in my book.
One day when I went down for my outing I saw a door open that I had
never noticed before. It is a well-known fact that a cat never passes an
opening without looking in; they never leave a mystery unsolved if they
can discover it.
The conditions were favorable, no one was about; "Oliver Twist" was out
of the way; so I just wandered in. It proved to be the store-closet, and
on a plate unfortunately near me, within my reach, was a piece of steak.
It was large, but I saw my opportunity. It looked very nice, just like
the steak our good doctor ordered for Mrs. Rice. She could taste but
little, while I could devour it all. Thought I, "This will be nice for
my mistress." So I just jumped up, and after several ineffectual efforts
got it in my mouth. By holding my head high I could just walk with it,
for it was long and reached to the floor.
It was some time before I could get started, for I was all of a quiver,
starting at every sound, and in my hurry, tripping over it, getting so
mad that I said, "Hiss! hiss!" just where an old boy of the human kind
would have said something more to the point.
Then came the greatest difficulty,--three flights of stairs to mount. I
had to rest at every landing, and when at last, breathing hard, but
proud and happy, I laid my offering at my mistress's feet, instead of
the delight I anticipated she screamed out, "Oh, Daisy, what have you
done?" I looked at her, amazed. "You naughty cat! Look Eleanor," she
said; "see! he has stolen this piece of meat. What shall we do?"
"I am very sorry. Of course we can pay for it," Miss Eleanor said, "but
then Daisy has lost his character; they will never trust him again. Oh,
how could you be so naughty, Daisy?"
I began to realize that my little offering had not been the success I
thought it would be. Why, I could not understand; so I just walked under
the bed, my place of refuge, and in high dudgeon reflected on my deed of
darkness, for such it seemed to be. Miss Milly had scolded me, Miss
Eleanor had reproved me, and I was very much provoked.
Miss Eleanor said: "I will go down and speak about it. If you go, you
will be so provoked; if they speak one word against Daisy, you will not
keep your temper."
I waited in fear and trembling, not knowing what would be done. She soon
returned, saying, "I have paid her for half a pound of steak."
"Half?" said Miss Milly; "why, it could not be over a quarter, and old
steak at that."
"I know that, but I would have no words with her. I simply told my
story, expressed my regrets, and asked what I should pay her, and gave
the money in silence and disgust. She remarked she always thought Daisy
was a sly one."
This aroused a tempest of wrath. Having to pay twice the amount for a
piece of stale meat was nothing compared to her calling me sly.
"Come out, Daisy," my mistress said; "I know you are sorry, and did not
understand how wrong it was to take that steak!"
I did not go out for a long time. My feelings were hurt at the injustice
I had suffered; and I was very dignified. My mistress took me in her
arms, saying:--
"My dear kitty, I know you did not mean to do wrong; but to take
anything belonging to others that is not given to you is stealing, and
people are punished for it--I do believe," she said to Miss Eleanor,
"that this dear cat got that steak as much for us as for himself." And
she gave me a hug.
Then I could no longer control myself. I could not speak, but I got up
and put both paws around Miss Milly's neck and licked her face. She was
quite overcome, as she said: "I will never forget that you did this for
me. But you now know what stealing means, and must never do it again."
And I never did. But oh, how good that steak did taste! I had heard it
said that "stolen fruit is sweet," and I found it so. I had worked hard
over it, and I enjoyed it.
I was not very unhappy that my mistress had to pay for it; for I had a
friend who gave me pennies enough to buy all my extra food, and I said
to myself, "She can take the money from that." So that afternoon I went
to the table where my little tin bank was kept, and just pushed it off,
and out came the pennies.
The noise aroused my mistress. How they did laugh, saying, "Daisy is
paying for her meat." But they put them all back and kissed me, saying I
was a very honorable cat. I wished I could speak and ask my mistress if
that "philanthropist" was a church member. If so, did they allow
extortion?
I think "Oliver Twist" was a free-thinker, for he seemed to grasp
everything as his own, recognizing no law; certainly he did not favor
our church. Perhaps, like the cat that a smart boy tried to sell, she
represented the belief of the person to whom the boy offered her. When
this enterprising boy had offered his cat to a member of every other
denomination, he came to an Episcopalian. He was asked why he called her
an Episcopalian, when he had just said she was a Baptist. "Oh," he
answered, "but her eyes are open now."
I think "Oliver Twist" and his mistress were born with their eyes open.
This little item has run in my silly head ever since Miss Eleanor read
it.
I must tell you before I forget it about the friend with the
high-stepping horses. It was not quite six months after her visit to us
that I wrote about that she was taken very ill and sent for my mistress
to come and see her just before she died. She said to her:--
"Milly, I have never known one moment's peace since you gave me such a
lesson on my cruelty to my horses. I seemed to realize, after you had
spoken, just how foolish I had been in following a wicked fashion. My
husband has promised me that Aunt Mary shall have them, and she is so
devoted to animals she will never allow any abuse. Though I cannot
restore their tails, they will be made comfortable. Old Mike, her
coachman, will make them happy if any one can. I realize all they
suffered, and think I deserve to lose all I misused so thoughtlessly."
Is not this an illustration of the good one brave word can do? If my
mistress, fearing to offend her wealthy friend, had not spoken, the poor
horses would never have been released from their suffering, and the
conscience of her friend never awakened. If every one who is witness to
an act of cruelty would remonstrate against it, there would be some
chance of reform.
Many people say, "It is no business of mine if people ill-treat their
own animals." But it is the business of every one with Christian
feelings to speak for the poor dumb animals, for they cannot speak for
themselves. Children, if taught when young, would never be cruel.
Miss Eleanor saw a little boy carry three little kittens into a lot
where a house was being built. The boy was sent on this cruel errand by
his mother. Their cries made Miss Eleanor's heart ache, and she had
decided to go over for them and see what could be done to keep them,
when a poor woman came along, who could not turn a deaf ear to their
piteous cries, but went to them. They were so glad to see her, she said,
though she was poor, she could not leave them alone. Miss Eleanor gave
her some money, and the woman said she would find them good homes.
This is only one instance of what is going on day by day. Is there no
help for it?
XIV
RELIGIOUS ASPIRATIONS
One ambition of my life has never been gratified. I have always had a
desire to attend church. I have never been able to understand why
restless children, who have no understanding of sermons, who are
wretched when obliged to keep still, and are only kept quiet by a
promise of something nice or a threat of punishment, should be taken to
church and the family cat left at home.
What if we _do_ sleep all through the service--we have a precedent for
it. How often we hear people say, "Mr. So-and-So might as well have
remained at home, for he slept all through the sermon," or, "Mrs.
So-and-So had to pinch herself to keep awake. She dare not sleep,
fearing to crush her new bonnet."
If we can believe all we hear, ministers all have voices "like old cows"
or "dying calves." They never speak plain, and deaf people remain at
home rather than look like fools when they cannot hear one word. Cats
hear all these speeches, and wonder why they cannot go and judge for
themselves. I know in our church, with the boy choir singing so lovely,
one could not sleep.
When I was young I brooded over this question. I did want to be a
Christian cat, and, like most ignorant people, I thought I could not be
good unless I went to church. Of course I know better now. I can be just
as good at home. Like all young things, I wanted to try my wings and see
a little of the world.
Karl and Will were choir boys, and I was very proud of their voices. I
did not understand why I could not march in the processional, right
behind Karl and Will, even if my voice was not trained to sing.
I thought it all over, and out of a multitude of thoughts came forth an
act. Not one of the "Acts of the Apostles." Had it been, I might have
been successful.
One Sunday I made up my mind to try my luck. I had a hearty breakfast,
washed myself all over, and cleaned my nails, for I had heard that
"cleanliness is next to godliness." I did not mean that in my cat
vocabulary there should be one such word as "fail."
I hid myself when Karl and Will were ready for church, and after they
had left the house I crept out after them. I followed them on the
opposite side of the street, without being discovered, when, just as I
was feeling sure of the situation, a dog must needs bark and make for
me.
Karl and Will turned around, and then my church-going was ended. Before
I could run away Will caught me up in his arms and carried me home.
I was very angry over it, and refused to be comforted. I wished I had
been a heathen; then they would have taken the trouble to convert me. I
tried to find a rat to kill, and crept all around the cellar. But no;
rats must not be killed on Sunday. I was very unhappy. Six days of the
week I could do very well, but oh my, the _seventh_!
That day was a poser to me. All the family had gone to church. What
could a poor cat do? I could not sleep, and, to cap the climax, a plate
of beans and a saucer of milk had been put out for me, in case I wanted
something before they returned.
Now I love my beans Saturday night and Sunday morning, but to be
expected to make a dinner of them, in place of the nice little lamb
kidney that was served up for me every Sunday, was adding insult to
injury.
I dragged the beans out on the floor and threw over the milk saucer;
then, as I could do no more mischief, off I went in a huff to look out
for their return home.
I did feel a little ashamed, for I remembered that Karl could not get a
kidney. The man at the store told him they were all sold, adding, "If
that cat of yours will not feed on anything but kidneys, he will die of
kidney disease." It was not their fault, and I did feel mean.
Every Sunday Karl and Will studied their lesson. They would sit at the
table with their books, while I had a hassock in front of them, with my
little Bible open on it. Here I would pose for an hour, with my paws
folded on the open book, looking from one to the other, for I loved them
dearly.
This Sunday I would not look at my book. The boys tried to make me, but
were obliged to give it up. I behaved just like a bad boy, running after
imaginary balls, jumping over the hassock, sitting on the Bible, till at
last Will said: "I will call Aunt Milly. We shall never get our lesson
if she does not take Daisy away."
This did not please me. I just picked up my book, and when my mistress
came in I was sitting at my hassock, my claws clasped over my Bible
(though it was upside down), looking as innocent as possible.
All this naughtiness because I wanted to be a choir boy and walk in the
processional with the rest of the boys. I think it would have been
better if they had taken me to church.
One thing always gave me great pleasure: I never could tire of cat
stories. I think it may be a help to the understanding of cat nature if
I give the most interesting ones for people to read.
With the horrors of vivisection and other cruelties practised upon
animals, it is time for them to assert themselves. Even a cat's voice
may be heard. Children can be taught to respect the rights of animals if
their parents will interest themselves in their dumb servants.
My mistress met two very nice ladies one summer while in the country.
They were cat-lovers, and gave many nice anecdotes of cats they had
known. I will tell you one I particularly liked.
A friend of theirs had a great many cats, and as their number increased
she felt the necessity of giving up some of them. She found homes for
all but one; and one day, when her friends were visiting her, she asked
them if they would take the cat and drop her near some nice house, where
they had no doubt she would soon make a home. It was not a very pleasant
commission, but they could not very well refuse.
Pussy had evidently heard their conversation, for she tried to hide from
them. She was very quiet, never responding to their coaxing, covering
her face with her paws in great sorrow. They drove many miles into the
country before they could think of parting with her.
At last a large and finely situated farmhouse attracted them by its
homelike aspect. It was a low, rambling house painted red, and the barns
and outbuildings were in keeping. Everything looked inviting. The large
kitchen-garden at the back of the house seemed just the place for cats
to enjoy. An opening in the trees gave them a glimpse of a small stream
meandering through the country, reflecting the rustic scene in its clear
depth.
"Here," they said, "we will leave her. Surely no one in a place like
this could turn away from a poor cat."
They coaxed her, and in spite of her clinging to them, put her down very
gently. She stood like one dazed. Then she turned and surveyed the house
and its surroundings. She looked long at the clear, bright water, as if
in deep thought. She then looked up at the sky, and after giving them a
reproachful glance, she walked slowly toward the river. Reaching it, she
paused one moment, then deliberately walked in. Twice she rose to the
surface, then the waters closed over her forever.
They could make no effort to save her. Knowing cats' strong dislike of
water, they had no idea she would go near it. It was, they said, a clear
case of suicide. Homeless, friendless, and wretched, she preferred
death, even in the element a cat usually dreads, to seeking a new home.
The people were very unhappy about it. They said they felt like
murderers, and never had believed before that cats could think and
suffer. They said that they should ever after do all they could for
animals, particularly cats, in atonement for their share, though
unintentional, in the death of poor pussy.
It made me appreciate the care I had had all my life, when I heard such
sad stories of cats.
Cats are fond of mischief, and I fear I never thought of the sorrow I
should cause when I saw a good opportunity for fun.
We made a visit one summer in a family where the old grandfather, from
Vermont, was spending a few weeks. He was an original character, and we
were entertained by his quaint speeches and his old-fashioned manners.
He thought Boston was one of the biggest and wickedest places in the
world. I was the only one he seemed to be at home with, though I never
could tell why, for I disliked him from the first sight I had of his
horrid little eyes, with a real wicked expression, and his flesh looked
just like an over-baked apple.
The wonder of all to me was his head, which was the part I could not
understand. It was covered by uneven, red-brown hair, with no seam in
it, and it looked just like a cocoanut.
He ate so loud I thought some one was choking, and when I walked over to
the side of the table and looked in his face, I found he was eating with
a big knife so fast it made me wink. This increased my dislike of him,
and I refused all his overtures to make friends with me.
He said I was "a proud critter." He guessed lots of time was spent on
keeping my fur so nice. And "as to that trinket on my neck, it was too
fine for a cat."
One day I solved the mystery of his head-gear. I chanced to peep into
his room,--as no place was sacred from my investigation,--and I saw
another old man, his head as bare as the bed-post. When he said "Pussy,
Pussy," I fled in alarm, but not before I had discovered that it was the
same old man minus the top of his head. It was a wonder to me, and I
never rested till I found that head-gear. They called it a wig, but I
called it a "bird's nest."
Then I made up my mind to investigate it. Soon my opportunity came. All
the people had gone to ride, and I was making a tour of the house, when
loud breathing convinced me my old man was at home. Bad cat that I was,
I just followed the noise, and sure enough, there he lay, flat on his
back, his mouth wide open, sound asleep.
Of course I climbed up and looked into his open mouth. Another discovery
I made: he had not one tooth in his head! And the wind and spray that
covered me, from his open mouth, satisfied me with a brief
investigation.
On the floor, by his side, lay the bone of contention, the brown wig I
had speculated on so long. I grabbed it, and carrying it into a corner,
inspected it thoroughly. Then I clawed it a little, and at last seated
myself in it. Something about it acted like a narcotic, and in this
uncomfortable bird's nest I fell asleep.
I dreamed that I was sitting under the piazza, when I heard voices. One
of them said: "Why should not cat's fur be used for wigs and bangs? Gray
hair is so fashionable."
"Oh," replied a young voice, "think of Aunt Sally with a maltese
front-piece, and Grandpa and Uncle Jim with tiger-cat wigs!"
"Well," replied the first speaker, "if it were the fashion, we should
like it. That great, pampered cat belonging to those two big-feeling old
maids would make nice wigs, for his fur is as soft as silk."
"Yes, and that long tail of his," said the young girl, "would make a
beautiful tippet, with a squirrel's head on it."
"But," lowering her voice, "if Brother Rob was here I would get him to
coax him off, and get his skin. It would make a beautiful rug for my
room."
Just then a shout awoke me, and the old man on the lounge also. He
fought wildly for his wig. Dazed by my dream, I sat blinking my
half-open eyes from one to the other. They were just screaming with
laughter at the sight I presented, seated in Grandfather's wig.
Miss Milly took me out rather roughly, I thought, and smoothed it as
well as she could. The old man looked on in surprise, muttering, "I knew
that durned critter was up to mischief."
After it was combed out and put on right, the old man, conciliated by a
good dinner that he loved, invited me to a seat on his knee in token of
his forgiveness. I declined the favor with scorn. Sit on a knee covered
with corduroy when all my life I had been used to broadcloth? _Never!_
My dream troubled me very much. I am a superstitious cat, and believe in
warnings. So I kept close to my mistress; for in every one that
approached I saw an enemy ready to despoil me of my beautiful fur coat.
Though I am a good judge of human nature, as silent people are apt to
be, I never had that confidence in people, that makes life so pleasant,
I had felt before my dream.
When we left for home, Grandfather Tomkins said to Miss Milly: "You had
better give that great critter to me. He would like my farm to run about
in, and I have taken a liking to him." Then he added, with a sly wink at
me, "He can sleep in an old wig I have at home."
I trembled at the thought, and hid in the folds of Miss Milly's dress,
as she said, "Daisy is just like a child to us; we could never part with
him."
"Well, well," he said; "I believe the critter knows all we say."
I was glad enough to see the last of that place. I preferred one room
and no companions but my own friends. These uncongenial people had given
me a good lesson.
I was more careful about running away, for when one has a fur garment to
protect, suspecting every one of a desire to make wigs, front-pieces,
tippets, and fur rugs of it, he has a great care. I only wish I could
tell my dream to my friends, but it is a great consolation to write it.
XV
CAT ANECDOTES
I have never been particularly fond of poetry; it has always, with a few
exceptions, seemed to me to be "wishy-washy."
One day when it was quite dismal and rainy, Miss Eleanor said, "This
little poem of Tupper's is a real protest for the future life and
immortality of animals."
Of course that great big word was a poser, but after a time spent under
the bed and a great deal of stuttering I mastered it. Then she read
these lines, and I must quote them because they may influence those who
never have any mind of their own, and depend on other people's opinions,
to believe that cats have an after life.
"Are these then made in vain?
Is man alone, of all the marvels of creative love
Blest with a scintillation of his essence?
"To say that God annihilated aught
Were to declare that in an unwise hour
He planned and made somewhat superfluous."
And then she read the story of the poor wretch whom no one followed to
the grave but his faithful dog, who walked so mournfully behind the
hearse.
Yes, I could understand and see it all, and when Miss Milly wiped her
eyes, and Miss Eleanor's voice grew tremulous, I had to wink and sneeze
several times to conceal from them how deeply I was touched.
And I know all that I care to about funerals. When I hear the roll of
carriages, I mount a chair and look out of the window, and feel so sorry
for them, remembering how I felt when they carried away our dear one,
and left me alone all day, sitting in her easy-chair. And when I see
that dreadful vehicle called a hearse, I am thankful that cats do not
have to ride in them,--above all, the little white hearse. It does look
just like the circus cars that I have seen pass, and the first time I
saw it, I looked behind for the elephant, and the other beasts I had
always seen in their train.
It makes one a convert to cremation. If I had the question to decide, it
would be cremation for man and beast.
I hope women will excuse me for not mentioning them first. We fall into
the bad habit of speaking of man only, as if men were the only ones
worth a thought, but it is a question no one can answer, "Where would be
the men, were there no women?"
I think the heathen custom of burning wives on the funeral pyres of
their husbands a good one. It would certainly help dispose of some of
the "surplus women" men are so exercised about; for if the widows were
all disposed of, there would be a chance for the single ones. And if
there were no divorces, no second marriages, then how careful husbands
and wives would be of each other, if they knew the survivor would have
to do escort duty on that last, long journey, to the one death had
marked for its own.
Perhaps all this is too deep for a cat, you think. Well, perhaps it is;
but then, cats can't help thinking of all the abuse heaped upon them and
the unjust remarks on their habits and ways of living and having their
children: and I ask, in the name of slandered cats, why is such judgment
passed on them? They are not married, so are not unfaithful, and they
are not divorced. While they live with another husband they have all the
children that God allows them, and they take care of the little ones
till they are of an age to look out for themselves.
Now I hope it will be handed down to posterity that one cat who has
himself lived a blameless life has dared to compare the morality of cats
with the morality of human beings, who are supposed to be so much more
intelligent, and are bound by the laws of the land to be honest and
virtuous.
Please don't say, "This cat knows too much," for I will tell you
stories, and true ones, too, that will make you believe in the
intelligence of our race. I feel sure my cat stories will be
appreciated; for in a large company of strangers, where all are sitting
around in grim silence, just let some one have the courage to tell a cat
story, and the ice is broken at once. This "one touch of nature" makes
them all grin. It is the "open sesame"; like a hydra with never ending
heads--they spring up. As soon as one is finished, another begins. The
heads all have tails (or tales) of cats they have known. One is
surprised at the wonderful revelation of how deep a hold the household
pet has in the hearts of those who love him.
My mistress had another story from the same lady who told her the last
one I related. It was called, "A Confiding Cat." In 1877, says a writer
in "Nature," "I was absent from Madras for two months, and left in my
quarters three cats, one of which, an English tabby, was a very gentle
cat, an affectionate creature. During my absence the quarters were
occupied by two young gentlemen who delighted in teasing and frightening
the cats. About one week before my return the English cat had kittens,
which she carefully concealed behind the bookcase in the library. On the
morning of my return I saw the cat and petted her as usual. Then I left
the house for about one hour. On returning to dress, I found that the
kittens were located in the corner of my dressing room, where previous
broods had been deposited and nursed. On questioning the servant as to
how they came there, he at once replied, 'Sir, the old cat, taking them
one by one in her mouth, brought them in here.' In other words, the
mother had carried them one by one in her mouth from the library to my
dressing room, where they lay quite exposed."
I do not think I have heard of a more remarkable instance of reasoning
and affectionate confidence than this in an animal. I need hardly say it
gave me great pleasure. The train of reasoning seemed to be as follows:
"Now that my master has returned, there is no risk of the kittens being
injured by the two young savages in the house. So I will take them out
for my protector to see and admire, and keep them in the corner where
all my former children have been nursed in safety."
I think it a lovely story. Some will say, because the cat was an English
tabby, "So English, you know!"--in a sarcastic manner; but I say as the
old man did, "Nater is nater." And a true mother cat will fight for her
own, whatever nation she belongs to. I wish all professional people were
like this cat's master.
And I do think our colleges would do better to confer the degree of
"B.A." on cats and dogs than on many of the brainless creatures made in
the "image of their Maker." There is where the resemblance ceases,
"image" is the only indication.
If some of the students would expand their hearts by defending poor
abused animals, it would be much more for the benefit of society and for
their own development than rowing and kicking as they do. They kick
enough between the ages of one and ten to last a lifetime. And I would
like to ask one question more, while I am about it: Is there one man,
woman, or child who can play ball equal to a cat?
I hope the time will come when doctors will just as soon use the knife
on their children as they now do on poor animals so completely in their
power. I believe they will have to suffer for every case of cruelty
offered up on the altar of that scapegoat called "science." God who made
the victim will require atonement.
In my humble opinion, if all the stories told of them are true, it would
be no loss to the world or their friends if science could be benefited
by the cutting up of a few doctors' and ministers' children. Perhaps by
exposing their hearts (while they suffer the agony that poor animals do
while under these operations) they might get at the root of wickedness
and hardness of heart that seems to be inborn in them; and thus improve
the morality of the coming generation. It would be no loss to society to
sacrifice a few of them.
I can tell all the professors, and possessors too, that there is no
earthly use in using a cat's or dog's heart or liver to decide what
causes diseases in human beings. They are no more alike than fire and
water. The hearts of human beings are not enlarged by kindness, and are
hard from their own wicked natures, while their livers would be well
enough if they indulged in proper food and drinks.
A cat's heart is tender and kind and gives love for love; and her
liver--well, that is all right; she probably keeps that in good repair
by a moderate diet of liver. And if a cat should have disease of the
kidneys, why, "a hair of the same dog"--you know the old saying--will
cure it, and a good diet of kidney will counteract the disease.
Of course doctors would scorn such a suggestion from a cat; but it might
work in the case of their patient as well as in animals--only a doctor
who dares order the plebeian diet of liver or kidney would never prosper
unless he gave a foreign name to them or smothered them with a title.
But just think of it. Do you often hear of the poor laborer with either
of these diseases? He has liver instead of turkey, and kidney instead of
chickens, and if he is not killed by some modern improvement, he is
likely to live forever.
I offer this without the least expectation of a fee. I am no M.D. or
D.D. I am "a Daisy"; but my eyes are open, and although I have green
around me I am white. So if any one says in a sarcastic manner, "she's a
daisy," I shall not be green enough to take it to myself in their sense,
but just remember that "it takes a rogue to catch a rogue," and feel
happy in my superiority.
While I am moralizing I might as well give my readers the benefit of it.
Why are not cats used as barometers? It would certainly save much money,
and Blue Hill Observatory would be a good outlook for the weather-wise
cat, and she would make an able assistant without a salary. Just observe
her movements as the earlier generations did, and there is no doubt the
weather notes will be correct.
As early as 1643 an old book was published which says of the cat: "She
useth to wash her face with her feet, which she licketh, and moisteneth
with her tongue. And it is observed by some, that if she put her feet
beyond the crown of her head, in this kind of washing, it is a sign of
rain." If a cat scratches the furniture or frisks around more than
usual, she is said to be "raising the wind."
Cats are sensitive to air, full of motion and electricity, which seems
to put them in good spirits; while a warm lifeless atmosphere makes them
languid.
Sailors are as a class very superstitious in regard to cats. Their
family, when the father, son, or brother has gone on a voyage, watch the
family cat to know about the absent one. If a cat sickens or disappears,
it is looked upon as an indication of the illness or death of the absent
one. A sailor's family will make a pet and companion of the family cat.
The cat that chances to go to sea is just worshipped by all on board the
ship and is the real captain.
There is another little story that comes to my mind just now, as
illustrating how much a cat notices and remembers. The cat in question
was called Ole. Why, or wherefore, I cannot say. Perhaps he was a
Norwegian, from the name, or his ancestors may have been Norwegians. He
lived in Syracuse, New York, perhaps he was named for that most perfect
musician and gentleman, Ole Bull, as people have a craze for naming
their children for celebrated people, and they often name their pets for
them. There is no doubt that animals do greater credit to their names
than pampered children.
The cat called Ole was a great favorite in the family where he belonged.
He had his place at the table and was very fond of his master, following
his every movement when carving, with great interest. Even though he
craved what was being carved, he never made a movement to hasten his
dinner. Subsequent events proved he had not watched in vain.
One day the daughter of the family was attracted to the dining room by
the loud and peremptory calls of Ole. She opened the door, and there sat
Ole in his master's place at the head of the table. The large mat for
the meat platter to rest on he had drawn in front of him, and on it lay
a large rat.
The satisfaction with which he greeted her was evident, and he purred
forth his delight at having provided and served up a game dinner. It
proved that he had thought about the etiquette of the table. Having no
platter, he had taken the next best thing, the mat, where the platter
usually rested.
It is needless to say Ole was more petted then ever, though people, when
told the story, would say, "How wonderful!" but behind their backs would
say they guessed it was a fish instead of a rat that Ole had caught. But
I believe in the rat. A cat detects and despises shams.
A friend of my mistress said that in a country house where she was
visiting they had an open fireplace in one of the rooms, and one of
those very absurd gas-logs.
The family cat walked in one day, and, going over to the rug, prepared
to have a delightful snooze. But she no sooner approached the fireplace
than the idea of the sham fire arrested her. She gave one resentful look
at her mistress and walked out of the room. She never went into that
room again, preferring the reality of the kitchen fire to an elegant
sham. There is very little danger that a cat will ever be deceived after
she has had the chance to investigate.
If the ravens and birds were half as bright as Pussy, the best gotten-up
scarecrow in the field would never cause them one moment of disquiet or
the loss of one good meal. She has such quick ears that even the moving
of a leaf in the wind or the creak of a window is enough to bring her to
her feet ready for an encounter.
XVI
CAT PRANKS
What pleasant memories I have of my early years! How could I be other
than a very happy cat, with a home so pleasant, and dear, kind friends?
With the boys to play with, and everything to interest me, I have
nothing but loving words to say on my own account, and I feel more
anxious to try to help the cats who are not appreciated to homes and
friends like mine.
With all my advantages, I must admit I was at times a great trial to
those who loved me. If a boy had behaved as I did, it would have been
called the "old Adam" in him. And with me I suppose it was the cat old
Adam. I was full of life and fun, and a great hunter of everything that
moved, from a leaf that rustled in the breeze to our natural enemy, a
mouse.
I was very smart at the business of hunting, and the rats and mice that
I destroyed I cannot tell. I wish I had kept an account, but when young
I did not know the value of a journal and account book. It would be a
real pleasure to me now, when memory is often treacherous.
I was never allowed to worry or torment them, though I had the desire,
as every one has, to torment or worry something. Miss Eleanor would put
her hand around my throat gently, but it would force open my mouth,
making me drop my victim. Then it was at once killed.
One day I chased one under the bed. I knew it had received its
death-blow, and I wanted to go in and worry it occasionally. My mistress
did not know of it; she was not in the room at the time.
It was just about tea time, and I expected a scene when it should crawl
out, as I feared it would. It was behind a box, and I could not move it
or get at it with my paws; but I scratched on it with my claws to assure
it of my presence and make it tremble. In this way I kept it all the
evening, and I did dread their going to bed. I was so sleepy, it made me
cross. They went to bed, and I fell asleep with a guilty conscience, for
I knew it would be a dreadful fright to them if the mouse should appear.
It must have been the middle of the night when a loud scream awoke me,
and they both rushed out of the bedroom, saying, "It is a mouse! It
walked over the bed!" Before they lighted the gas I had pounced upon my
prey and finished it.
Miss Eleanor took a cloth and pulled the mouse out of my mouth and threw
it out of the window. I was real mad with them both, and got up on the
table, where I never was allowed to sit, and knocked down a beautiful
little basket that Miss Milly kept flosses in. The three parts of the
basket separated, and all the little bags and balls rolled about on the
floor. I poked them under chairs and in corners, and at last my
mistresses were obliged to go to bed, leaving me with my playthings. The
moonlight favored me, and I not only chased the bags and balls, but I
tried to chase the moonbeams. I caught the playthings, but never the
moonbeams, and I wondered why.
The next day they talked seriously to me, but I did not care one bit. I
washed my face all the time they were talking, and ran under the bed
when they wanted to comb me. I chewed the red bow they had tied on my
collar till it was black, and it tasted horrid. They did not scold me,
for they were afraid I had poisoned myself with the red dye.
Miss Eleanor found in her book an antidote, and Miss Milly gave me the
dose. She had a hard time of it, for I spit out the pellets as fast as
she gave them to me. That did provoke her, for I knew how to swallow
them as well as a child would know. She took me, and, opening my mouth,
she dropped them down my throat and held my mouth till they were down. I
coughed and fought to get them up, but it was of no use. When Miss Milly
was determined on a thing it just had to be done.
I lived through that scare, and have chewed ribbons of all colors since
then without harm except to the ribbon. It was very naughty, I know; but
if I got mad, I would chew up my ribbon to provoke them.
Another wickedness to record. Like all young cats, I loved to run away.
This was before I was stolen that Christmas time I have already written
of. Every day I would go out in the yard and hide, and I now remember
with great thankfulness how wonderfully I was spared. Poor cats
disappear, leaving no trace behind, and I am fortunate not to have been
one of them, and I understand why my mistress was afraid to trust me out
of her sight. I would hide on the ledge of the fence in the next yard
and then peep over to hear them call me.
They would scrape two knives together to call me in to dinner, when we
were visiting or when we had the range of the house. Of course I
responded promptly to the call, as cats, like children, are always ready
for a square meal. But of late I had discovered their little game. There
was no dinner; they scraped knives to get me in. They deceived me at
first, but not for long.
Now the back of the houses on our street faced the back of the houses on
the next street, with a long alley between. At the windows of the
opposite houses there were young men who were interested spectators of
this little by-play. Very soon they were not content to be only
lookers-on; they wanted to take part, and soon they appeared with
knives, and then a fearful scraping was heard, and the cries of "Daisy,
Daisy" resounded through the alley.
I never turned my head or let them know that I noticed them, for I was
very much ashamed of the sensation I had caused, and I crawled home,
crestfallen enough, to meet the reproachful glances of my dear friends.
They had not dared to appear on the scene. After that I went home
without being called.
I was more provoked because these were the very young men who had thrown
bottles, old boots, and bootjacks at the cats that assemble nightly to
talk over their trials and give an open-air concert occasionally. Were
these young men asleep as they ought to be, not just returning at
midnight from some junket, they would be willing to believe in the
doctrine of "live and let live."
These cats have no homes, no nice beds, and often they have empty
stomachs; and if they console themselves with a social meeting, and end
in a musicale, who can blame them? They certainly do not have empty
bottles to dispose of after their meetings, as these young people do;
and there is no uncertain _note_ in _their_ voices when they let it
swell out on the midnight air. If it reaches a high C, it is not a "high
seas over," as the young men's voices often indicate.
Another proof of the superiority of the animal over the human race. A
cat may often be sitting on a beer barrel, but there _never_ was a cat
known to have the contents of one inside.
There are many shams in the world that cats would scorn to practise. Now
I am, perhaps, about to shock some people by airing my opinion on
"family worship." I can hear you say, "How irreverent!" Not at all. Just
please read the many so-called bright speeches of children in the
newspapers, where they hob-nob with their Maker just as if he were a
boon companion.
I have heard my mistress quote, "Thou shalt not take the name of the
Lord thy God in vain." I never have, and it makes me shudder to hear
children so flippant with the sacred name. And I will never believe that
cats or dogs could be taught (even if they had the gift of speech) to be
profane, as the poor parrot is. They have an evil eye, and may not be to
blame.
One year we boarded in a real country farmhouse,--at least, the master
was a farmer; but the family were trying to find some more genteel name
for the business and the place that had so long supported them.
It was a nice, old, rambling house, with quaint little nooks and angles
where I could hide. The kitchen was very large and low, and the
outbuildings so ample that I often lost myself.
The hay-loft was very bewildering, and after I had once climbed up I
felt like the travellers my mistress loved to read of--very proud of my
exploits.
They had a great yellow cat called Tabby. Now I did hate yellow, and of
all weak names I think "Tabby" the weakest. But oh my! "What's in a
name?" Sure enough, she was just the reverse of her name. Although she
was not "my style," I could not, in that lonesome place, afford to pass
her over.
After a time she became quite friendly with me, though at first she had
resented my style, as she called it. She evidently thought I was a cat
"Astor or Vanderbilt," with my collar and padlock,--that "bete noir" to
all cats that I met. They confounded it with the ropes of pearls and
strings of diamonds that society women pawn their souls for; but when I
explained to her that it was an inexpensive badge, with the name
engraved on it so that my friends could recover me when I got
lost,--that it represented their affection instead of their
dollars,--she, like a sensible cat, realized at once its use, and
admired it, saying it was very becoming to the aristocratic bend of my
neck. After this I did think she was a cat with good judgment and
exquisite taste.
When she saw how delighted I was with her kittens, she allowed me to
play with them all I cared to. They were all colors, and the loveliest
little creatures I ever saw--four of them. They looked upon me in the
light of a bachelor uncle, and were after me all the time. They grudged
me the night separation, for my mistress would not allow me out of her
room at night.
I was very clumsy with them at first, as old bachelors naturally are,
but soon took them in my arms as deftly as their mother did. I was
delighted to have them run after me and kick and bite me. I felt sad at
first that I was denied this pleasure, that no little ones of my own
would ever play about me. But, when Tabby told me her sad tale, I no
longer regretted I had been spared so much sorrow.
She said when she saw them happy and loving to all around, she trembled,
for she knew at any moment they might be taken from her. She said she
had tried to hide her other kittens in every corner she could find, but
it was of no use; they were all sacrificed.
They were delighted to play with my collar and padlock, and they
scratched it so badly that my mistress said that if I was going to allow
myself to be used by the "Scratch Grabble" family as a plate for their
etchings that I had better go without a collar.
Go without my collar! Perish the thought! I would tie a blade of grass
around my neck rather than go undecorated. Daisy without a collar! The
idea!
The family allowed Tabby to go out and in as she pleased. She had plenty
of food, and was treated kindly for her usefulness, for the rats she had
killed counted into the hundreds; but petting was beyond their
comprehension.
The father of the family was a big, jolly old man. His only fault was
his piety. Now do not misunderstand this remark, for I have been brought
up to respect true religion, but I do hate bigotry.
The farmer's wife was a large, red-faced woman, and very nervous and
fussy. Her husband said, "Marier wanted to be a big bug." This gave the
true key to her aim in life. She wanted to be fashionable.
They had only two children. The elaborate headstones in the neighboring
cemetery where I had rambled gave the names of several children they had
buried. And after I had known them a little while I believed, with
Tabby, that the best part of the family were represented by the
tomb-stones. They fought with each other continually, and their chief
fights were during family worship.
The girl, Bessie, was fourteen years old, very fat, big-eyed,
big-lipped, with tousled head; always in one's way, and disagreeable in
the extreme.
The boy of twelve, red-headed, freckled, and full of mischief, was much
better than his sister. Bob, as he was called, had one marked
individuality--that was his appetite. I never saw that boy without his
mouth full, and his pockets were a storehouse to draw from.
Their table manners were dreadful. As there were only two other boarders
besides ourselves, the family were all at the table, and we had a chance
to see them in all their glory. The food was of the best and well
cooked; but oh, the way it was eaten!
The breakfasts were enough to make any cat sick; for when the last
mouthful was swallowed, a greasy, ragged Bible was produced. As my
friends said, though they did not approve of the manner in which it was
conducted, they did not think it right to turn away from family prayer,
and of course I remained with them and rather enjoyed it.
The daughter was made, by the payment of a weekly sum, to read the
Bible. She gabbled off a chapter taken from any part of the book she
chanced to open to first.
Bob was making faces and kicking her all the time under the table. Once
in a while his father would take him by the ear, but not often. A loud
yell of "Lemme alone!" was not a pleasant accompaniment to a Bible
reading.
Then the father made a prayer. It certainly was only for his own
benefit, for no one could distinguish one word he said. Then the
children, after a long wrangle, engaged in a boxing match, the father
and mother taking no notice of them unless called upon by one or the
other to decide their dispute. It was very embarrassing to all but those
concerned, and the boarders very gladly returned to their rooms.
Just as it was getting furious and exciting, my mistress took me away.
She said she did not care to have me demoralized; but I was provoked,
for I wanted to know who was the victor.
They were very much disgusted with the whole performance. Miss Eleanor
said, "Why cannot people read one nice selection for the day, and a
short prayer that will comprise all that one need ask for, instead of
making such wretched exhibitions as we have just witnessed?" And we all
agreed with her.
It seems an insult to one's Maker to gabble over prayers, with one's
mouth full of food. It seems much more appropriate to ask a blessing
before one sits down to the table than after.
It seemed to me real fun, a family circus; but then, I respected my
friends' opinions, and knew that their view of the situation was right.
I told Tabby what I thought of it, and she said, "It is a long time
since I have attended their family prayers, and I will never listen to
them again."
One morning she said: "Bessie and Bob had a fierce battle at prayer
time, interrupting their father several times. When he had finished, he
cuffed them both, and it ended in a real row. Then the mistress, who
never could be just to any one, provoked with her husband for punishing
the children, and angry with them herself, turned her wrath on me.
"'It is time Tabby's kittens were disposed of,' she said.
"'Yes,' the children yelled; 'lemme, lemme do it!'
"But the father interposed, saying, 'No cruelty shall be practised in
my house.'
"Oh, how frantically I tried to claw open the door and get at my
kittens! Not that I could save them, but perhaps they would kill me with
them.
"The master took me and shut me into the closet, where I fell down
broken-hearted. I mewed and mewed, for I knew I should never see my dear
ones again. I could not sleep, my breasts ached from the milk that
belonged to the poor little victims, and I spent the most wretched day
of my life.
"Early in the afternoon Biddy, the servant, released me. She looked very
sorrowful at me, and tried to make me eat some dinner, giving me a nice
plateful. I could not swallow, and went out to the barn, though I well
knew I should not find my children.
"A feeble mew greeted me, and I found, in place of my five beautiful
kittens, only one. They said the prettiest, but they were all lovely to
me.
"She was a light gray and bright as a button. She was so glad to see me,
but looked surprised, as if she thought I would bring her brothers and
sisters with me.
"I lay down exhausted, while she nursed, and I could feel the four
little lips (that were now cold and stiff) on my breasts, and I felt too
wretched to live.
"I was in a real fever for several days, but she nursed me all she
could, and I got better. She was soon bright and happy, frisking about,
and grew large and very handsome. I did not take any comfort in her, for
I knew she would soon be taken from me, and a hard life begin for her.
"Can you wonder that after that morning's experience I never wanted to
hear of family worship? If it does not teach them humanity, what is it
good for? And if, as they read, God is so mindful of the sparrows, why
don't he remember poor cats? Tell me that, will you?"
I did not answer her, my heart was so sad, and I wished I could speak
and ask my mistress that same question. I comforted poor Tabby all I
could. I said perhaps God lets these people do these things for an
example to others. She scoffed at the idea as she asked, "Why did he
make us?" As I could not tell, I answered meekly, "I do not know."
I expected every day these innocent creatures would go. Oh, how I did
feel! Rash thoughts of taking them and hiding them in Miss Milly's
trunk, filled my mind. I wanted to save them.
"There is no use," Tabby said, "we cannot fight against the mighty. All
that I can do is to make all the noise I can in the world. I join all
the cats around and speak in all the meetings. 'Anarchists' probably
they would call us, but we do not care. We caterwaul and scratch and
steal, just as human beings in our situation would take to drink. And I
would ask, who is to blame? We did not learn this of animals. We learned
it of Bessie and Bob and the good, pious people where we live."
I found I could do no good. Tabby was an eloquent speaker when the
wrongs of her race inspired her tongue; and my heart beat, and my claws
went out and in as I longed to fight for our down-trodden race. The
whole barn would have been a battle-field strewn with the bodies of
rats, could I just at this moment have encountered them.
When we left this place, my mistress said: "We will never go to a good
quiet place again. We will take our chances with the multitude." I fully
indorsed this resolution. This experience had made me a more thoughtful
and a sadder cat, for the sorrows of animals preyed upon me. Had not the
thought of writing this book entered into my mind, thereby opening the
eyes of the thoughtless, and helping expose the wrongs of our race, I
could not have existed.
How I hated to leave the dear little kittens, they were so fond of me,
and ran after me when my mistress took me in her arms to carry me away.
The woman told them that they were all promised to friends. They would
have good homes; that was why she had kept them so long.
Miss Eleanor talked to her beautifully about their duties to dumb
animals, but I knew it would do her no good.
After we were in the carriage, Miss Milly said she felt very sad to
leave such dear little playful creatures, particularly as I had taken
such a liking to them. She said she could not bear to think that they
would go into new homes and be tormented by bad children.
Miss Eleanor said she had often seen children squeeze kittens, their
soft little bones almost crushed, in their strong hands; and if they
dare scratch or bite in self-defence, they were called bad-tempered and
abused.
"There is nothing we can do to help them," they said, "but speak for
them when we can, and always save them from cruel hands when we can do
so. It is the duty of every man, woman, and child to speak for the dumb
animals who cannot defend themselves."
I did not wonder Tabby was hopeless when Miss Milly said she saw no
chance for cats or dogs either. If people who profess to love them are
afraid to speak up for them, what is to be done?
Dogs and cats are not always enemies. They can be taught each other's
rights, if their owners will take a little trouble. I will give you an
illustration in favor of this theory.
A friend of ours owned a little dog named Friskey, and a cat she called
Flossy, because she had soft fur, like silk.
They were very fond of each other. Flossy would lie down with her head
on Friskey, making a pillow of him.
Their mistress taught him to beg for food; and after watching him
awhile, Flossy took her place by his side, assumed just the same
position, and begged.
They were very good to each other about sharing their food, furnishing
an example children would do well to imitate.
They were both of them fond of candy, and one day their stock had melted
away, and only one little sugar ball was left. It was very hard. They
had each tried to break it, but finding that impossible, they took turns
in sucking it. Friskey would wait patiently till Flossy had sucked it
till she was tired, then he would take his turn, while she would rest
and watch him with a happy expression on her face, saying plainly, "Is
it not nice?" They licked and licked, but it did not seem to grow
"beautifully less," and lasted them nearly one week.
They used it as a ball, and would run after it and then refresh
themselves with a lick or two and then start again. Their owner said it
was the most ludicrous sight she ever witnessed, they were so happy with
their ball.
The mistress said one morning Friskey was in great tribulation, hunting
for their ball of candy. Flossy hung around her, mewing till she got out
her work-basket. Then Flossy made one dive and clawed out from the midst
of cottons and silks the beloved ball. Friskey barked and wagged his
tail, while Flossy licked it, and then gave it to him. She said the
inside of her basket was rather sticky, and she told Flossy she must
find some other hiding-place.
At last, that ball was reduced to such a sharp skeleton of its former
self that fearing they would choke over it, she took it away and gave
them some fresh candy. But she said: "One day, they had a gumdrop, and
Friskey could not get it off his teeth, they were buried so deep in it;
but Flossy licked and clawed till she got it off. That beat all the
other pranks."
Now, how long would two children have kept that ball of candy? I would
like to ask. If their teeth had not demolished it the first hour, the
family hatchet would have been used, and a free fight have followed,
over the fragments.
Friskey would lie down, and his master would put Flossy in his arms just
like a child. They were very devoted to each other, though Friskey did
not like other cats, and was very jealous of Flossy. He seemed to wish
her to have no friend but himself. As she was a social little creature,
and a "cat flirt," he had many heart-burnings.
Friskey came to a sad end. He was run over by a fast team and had to be
chloroformed. Flossy was very unhappy about him. They said she acted
just like a widow, and, probably, like most widows, got another admirer
in his place. He was buried down in the garden quite a little distance
from the house, and Flossy was often seen sitting on his grave.
The family thought it very pathetic, but there were others, people who
like to destroy our best illusions (whom no one likes or cares for their
opinions), who suggested an explanation of the interesting fact, by
saying that a catmint bed was on each side of Friskey's grave, and
Flossy went there for the catmint.
I do, for my part, hate to be disenchanted when I have indulged in a
little bit of sentiment. I do not believe any one ever thanks the person
who turns the poetry of life into prose.
My solution of the story is, that Flossy had often played with Friskey
in that very catmint bed, and she went there to recall pleasant
memories. I have a right to my own opinion, and I know I am very
strange; but then, it would be a very stupid world if there were no
variety.
I had a singular thought the other day, and it will do no harm to tell
it, though I do not care one pin whether others agree with me or not. I
think my mistress is original, and I know I am like her. My idea is
this: I have heard the stories of Adam and Eve and Noah's Ark--indeed, I
was brought up on Bible stories.
Now my thought is this: When Adam and Eve left the garden of Eden, there
were two of their dumb companions whose hearts were sad for their master
and mistress. They said, "We will not let them go alone." And when Adam
and Eve left the garden, a dog walked by his master's side, and a cat by
the side of the mistress--faithful in their misfortune.
XVII
THE STORY OF FREIDA
My mistress was not silly about me. She would say: "I am perfectly
satisfied with Daisy, just as God made him. I do not presume to improve
what he has made perfect. I do all I can to bring out his good points,
and leave the rest to nature."
Then she told me the story of "Adonis." His mistress had his ears
pierced and gold earrings put in them. He wore them at home only.
That cat did suffer for his mistress's vanity, and I could not help
wishing she had been the victim; for one day a lady called, bringing
with her a pet dog. She said, "My dog has a lovely disposition, and will
not touch your cat."
She had not calculated on Adonis having a temper, and the consequences
were disastrous. Ever since his ears were pierced, Adonis had been
fretful and snappish. His beautiful earrings were no pleasure to him,
for he could not give them a pull without making his ears sore.
When he saw this pampered dog in his very home, he arose in his anger,
and flew at the little pet in great wrath. Of course the dog retaliated,
though frightened almost out of his skin. The result was, he tore out
one of Adonis's earrings, making a long slit in his ear, and got repaid
by having his own eyes almost scratched out.
His mistress was well paid for her cruelty in decorating her cat in this
foolish manner. From a loving, happy cat he was transformed into a
cross, quarrelsome creature that no one could love.
Then she cast him off and got a new plaything, this time a dog, all
covered with bells and ribbons, that she could take around with her.
Poor Adonis was suffered in the house, but left to the servants, and his
nice quarters given to the dog, while he was left in the kitchen, where
his high temper made him disliked, and his torn and swollen ears made
him an object of derision.
My mistress would say: "Never, Daisy, shall you be made miserable by
such foolishness. People who treat animals in this way are not their
real friends; they use them selfishly as a decoration for themselves
when they might make them intelligent companions and sincere friends."
That there are many good people who appreciate animals, the stories that
I have given you will prove. The story of Freida is an instance, and I
can vouch for its truth.
Freida was a nice cat, aristocratic and refined in her ideas. She
inherited her name from a Danish relative of her master, and brought the
old home days back to memory.
She had a very beautiful home not many miles from Boston. It was a large
house, and was called "The Mansion." It had a cupola where Freida could
go up and overlook the high hills and see the gilded dome of the State
House quite plainly.
Then there was the stable, and a beautiful flowerbed in front of the
house.
It was rightly called "The Mansion," for it stood alone, surrounded by
beautiful trees, and looked down with dignity on the smaller houses
around it.
Freida was a very happy and fortunate cat. She had a kind master, and
her mistress was very lovely and good. She was a very dear friend of
Miss Milly, and was born in good old Salem, and, like all the people in
that bewitching place, she thought a home was not perfect without the
family cat.
All this would have been very delightful, had not a great change taken
place in this charming home. But then, there would have been no story;
for Freida's life would have been just like that of other cats, pleasant
but uneventful.
The good mistress fell ill and was ordered a change of air, and a voyage
to Europe.
I know how I felt, for I wanted my mistress to go abroad; and when her
friend sent her a card decorated with wild flowers and edelweiss from
Chamonix, I was just crazy to see this beautiful place that she wrote
about so charmingly.
I was very wicked, I fear, for I got the card off of the table and sat
upon it. I said to myself, "It is just as nice to sit upon the picture
flowers as it would be to have the real ones." I thought how nice it
would be to go with my mistress, for I was sure she would take me with
her, and then I could run up and down the mountains just as I pleased.
When she took me on her lap, showing me the card, and told me how many
miles of ocean separated her from her friend, it made me shiver at the
thought of crossing it. But then, in her arms I would not be afraid to
go to Jericho. I do hate water; there is too much used on me when I am
washed, and I wish I could be washed with land instead.
All this is not telling about Freida, whose story I started to tell you.
The beautiful house was closed, and Freida was taken to the home of her
mistress's brother near Boston. Two of her sisters, who were very fond
of Freida, were there, making it homelike for her. But for all their
petting she was homesick. They were obliged to keep her very close, for
fear she would run away.
She was a great care to them, and one day they missed her, and on going
to the furnace they saw a strange sight. A fluffy ball was turning over
and over in the ashes, and on drawing it out they found it was Freida.
She was almost suffocated, but the master, a charming man, just like his
sister in kindness of heart, went at once for a doctor. He said they
must take her where the air could blow over her, and also give her
brandy.
Her tongue was hanging out of her mouth, and she was a wretched
creature. They worked over her for hours, and then the sisters brushed
off the ashes and tended her as kindly as they would a baby. Soon she
looked as nice as ever, and that cat never tried cremation again.
It proves how good and kind people can be to their dumb friends.
Poor Freida! she was destined to die in a violent manner. She returned
to her beautiful home only to meet her fate.
The man who carried groceries to the house had a very gentle and kind
horse. Strange to say, a friendship sprang up between Freida and this
nice horse. She was always on hand to greet him every day, rubbing
against his legs and showing her fondness for him in many ways, while he
would put down his head for her to caress. It was a very funny sight.
One day when the man came out he turned the wagon quickly, and it
crushed over poor Freida, breaking her back and killing her instantly.
The man was very much troubled about it, and he said, after that, the
horse would try not to go up the hill.
She was buried near the place where she was killed, and they all mourned
for her, and still remember her with affection.
They have a cat now called Frity, a dignified creature, but no cat will
ever take Freida's place.
My mistress said that when she was visiting there she felt as if
Freida's spirit was around, and at night she could hear her voice
mingling with the voices of the pines.
How much sorrow we could save our friends if we could speak! People
think cats cannot understand and read character, but they can; and they
know the true from the false very quickly.
We had rooms, at one time, where everything was satisfactory, and the
landlady said she was very fond of cats; for my mistress would tell the
people of whom she engaged rooms about me.