get my money that my mother left me. She told my father he ought to take
board for me, for I had more money than they had. 'What,' he said, 'take
board for my own son?' This did touch poor dad; but she soft-sawdered
him. And then I wanted to run away, and I will some day, and join Uncle
Jack, for whom I am named. He is in India. He loved my mother, his
sister, and he would care for me. But you see I do love dad; and now I
could not leave you."
Hope smiled such a sweet look upon him, saying, "You are a dear good
boy, and my Aunt Martha will be a mother to you just as she has been to
me."
And in truth this childish friendship had worked wonders in Hope. She
was able to walk about the garden with her crutches and his help, for he
was very careful of her, and proud to be of use in amusing her. Aunt
Martha took the bright, honest boy into her heart, and he loved her
dearly.
One day when Jack came over the hedge he found Hope in great excitement.
Her apron covered some mystery that was very soon revealed--a coal-black
cat, perfect in every way, a real witch cat, with not one mark about her
from the tip of her ear to the end of her tail. Yellow eyes of the most
unfathomable depth and a spasmodic wag of the tail proved her temper to
be of the peppery kind.
"Where did you get her?" asked Jack.
"She came to us. When Aunt Martha opened the door this morning to take
in the paper, she walked in. She came into the dining room, and when I
called her, she jumped up in my lap and drank milk from a saucer. She
bites and claws the rest if they touch her, but licks my hands and purrs
when I talk to her. Where she came from I do not know, but I love her
already almost" (with a remorseful look at Joanna) "as well as I do my
dear dolly."
"I should think so," replied Jack. "I can't see how you can care so much
for that old doll."
"Oh, don't, Jack! She is a dear, lovely, good old girlie" (with a hug
and a kiss on Joanna's old battered face).
This Jett resented. Flying at Joanna, she stuck her sharp claws in her
blond hair, dragging out a big tuft of it.
Jack shouted, "Go it! go ahead! tear her old wig off!"
Hope relieved and comforted her dear dolly, pushing the black termagant
from her lap, and saying to Jack: "You are a cruel boy. I will have
nothing to do with you."
This Jack could not bear, for he was a tender-hearted little fellow.
"Oh, come now," he said, "don't be so hard on a fellow. I never knew
anything about dolls. I daresay Joanna is very nice. See here, perhaps I
can mend her head." And he did very skilfully, and thus restored peace.
Then came the question of naming the cat.
"How would Nig do?" said Hope.
"Oh, don't! _She_ had a dog called Nig, and it died. I was glad of it."
"Oh, no; if _she_ had anything named Nig I will not have Kitty called
so." Hope was firm in her belief in Jack's wrongs, and disliked his
step-mother with all her heart. "We must call her something of that
kind, for she is jet-black."
"Well," said Jack, "you have just said it. Why not call her Jett?"
So Jett she was named, to their great satisfaction.
"She must be half mine, and I will bring her all the scraps I can, for
cats want no end of meat. That is," he said, "if I can get anything.
_She_ would like to starve me. She says I have such a rude appetite that
it makes her sick."
"What a horrid woman! I don't believe your appetite is big; and if ever
you are hungry, just let me know, and my Aunt Martha will give you all
you can eat, for she loves to see me relish anything." And it was quite
noticeable how often little nice things were brought out for Jack, quite
accidentally, to save his pride.
"Oh, never mind," he said; "only it's a bothering shame father is so
generous he never can see what is going on. We never had such meanness
and scrimping before. There was always enough and to spare. Now there is
not enough to feed a cat on. And a dog she will not let me have. She
says that they are gluttons."
But I must curtail my story; it is getting too long.
Jack had a parrot called Bimbo. As it was a gift from his rich uncle, he
was allowed to keep it.
With Joanna, Jett, and Bimbo the children were very happy. Bimbo was
very happy on the bough of the old apple tree. He was deeply interested
in Hope, and eyed her in a most sympathizing manner.
The first time he saw her use her crutches he gave vent to a succession
of groans, and moved first one foot and then the other as if in pain,
and after that he would move to a branch over her couch, and look down
upon her in the most affectionate manner. Often he would astonish them
by some remark drawn from the storehouse of memory.
No wonder Jett was jealous of him. When she first heard him speak, she
opened wide her eyes, and stared at him in astonishment. The children
shouted with laughter, and Bimbo kept up a silly cackle, encouraged by
their approval. This was very provoking to Jett, as cats do not like to
be laughed at, and she resented it in Bimbo.
After she had given him a scratch that he remembered he looked at her
with fear and trembling. He soon learned to say "Jett." Though he said
it in a soft, hesitating manner, she was deeply offended. She would give
him a look that would keep him silent for hours.
She never could understand why such an uncouth-looking bird should have
the power of speech given to him, while a handsome, intelligent cat
could not speak at all; and the mystery of it made her very savage to
poor Bimbo.
Of course the children shared their confidences with their pets, and if
Mrs. Thornton had fallen into the clutches of Bimbo or Jett, she would
probably have borne marks of the encounter. Joanna's wrath was
suppressed; sometimes, however, silent wrath is the deepest.
One day they were in earnest conversation, Jack relating his wrongs;
while Bimbo, seated on his bough, listened in silence. Suddenly, to
their surprise, he said in a subdued voice: "She's an old devil! so she
is! how droll! Ha! ha! ha!" ending with, "Well, I never!"
The children were convulsed with laughter. Even Aunt Martha could not
resist the ludicrous situation. Bimbo, in great delight, gave a
succession of "ha-ha's," ending with "Oh, she's a devil!" Aunt Martha
covered him with her apron, and silence at once ensued; for he knew that
was a mark of disgrace.
"Oh, Aunt Martha," said Jack, in a whisper, "don't you think it strange
that Bimbo knows all about her?"
"Nonsense!" she replied. "Did you ever hear Bimbo swear before?"
"Never. He used, when I first had him, to say a few bad words, but
covering him up made him know he must not repeat them; but to-day he has
applied them where they are true. Whenever she is around, he swears all
the time, and I keep him out of her way, for he knows her. She says I
taught him. It is false. Uncle Jack bought him of some sailors. They
gave him a good character, and Uncle Jack said if he ever used bad
words, it would teach me a lesson never to say anything I did not want
him to repeat."
"Very wise of your uncle. You must do as he has advised, and you will
soon teach him better."
Just here, Jett, who had been a silent witness of the scene, could bear
it no longer. She flew up the tree and out on the bough where Bimbo sat
in disgrace, and drawing off the apron with sheathed claws, she boxed
him right and left.
Poor Bimbo retreated to the very edge of the bough, screaming "Jett,
Jett! oh, oh, Jett!" This offended her so much that Jack had to pull her
down by her tail, to save Bimbo's life.
She was of course very much disgusted at such unusual treatment, and
went off in the sulks. After a time peace was restored, and Bimbo was
happy, for they were all very kind and sympathizing, and Hope smoothed
his feathers where Jett had attacked him, and Jack told him he was
forgiven provided he never swore again.
Aunt Martha told the children a nice, interesting story, while Jack held
Bimbo on his arm, and Hope cuddled Joanna in her lap.
This home picture was interrupted by Bridget, the cook. She came, full
of wrath, to enter her complaint of Jett, who followed in the distance
as bold as a lion. Bridget said she put some squash pies she had made to
cool for dinner, and she found Jett sitting in the middle of one while
she was eating from the other, her paws and tail going as fast as her
tongue.
Jack shrieked with laughter when he saw her glossy black fur covered
with squash. Her nose and whiskers were dotted with it, and even her
ears had little yellow decorations.
As soon as Aunt Martha could command her voice, she consoled Bridget by
telling her she would make a dessert in place of the pies. Then she told
Jett she had better go and get into the waste barrel. And a sight she
was--a picture in yellow and black.
She went away, ashamed,--not, however, without casting a look of fury at
Bimbo, who was whispering with a smothered chuckle, "Oh, she's a dear!
she's a dear! Oh, oh, Jett! I shall die!"
Jett preferred a crooked path. Stealing was her delight, for boldly, in
the face of all, she would bring home a chicken she had stolen. No one
molested her, for Aunt Martha paid for the chicken, and as Hope said,
perhaps Jett thought it was like having a bill at a store. She had a
running account at the neighbor's hen-coops, knowing the bill would be
paid.
The children called her a "grave robber." For once one of the neighbors
lost a little bird. Their little boy was very fond of it, and was
allowed to bury it in the garden. He folded it up in his little
pocket-handkerchief, and put it into the hole he had dug, and covered
the earth over it. He put up a little wooden paper-knife over the grave,
making a nice tombstone, and the design was very appropriate. The top of
the knife was carved with a bush, and a bird was sitting on the
branches. The point of the knife was down deep in the earth, and he
thought everything secure.
Now Jett knew everything going on in the neighborhood. The bird's empty
cage had been cleaned, and was standing on a bench outside the kitchen
door. Jett had interviewed the cage and tried to get in, but finding the
door too small, she had seated herself to think it out, wondering in her
mind where the bird had gone. When she heard footsteps, she mounted to
her post of observation on the fence; and when she saw the boy bring out
the bird and bury it, she was perplexed.
A cat never allows a mystery to go unsolved. After it was all over she
waited a suitable time, and then she made an investigation. She walked
around the monument, she smelt of it, and she clawed it a little. By the
time she had satisfied her curiosity it looked like the Leaning Tower of
Pisa. That it moved was probably a suggestion to her, for she began
scratching the earth; and it soon fell over, leaving a bit of the grave
clothing of the poor little bird exposed. This at once was proof
positive, and after scratching away the earth she found the mystery.
Jerking up the handkerchief, she soon landed the little corpse, and then
she examined it with a critical eye. No coroner inquiring into the cause
of a sudden death could have been more careful. After she had inspected
it thoroughly she took one claw in her mouth and started for the house,
and never rested till she had with great difficulty deposited that bird
in its cage and pushed to the door. Then she went home, satisfied that
she had done an act of justice and humanity.
It is needless to say how surprised the family were to find the dead
returned to them, and they suspected a mischievous boy who lived near;
but when Jett dug up that bird for the second time, there were
witnesses, and the deed was brought home to her.
The last burial took place while Jett was shut up. They dared not put up
the monument, for they knew she would discover the grave by that. She
hunted for a week, but she never found that bird again.
All the neighbors looked upon her as a mysterious element that had come
into their midst. They believed in the witches having unlimited power
over black cats, and never dared interfere with her; indeed, her good
will they were very glad to gain.
Jett was devoted to Hope. She never killed a rat without bringing it
with a purr of satisfaction, and was not satisfied till her little
mistress had noticed her, and said, "What a good kitty to catch the
naughty rats."
There was one place the children called the "cats' paradise." It was
down in the corner of Jack's garden. Here catmint grew in rank
profusion. The place was neglected, but nature had rioted there, and it
was all abloom with wild flowers and weeds.
Here Jett held her afternoon teas and musicales, and she would frolic
with her friends in the sweet-smelling grass. Her high soprano would
mingle with the contralto and other nondescript parts till they produced
a "passion music" so terrible in its results that it required all Jack's
strength to separate them.
Why these musicales always ended in a free fight, Hope wondered. Jack
suggested that the catmint intoxicated them, for they were usually
captured with their mouths and paws full of it, and as much on their fur
coats as they could hold. But this state of happiness was not quite as
satisfactory to others as it was to the cats and the children.
Jack announced one day that _she_ had been disturbed by the musicales,
and the catmint period was drawing to an end. Jack said:--
"She won't outwit me. Aunt Martha will let me plant some over behind
your large barn, in that field, and we will dry all we can. Jett shall
have her winter supply, and I will treat every cat in the neighborhood."
Jack worked with a will, and before the man Mrs. Thornton had hired to
remove and destroy the catmint bed had arrived, it was nearly all
transplanted or cut off to dry. They did enjoy that work.
Hope was seated in a wheel chair her father had bought for her, and Jack
delighted in wheeling. She superintended all the work.
Aunt Martha allowed the man of all work to plant all that Jack brought
him, though she did not think it best for him to take the catmint from
Jack's garden.
Jett and Bimbo were very much interested. Bimbo eyed them in solemn
silence for a while, then he yelled, "Go ahead! Hurry up! hurry up!
She'll get you!" till it did seem as if that clever bird knew
everything.
Jett's help was rather doubtful, though her interest was not. She
followed Jack back and forth, and at every fresh root he would take up
she would turn a somersault in the hole, scratching the earth with all
her might; then she would rush back--a picture of yellow earth, black
fur, and catmint.
These were happy days, too soon followed by sorrowful ones. As summer
waned, and autumn advanced, the first frost cast a blight on the little
life so fondly cared for by her friends.
Jack's sorrow, when he was made to realize her danger, was pathetic. He
was now constantly with his little playfellow when she was able to see
him. It was a picture to see her propped up in bed, Jack sitting by the
side, in a little rocker, Joanna in her arms, or if too feeble to hold
her, lying by her side, while Jett was curled up at her feet.
Poor, sorrowful Aunt Martha hovered around her darling, ready to attend
to her slightest wish. Jett was devoted to her. In this case can be seen
what devoted creatures cats and dogs can be if they are made friends of.
They seem to realize the approach of that dread messenger, and to be
"faithful unto death."
Jett only left the sick child long enough to take a constitutional and
her meals. Then she would go back and mew piteously, if the door was
closed, to get in to her little mistress. If Hope was asleep, she would
jump up on the bed, stand and look at her a little while, perhaps lick
her hands, and then lie down where she could watch every movement. If
Joanna had fallen on the floor, she would pick her up with her teeth,
give her a real shake, as if to say, "What did you fall down for?" and
then, jumping up on the bed, deposit her in Hope's arms or by her side.
Never was there a case of greater devotion. She was always pleased to
see Jack. She would lick his face and sit in his arms, but on the least
movement of her little mistress back she would go and watch her with the
deepest affection.
The end came very suddenly. Just at the close of a lovely October day
sweet little Hope Farley fell asleep. She had seemed to know that the
end was near. She had spoken of her death to her Aunt Martha, saying, "I
am so tired, but I do not want to leave you and my dear ones."
She had made her auntie promise that Joanna should be dressed just as
they dressed her, and be buried in her arms, saying, "I shall not be so
lonesome with my dear dolly, and I know Jack and Jett will come and see
me often."
So Joanna had a white cambric embroidered dress just like her little
mistress's, that Aunt Martha made (with tears falling on her work), and
she was laid in her little mistress's arms. Aunt Martha covered her with
flowers, and sheltered her under the sleeve of her little mistress's
dress as well as she could, knowing how much would be said about her
indulging such a queer fancy of the dear child. As Jack said to her, "I
do feel glad Joanna is with her. It seems so hard to put her away
alone;" and Aunt Martha agreed with him.
They had the greatest trouble with Jett, to keep her out of the room.
Every time the door was open she would hide under the bed. She had taken
Joanna twice out to the seat in the garden, where she had so often seen
her in Hope's arms, and Aunt Martha had to shut her out doors while she
dressed Joanna.
Hope looked lovely, with beautiful flowers around her, and leaves from
the plants she had loved. Her father was dazed at her loss, but Aunt
Martha and Jack were the real mourners.
How it happened they never knew. They had kept track of Jett all they
could, and Jack had petted her, and tried to comfort her, but all to no
purpose. She was like a wild cat, crouching down in corners and watching
them all. The last night before the funeral Hope was placed in the
casket, and it was closed. Jett must have crawled into a corner under
the sofa when the door was open, for she was found in the morning,
sitting on the head of the casket, as solemn as if she knew she had been
watching her dear little mistress.
She was not willing to go to any one, and disappeared till just as the
funeral left the house, when she was seen on the opposite side of the
street. When they reached the old cemetery, she was noticed behind some
shrubs.
Jack got out of the carriage to see if it was Jett, and take her home,
but could not find her. They thought it could not be she; but when days
passed away and she did not return, they were sure it was Jett who had
followed to her little mistress's grave. They sought her everywhere,
leaving the outbuildings open, so in case she returned she could get in;
but they never found any trace of her again.
There were stories, that they did not give credence to, of a cat's being
seen hovering around the grave; but many people did believe that it was
Jett guarding the grave of her dear one.
Superstitious people said that she was a ministering spirit sent to
guard and comfort the life of that dear little child. That her mission
being fulfilled, she went back to those who sent her, perhaps to be
still with the dear child in Paradise. Others said she was a witch cat,
spared for a little while, to be happy in this beautiful home; but her
mission being over, the witches called her back. That perhaps at night
she was allowed to visit the grave of the one she had served so
devotedly.
But my opinion is, she was just a good, loving cat. She was grateful for
all their kindness, and loved little Hope just as all cats love those
who are kind to them. She had not been born in that home, as one would
know by the strange way she often behaved that she had no training.
Of course her disappearance is hard to account for; but I do believe she
could not bear to live in that home after Hope had left it, and she
found another one for herself. Of course a cat has a right to an
opinion. This is mine.
But does it not show how kind, loving, and faithful cats can be? If
properly trained, they make the best companions for children.
Who that ever has seen dear little kittens, so loving and trusting,
climbing in the arms of those who are kind to them, can doubt they are
given to them for friends?
XXII
WATCH AND CHLOE
Much has been said of the benefit of example. Why, then, when a cat
follows the example of the people with whom she lives, should she be
called "bloodthirsty" if she kills a chicken? She follows her master to
the hen-coop, and looks on in wonder when he wrings the neck of one of
the chickens he has fed daily. Then when she takes her own method of
killing a chicken for her own eating, where is the harm? She could be
taught better, of course.
Dogs are taught not to touch game, even when it falls at their feet,
till their master gives them permission. Cats would never steal if they
knew it was wrong.
Look at my case. After the theft of that meat from the good
"philanthropist," I never took anything else. My mistress made me
understand wherein it was wrong. I felt very much ashamed, though I
could not be blamed. It was one of the most delicious morsels I ever
had.
If a cat is not well fed, she will help herself, just as, under the same
circumstances, human beings would do the same. It is astonishing how
many peculiar traits are brought out when one studies animals.
I heard a story of a cat called Tinker, who lived with a very nice
family. They were country people, with a large farm, with horses, cows,
dog, and cat, all well cared for, and favorite companions of the
children. Nothing was ever killed on that place except rats.
Tinker was a ferocious mouser. She was, however, very fond of all the
animals, and the horses would put their heads down to her when she
rubbed against their legs. Even the cow did not resent it when she would
lick her after she had been milked. They did say that Tinker had been
known to help herself to a little, sometimes, before the good Brindle
had been milked.
They had hens and chickens in plenty. But they never killed one of their
own, always buying their poultry of the farmers around. They were
content with selling the eggs in great quantities, for the hens were so
well kept that they laid a great many.
Tinker was well fed; and as she had never seen hens and chickens killed,
she treated them as if their right to live could not be questioned. She
walked out and in the hen-coop whenever she pleased. She had very nice
ways, and was never known to go near the pig-pen, that being, in her
opinion, not exactly a pleasure ground.
One day the hens were all out in the large field back of the house, when
Tinker was walking about on a voyage of discovery. She soon espied three
little chickens of a very tender age shivering with cold and sending
forth feeble little peeps. She looked around; then mounting on the nest,
she sat over them, and they nestled in her warm fur.
Soon a great clacking announced the return of their mother. She was
telling all the gossip of the farm to the other hens. She was just as
surprised as she could be to see her place filled. She flew at Tinker in
great wrath. Tinker just raised her paw and kept her back and sat there
as long as she pleased. The mother hen ran about, telling her story to
all the coop assembled to see the fun. Even the lordly rooster cocked
his comb about, in wise deliberation, over this most unusual occurrence.
The unusual noise drew out the master, who was so well pleased that he
called his wife to see Tinker in her position as chicken nurse.
As soon as she saw she was appreciated, Tinker left her post, and there
is no doubt the chickens wished their mother had fur on her rather than
stiff feathers.
Does not this prove that a cat would be kind to all creatures, were the
example before her such as she could follow? Animals learn to kill by
seeing man kill everything he is allowed to without drawing upon himself
the penalty of the law.
It has often been said that women care more for pets, particularly cats,
than men do. I do not think it is true. Men do not make such open
demonstrations and decorate their pets in the absurd way that women do,
but where they do love them, it is a very lasting affection.
If you follow the course of children who are cruel to animals, you will
find they meet with their punishment oftentimes in this world. I have a
story to tell in illustration of this fact.
A very charming family lived not very far from Boston, though their home
was in quite a country place. The family was composed of a widow with
four sons and an only daughter. The eldest son was really the flower of
the family. The boys were all full of life, but very unlike their elder
brother. Robert was a gentleman and a scholar. Mary, the sister, was his
special friend, and he made of her a real chum, telling her all his
plans and in every way making a friend of her.
They lived in a grand old house. It had been built by their ancestors
some two hundred years. The land about was very beautiful, and they
lived in comfortable style, though not really wealthy. They loved the
old family horse, and the cow would follow every member of the family.
They had a good, big dog; and last but not least a great, dignified cat
called Bruno.
The cat was the special pet of Robert and Mary. The younger boys teased
him, and he kept out of their way. He well knew how to defend himself,
and they were rather afraid of him.
There were no near neighbors. The grounds of their nearest companions
met theirs, but nearly half a mile away. As they were not congenial, the
distance was rather satisfactory.
Bruno would not notice the poor, wretched, hunted-looking cat belonging
to the other place, and she was afraid of every moving thing. The people
were very mean, though they kept up a great show of wealth; the servants
and the animals about the place were half starved.
Poor Mossy had no one to love her. She had never been petted, and her
life was made still more wretched by the loss of her many kittens. At
last she disappeared. Then they realized her value, for she was a great
mouser, and the place was infested with rats and mice. Knowing their
enemy had gone, they returned in full force, and the people tried in
every way to find Mossy, but in vain.
After a time the chickens on our friend Robert's place disappeared. They
could find no trace of the robber, though they watched very carefully.
Max would bark nights, and Bruno, the cat, seemed to be very uneasy at
the same time, as if he heard some intruder. One of the boys would stay
out at night till quite late, but the hen-coop was peaceful; and though
they tried every means, they never caught the intruder. And the chickens
disappeared, all the same.
At last the boys discovered a hole in the back of the hen-coop, where the
earth had been dug down and room made large enough for a cat to enter.
The boys declared they had seen a cat that looked like Mossy come out of
the pine woods at the back of the hen-coop, and they believed she had
stolen the chickens.
Robert said, "If it is Mossy, do not harm her, but coax her here and
feed her."
Robert had always petted her when he could get the chance, but she
seemed to shrink from and distrust every one.
The boys were not of the same mind. They had no love for Mossy, and
believed in punishing the one who had stolen the chickens. So they
baited a trap with poisoned meat, just outside of the hole, and poor
Mossy was caught. She was quite dead; but, not satisfied, they battered
her head with stones.
Robert's wrath was terrible when he learned of poor Mossy's fate. He not
only cuffed them right and left, but he told them they had forfeited the
right to the pleasure trips and fun he had promised them. Robert had a
scientific turn of mind, and his experiments were a great wonder and
pleasure to the boys, and the loss of his favor was a severe punishment.
The next day, when they went out, they said, "We will take the body of
Mossy into the woods and bury it, and perhaps we shall find out where
she made her home."
They had laid down the body of Mossy on the grass while they went to dig
a grave for her, when a mewing, shrill but feeble, greeted their ears.
They looked back, and a most pathetic sight greeted them: the dead body
of poor Mossy was completely covered by five little kittens. They were
half starved, and were trying to nurse their dead mother. "Oh, ho!" said
the boys, "this is what she was up to! She wanted to raise a family all
by herself."
The three boys each took a kitten, and, whirling it around, dashed its
little life out against a tree, saying, "We will send her orphans after
the chicken stealer."
Robert and Mary had followed them, wanting to see that they buried Mossy
as they ought to. They arrived on the scene just at the moment when the
poor little kittens were killed. Robert rushed forward and with one blow
felled one cruel wretch to the ground, while the others fled.
Poor Mary almost fainted at the dreadful sight; but Robert put the two
little kittens (that he took from their mother's dead body) into her
arms, and as she wrapped them in her shawl, they cuddled up to her so
confidingly that it comforted her, for she said, "They shall never know
sorrow."
Robert was moved almost to tears. As soon as he could command his voice
he said: "God will punish this act of cruelty, this crime. They are my
brothers, but I would not lift up my hand to save them from prison."
He then made a grave, and Mary helped as well as she could (with the
little kittens in her arms) to put in leaves, and Robert spread out his
handkerchief and tenderly laid in poor Mossy and her three kittens. It
was a solemn sight. Mary covered them with her handkerchief and a few
more leaves, and then Robert filled in the grave.
They carried home the two little orphans in silence. The poor things
were very hungry, and Mary fed them and put them into a basket with soft
white wool, and as soon as they opened their eyes she was ready with
milk and petting, that they might not feel their mother's loss.
Robert was very fond of them. As soon as they could run about he took
them up to his den, where all his time was spent in study, and they were
perfectly at home. They would dart about, over books, papers, and table,
and there was so much electricity about them that Robert named them
Castor and Pollux, for he said they were like a flash of lightning in
their movements. Of course they were called Cassy and Polly. They were
the exclusive property of Robert and Mary, and the boys never dared
touch them.
The mother, a confirmed invalid, was never told of the boys' wickedness;
for her sister, who had the care of her, with the help of Mary, kept
everything of a disturbing nature from her.
Strange as it may appear, their instinct taught the kittens to shun
their mother's murderers. They would never go near them; and another
very strange thing--they would never, even when hungry, touch a bit of
chicken. They never went near the hen-coop, and would run and hide when
the hens and chickens were around.
Is there not some psychological explanation of this fact? Did not the
spirit of the mother in some mysterious way influence her children?
It was supposed that Mossy, after losing her kittens so often, decided
she would take the matter into her own hands and save those she was
expecting. She went away, when near the time of their birth, and hid
herself in a cave in the rocks, for it was found some time after that
she had made a deep cave, digging it out patiently till it was large
enough for comfort. Chicken feathers were found spread all around,
proving she had thought about the comfort of her children and herself,
and provided them a good home. She stole chickens from the neighboring
coops, and feasted herself and used their feathers. She certainly
displayed human intelligence in her work.
Castor and Pollux grew up to be very fine cats. They were very smart
mousers, like their mother, and they were devoted to Robert and Mary.
Bruno was quite jealous of them at first; but after a time, finding his
importance was not lessened, he gave in, and treated them with
politeness. When, one day, Cassy brought a mouse he had killed, and laid
it in his arms when he was asleep, he adopted Cassy at once. It was a
real picture to see that big, dignified cat with the plump little
kittens playing around him. They had no respect or veneration in their
intercourse with him. They just loved him as they did everything around
them.
Mary would take them in to see her mother sometimes when she had a few
hours' relief from pain. The mother would say: "What will you do, Mary,
if Robert or you should marry? You cannot both have the kittens, and you
surely cannot separate them."
"Oh," she answered, "I shall never marry, and Rob may get a wife who
will not love cats, and I shall have them all my own."
When she repeated this to Robert, he said: "I shall never have a home
where Castor and Pollux are not welcome. It will be the test I shall
apply to the woman, if I ever find one, whom I propose to make my wife,
whether she loves cats and is kind to dumb animals."
"You had better not announce the fact; for there are hundreds who would
tolerate even a gorilla and pretend to be fond of it for the sake of
being the wife of my elegant brother Robert."
He laughed, saying, "Perhaps, in that case, as there are sixty thousand
single women to be provided for, it would be better not to advertise."
He was truly in earnest, as was soon proved. The young friend of his
sister that he had been very much pleased with, and had paid more
attention to than to any other he had met, came to visit Mary soon after
this conversation had taken place. She was very pretty and charming,
trying to please Robert in every way. Finding he was fond of cats, and
hearing with sympathy the story of Mossy, she was very affectionate to
Cassy and Polly; but they did not reciprocate, and kept away from her
when it was possible.
One day Cassy sat upon her beautiful new hat and crushed the flowers.
She flew at him in a great rage, saying: "You horrid old cat! I would
not have you around in a house of mine."
She slashed him over with her bag, while he slunk under the sofa in fear
and trembling. It was the first abuse he had ever known.
She thought she was alone, and soon left the room with her precious hat.
But she had forever ruined her chance of being Robert's wife; for as
soon as she left the room he moved the Turkish screen that formed a
protection for the window seat where he was lounging with a book, and
stooping down he took poor Cassy from under the sofa and carried him up
to his den, where he remained with his two pets. They were the only
witnesses of the death of his fancy for his sister's friend. When she
called Cassy and Polly to her, he well understood why Cassy crept under
the table out of her sight.
He became a very successful scientific man, but the brothers met with
retribution for their cruel crime. Two of them were victims of a
railroad accident, while the third died from blood-poisoning from the
bite of a rat he had caught in a trap. Justice was dealt out to them in
full.
If young people would test each other's natures by their treatment of
animals, there would not be so many deceived and repentant married
people.
Castor and Pollux lived to be twenty years old. They seemed to bear a
charmed life. They were very fond of each other, but often they would
have a pitched battle and retire to separate corners for a while, but it
never lasted long. They were soon as good friends as ever.
The lady Robert married was very fond of cats. When she was married, she
could not be separated from her pet dog Fido; but she was mistress and
soon made them understand they must be friends.
She never allowed either the dog or the two cats to be unjust to each
other. It took time and patience, but she persevered, and was successful
at last. By judicious treatment she made them the best of friends. It
was a very funny sight when Fido would carry some of his candy and put
it on Cassy's and Polly's paws, and then bark with delight at his own
generosity.
And when her little girl, named Mary, after Robert's sister Mary, who
had died just before his marriage, was born, the two cats and the dog
were her earliest friends, and they often fought for her favor, each
seeming to believe her to be his own special property; but she kissed
and cuffed alike, so they were a very happy family.
Cassy and Polly were always to be found in their master's study when he
was engaged in absorbing work. They would quietly pore over maps and
charts, as full of interest as they would have been had he been their
teacher. Their master said he had solved many hard questions while
smoothing their soft fur and meeting their intelligent glances. And he
could not help saying, "What do you think of it, my friends?"
I think a man like the master of Castor and Pollux a true and grand
gentleman. How many might be happy if, like him; they would care for
their humble friends. There is no doubt that a cat oftentimes helps out
some problem.
My mistress would sometimes take me in her arms and look into my eyes. I
could feel that look right into my heart, and I know that I answered it,
for she would say, "Oh, Daisy, you have given me an idea." And I would
advise my friends, both young men and women, when you have some
difficult problem or study, take your faithful friend, the cat, look
deep into her eyes while you tell her your perplexity, and see if she
does not help you solve the difficulty. There is an electric current
that passes into your brain from hers, and clears away the mists from
your understanding. Then your kindness to your dumb friend is rewarded
by the success you deserve.
There is another story I like very much. It is about a cat and a dog,
and they lived in Beverly, in a very beautiful place quite near the
shore.
The dog's name was Watch, and the cat was named Chloe. Watch was not a
handsome dog, but he was a faithful, good little fellow. He had very
short legs (my mistress said, just like a cricket). He was a dark
yellow, or what now is called a dull old gold. He had a very broad back,
where Chloe could sit comfortably whenever she pleased.
Watch was very humble, and believed in "woman's rights" evidently, for
he never offered any resistance when Chloe saw fit to use him for an
easy-chair. He would crouch down on his short legs, and solace himself
with a good sleep--that was his panacea for every ill. But he never
allowed his master, whom he worshipped, to take one step without rising
and standing in respectful silence or following him at a distance. This
was very exasperating to Chloe, for he would shake her off with scant
ceremony to do honor to his master.
But Chloe had no reverence or respect for anything but a good dinner.
Many were the cuffs she gave poor Watch, which he bore meekly, because
he would rise when his master appeared and disturb her sleep.
He was really a refrigerator color. His fur was short and stiff, his
ears were large and prominent, drooping, unless something unusual
aroused him. Then his interest only lasted for a moment. He would
relapse into the stolid, silent dog they all believed him to be. He
identified himself with the family, though he did not join in their
sports; but he always knew just what was going on, and would follow them
at a distance wherever they would go.
His master was his idol. He seemed to live for him alone. His bright,
beadlike black eyes were always fixed on his master's face, and he knew
every change of expression. His master would say, "Watch is the only one
of my children with black eyes; he takes after me." Years after Watch
died there were two little black-eyed girls born, but Watch could not
enjoy the sight of them.
Chloe was a calico cat, yellow, with patches of dark and white spots.
She was not much prettier than Watch, but the children thought her
beautiful and loved her dearly.
Their father had made them a wooden doll, and they were as pleased with
it as children of to-day are with the elegant creatures who can open and
shut their eyes and squeak out "mamma" and "papa." The children had been
brought up to enjoy and believe Bible stories, and they thought the
highest honor they could give that doll was to call it by a Bible name.
So, after a discussion, they named it Amminadab, for the very reason
that it was very hard to pronounce and impossible to understand.
Chloe and Watch were very good friends. To be sure, Watch never dared
say his soul was his own in Chloe's presence. Possibly that was the
reason they had peace.
Chloe had a very roving disposition. Day after day she would go off into
the woods near by, and then Watch would suffer great anxiety. He would
go out into the road, and look up and down, and then indulge in a mild
bark. He never would go to sleep till she returned, and would meet her
with the greatest satisfaction, wagging his short tail and walking
around her as if to say, "You _have_ come back, haven't you?" He
delighted to see her run up trees, and would look up at her, and bark
with pride, never at all jealous of her superiority.
When the children went down to bathe, Watch would attend them as
body-guard. They always carried their doll and gave her to Watch to take
care of. They would place her on a high rock, while Watch would sit down
beside her, with his paws on her dress, to keep her from falling off.
They would say, "Watch, take good care of her," and then they were sure
he would never leave her. Chloe did not often go with them, for cats do
not like the water as dogs do; but she knew where they were and was very
impatient for them to return.
One day when their mother said, "Chloe, where are the children?" she ran
down toward the water and back again several times.
Their mother laughed, saying, "Go and bring them home." And sure enough,
the children were amused to see Chloe on the rock by Watch's side. She
took hold of Amminadab by her dress, and tried to pull her away from
Watch. But here she was mistaken in thinking he would give her up. He
held his ground. He had been told to guard that doll, and guard her he
would. Chloe tugged at her dress, tearing it with her teeth, but he held
on. Then she fell upon him, and cuffed and clawed him, while he tried to
dodge her all he could; but at one hard blow, in defending himself, he
loosened his hold a bit on Amminadab, and Chloe, with one good pull,
gained the victory and ran home, dragging the poor doll over the ground,
bumping her poor wooden head without mercy. This was too much for Watch.
He ran in pursuit, but his short legs were no match for her long ones,
and she reached home, dropping Amminadab on the threshold long before he
arrived.
Then ensued a fight to carry her back, and the master, who always took
the part of Watch, had to separate them. He took the bone of contention
into the house, and that settled it.
They were sincere friends, however, and later on, when poor Watch was
unfortunate, the good heart under Chloe's rough exterior was shown.
Watch lost his hearing and then his eyesight, and it was then Chloe came
to his aid. She helped him and seemed always to have the care of him on
her mind. She hovered around him when carriages drove by, and he, not
seeing or hearing them, would sit in their track. She would drag him
away by the ear or push him away and share his danger. And he soon
followed her slightest touch.
She would often put his food under his nose, for he at last lost even
his sense of smell. The sense of feeling he never lost, and would put
out his paw, and his poor old heart would beat while he would give forth
a cracked and feeble bark when his master touched him--loyal and
faithful unto death!
His master could not bear the thought of parting with him, though he
knew it must be, for he was in danger of being killed all the time, and,
having lost all his senses, he at last refused food, and they were
obliged to "put him to rest." Chloe was inconsolable. She wandered about
everywhere, searching for him.
One day they saw her lying down on some shining object. They found it
was an old collar belonging to Watch that she had found in the attic.
She fought when they took it away from her; and when they returned it,
she carried it out to the barn and put it in the corner where Watch used
to lie.
There were warm sunny places he had selected to rest himself in when he
grew tired and sick, and Chloe went to every one of his old haunts and
made her bed. She attached herself to the master just as Watch had done,
and seemed overjoyed if he noticed her. Very soon the sympathy between
them in their mutual loss made them real friends. He would talk to her
about Watch, and she seemed to understand all he said. It was a real
comfort to him.
It is often said that a dog is more companionable than a cat, and has
higher intelligence. That is not true. Cats fully understand everything
that a dog does; but a dog is trained, and no one but a real cat lover
would ever think of training a cat.
Chloe never regained her bright spirits after the death of Watch. She
did not wander off into the woods so often, attaching herself more to
the children and her home. She followed the children like a shadow. She
could play hide-and-seek in and out the pine trees, jumping out on them
in real earnest, and was always the first one to find the hiding place.
On the place was a real old-fashioned well. Chloe was very fond of that
well, and the bucket was a real friend. Warm days she would lap the
drops of water from its sides, for it was like ice water.
One day a kitten belonging to a neighbor mounted on the side of the well
and looked down with wonder into the boundless depth. It was a perilous
seat. Chloe, not pleased at the kitten's rashness, ran around the well
and in every way tried to call her down from her perch; but she was an
obstinate little creature and took no notice of Chloe's evident
distress. Finding moral suasion of no avail, quick as a flash she flew
up, and, taking her by the nape of the neck, deposited her in safety on
the grass, where they had a good romp together; and she never allowed
that kitten to go near the well again without her company.
The master would say, "We need not fear for the children; Chloe will
never let them approach the well without her company."
It was very funny, one day when the children, returning from a long
tramp in the woods, discovered they had left Amminadab behind. There
were lamentations loud and long; they were sure they would never again
see their dear dolly. Their father asked them if Chloe was with them.
Yes, they said, but they did not notice her coming home. Their father
walked out into the road, looking in the direction the children had
taken. Soon he espied a small cloud of dust and, as it came nearer, a
small yellow object, dragging in its mouth something that retarded its
progress very much. Soon poor Chloe arrived and laid Amminadab at the
feet of her master. She had walked all the way from the pine woods,
dragging that heavy wooden doll by the dress, which bore marks of her
teeth, having to shut them tight to bear the strain of that weight. She
had to take frequent rests, and Amminadab's head was covered with
scratches from the stones she had bumped; but she was all there, and
when Chloe laid her on the doorstep, she sat down panting and tired, but
with the satisfaction of having done her duty just as Watch would have
done.
She was petted and praised. Her master brought her out a nice supper of
fried fish, and she was perfectly happy. After she had acknowledged all
their thanks, she washed her face (cats never pick their teeth in
company) and laid herself down on a rug where Watch had enjoyed lying,
and slept "the sleep of the just."
She was faithful to the end. To the last day of her life she would never
allow Amminadab to be left out of the house without the children, but,
taking her in her mouth, would carry her in to her place in the
playroom. She would pick up the children's clothes. If they dropped a
ribbon or a bit of paper, she would be sure to pick it up and put it on
a chair or sofa.
She died peacefully, and her grave was made by the side of her friend
Watch.
It is certain that the family never had truer friends than this dog and
cat. They all remember them, and count them with those loved ones of
whom it is so comforting to say, "Not lost, but gone before."
XXIII
THE STORY OF BLACKIE
One of our friends boarded in a family where cats were treated in a
cruel manner. Often when my mistress visited her, the tales of woe about
poor, ill-used cats made her very sad. Cats always found our friend's
room, and proved very loving and grateful for her care. She kept them in
her room all she could, always feeding them; and as she had her meals
sent to her rooms, she had pieces of meat and always a plenty of milk to
give them, and they were very thankful; they loved her dearly. She said
they were hunted about, and never knew what it was to have a kind word
spoken to them.
One nice cat had several kittens that were kept for the little son of
the family to abuse. One of them ran away from him, and was jammed into
the crack of a door and killed. Another had its back broken under the
rockers of a chair; while the boy had the third one by the tail,
swinging it about, banging its head against door-steps, till its feeble
moans made the neighbors call to him; and as he paid no heed to them,
one good-hearted Irish girl rushed out and, with a good shake, took the
kitten in, and ended its sufferings in a pail of water. You do not often
see a real, true-hearted Irish girl that is cruel to animals.
The mother of that boy never noticed any complaints made to her of her
child's cruelty to animals. She allowed him to do as he pleased with his
living playthings, regardless of their suffering.
At last the cat ran away or was stolen, and my mistress's friend said
she hoped they would never have another.
A little sister had been born, and at an early age developed the same
cruel traits that made her brother a terror to all animals. At last,
after some months, they had a black kitten given them. She was about six
months old, a beautiful black, and she had very sharp claws. Though the
boy was obliged to keep away from her,--for she defended herself with
her sharp claws,--her life was wretched. The first lesson she learned
was to defend herself, and look upon every one as her enemy.
She had not one friend. No one ever spoke a kind word to her, and she
was given wretched food and bones, for the boy devoured every scrap
usually given to a cat. Then she was hunted into the cellar to find
rats, and her life was one long punishment. No resting place, no nice
corner, or bed to call her own--she was an object of pity indeed.
At last a gleam of light dawned on her darkened life. A mouse had been
heard in the room of our friend, and Blackie was sent up to catch it.
She cowered down in one corner, trembling all over, not knowing what
would be done to her. When the lady took her on her lap, smoothed her
soft fur, she seemed to realize that there was something besides kicks
and blows for her. When laid on a soft wool shawl on the lounge, she
testified her delight by "kneading up bread" on the shawl with her
claws, till she was tired, then purred out her satisfaction, and at last
indulged in a good sleep, though starting and trembling at every sound,
for cats are all nerves and sensitive in the highest degree. That night
she caught a mouse, and after that was allowed to sleep in the room for
a long time, and she effectually cleared the place of them.
When she slept downstairs again our friend had given them a box for her
to sleep in, with old blanket pieces folded to make her comfortable.
This was to be kept in the passageway just out of the kitchen, that she
might keep the rats away.
She had got so attached to her friend by this time that she did not
relish being out of her room at all, and early in the morning she would
be up at the door, crying like a child to be let in, if the door was
closed.
It was a very great trial to this kind-hearted lady, for she could not
keep Blackie all the time, and knowing she would be away in summer some
months, she was very unhappy about leaving Blackie. She tried to
interest the people in the house in her, but it was of no use. The
mistress of the house hated Blackie, frequently threatening to get rid
of her. She dared not offend her boarder, so she contented herself with
abuse of the poor cat on the sly. She did not half feed her, but the cat
knew where she could always get food, for the kind friend would buy meat
for her and feed her well. Blackie turned from them all. She did not
believe in any one but her kind friend, so it was impossible to help
her.
All the lady could do when she went away was to speak for her to all of
the people she could in the house, and to give the servants money to buy
meat and to be kind to her. But she always left with a heavy heart.
At last Blackie was to have her first kittens. She, with that rare
instinct that cats have at such times, established herself on the lounge
in her friend's room, and if not forcibly removed, would ignore her
hunger rather than go down in quest of food. She was determined her
kittens should be born in luxury and under the care of her kind friend.
Her friend did not fail her. She provided a nice box, all lined and made
soft inside; and although she could not have it in her room, she went
down every night to see that Blackie was made comfortable.
Poor Blackie! She had a determined will, and escaped from her box the
night her kittens were born, and got up to her friend's door, where she
cried, and then lay down as near the door as she could, and bore her
pains in silence, like the patient creature she was.
As soon as morning came she was carried down and put in her nice box
with the seven little kittens she had borne. Her friend took care that
they disposed of them humanely, keeping only one. Blackie never rested
till she brought up that kitten and laid it in a large chair; then she
felt relieved. She would take it up the two flights of stairs, then put
it down at her friend's door, while she mewed and scratched till it was
opened to her. She was very happy with her dear little kitten, and truly
it was a lovely little creature--a real tiger-striped gray.
Blackie was perfectly at home; she cast off the care of her kitten, and
rested and got up her strength in this peaceful element. She had avoided
the boy tyrant and hid her kitten away from him, and his mother dared
not help him find it, fearing Blackie's friend.
The kitten was just the smartest little creature. She soon got big
enough to go up to her friend's door, and mew just like her mother, and
she cuffed and fought Blackie in a way that proved she would be able to
defend herself. Her mother was not so fond of her after she began to
show her independence. She tried to keep her in subjection, but found
her to be unmanageable. When she went out to parties nights, her mother
was very morose over it; and when her first kittens were born, she
disowned her altogether. She never would stay in the room with her.
The little kittens were all four allowed to live, and were around the
kitchen, under people's feet, abused by the children, and Kitty Gray, as
the friend called her, was just wild to get them up into her room. But
Blackie, their grandmother, drew the line here. She stood on the stairs,
and Kittie Gray with her "No Name Series" (as Miss Milly called the
kittens) were never allowed up there.
Poor Kittie Gray! She could not understand it. She had had such a happy
childhood, and now the change was fearful. From a bright, happy cat she
became a snappish, nervous creature, all the time in fear for her
kittens. Sometimes Blackie did try to save the poor little creatures
from the children, but it was of no use. Their mother hated her because
she had defended herself from that boy, and they kicked and cuffed her
till she was obliged to abandon the wretched little creatures to their
fate, and the boy and girl tortured them just as they pleased. Their
mother said Blackie was a thief, stealing things to eat all the time,
and she hated her. She said, as soon as her kittens were born, she would
get rid of her.
When the good friend of Blackie heard of it, she talked seriously to the
woman. She told her that with her feelings she never ought to keep a
cat. She said that Blackie had well paid for her home in keeping them
free from rats. She said, "The cat would not steal if you would give her
enough to satisfy her hunger." Then she tried superstition as a reason
to be kind to her.
"She is a black cat," she said, "and they are supposed to have the power
of making or injuring your fortunes. There are people who would never
dare turn a black cat from their home, and would consider it a mark of
good fortune to have one an inmate of their family. If you get rid of
Blackie, you will never prosper. At least," she said, "have it done
mercifully."
It did seem as if poor Blackie knew she was doomed. She never was like
herself. Though she would go up to her friend's room and cry to be let
in, she was very unhappy, and if any friends came in, she would run and
hide, instead of remaining to be noticed as she had before. She was the
most wretched cat, and all the petting her friend gave her was no
comfort to her. She had a premonition of her fate. Kitty Gray dared not
go near her, and it was between two fires that their kind friend lived
at this time.
She was away for two days, but the servant had promised to look after
the cats and earn the money given her for that purpose. On the lady's
return at night, as she had company, she had no chance to ask after
Blackie. In the morning no little voice greeted her; and later, when she
opened her door, Kitty Gray crept in alone. She looked frightened, and
began hunting around the room, mewing piteously. She was dazed, poor
little creature! by the scene she had witnessed.
The lady said all at once a faintness came over her, and as she fell
back on the lounge she seemed to realize what had taken place. She had
not believed they would dare do this thing. She rang the bell several
times; then the servant came up, looking very much frightened.
"Maggie," said the lady, "where is Blackie?"
The girl hesitated, but at last said, "She is given away."
"That is not true; I want the whole story," said our friend.
Maggie then said she had promised not to speak of Blackie.
"Very well; you can send Miss M. to me, if she is in the house."
Very soon the young lady from the next room came in. She said: "I was
just coming in to tell you this sad story. I leave the house next week
to go West. Had I not proposed going there, I should not have remained
in this house another day. As it is, I have never been downstairs since
you left, and I never shall go to that table again."
Then she told her story. She said the night after our friend went away
she saw Blackie at her door, and petted her and carried her down to her
box and helped the girl give her some food. In the morning she did not
get down to the table till late, and then there seemed something very
unusual in the atmosphere of the house. She went out as usual to see
Blackie, but the mistress of the house shut the door, saying, "That old
black cat is dead, and I want to hear nothing about her." The young lady
said she was so faint she ran upstairs to her room and burst out crying.
Later, when the servant girl came up, she made her tell the story. She
said the girl had been told that if she should let Blackie's friend know
how she died, that she should lose her place, but the girl said, "I
don't care. I hate her; and as soon as I can I will leave here."
She said Blackie had four kittens. As soon as the last one was born, and
poor Blackie lay back exhausted, this fiend in human shape, this cruel
woman, took her and thrust her into a tub of water, holding her down
with all her strength till her struggles and shrieks ended. It was a
wholesale slaughter. Next she put the two good-sized kittens of Kitty
Gray in, and then the four helpless ones of Blackie. The boy and girl
looked on, dancing and yelling till the cries of the kittens were all
still.
The girl said she thought _Hell_ could not be worse than that scene.
They were thrown into the city cart, a dreadful sight, and one
calculated to harden the hearts of the children, who looked on at the
exhibition of these neglected remains.
The lady was speechless. She said she could not bear even to see Kitty
Gray, and she wished the poor little creature had been destroyed with
the others. She wrote a note, giving a week's notice that her rooms
would be at liberty, sent for a carriage, and left the house. She sent a
friend to pack her things, and never entered the house again. But she
wrote a note to the woman, saying that she knew the laws of the land did
not punish such crimes, but she said: "God will avenge that poor black
creature; and the sight that you allowed your children to look upon, of
wholesale cruelty, will prove a curse to them. You will never prosper."
And she never has. The loss of her two best boarders, then the sickness
and death of her husband, the children both of them with some
troublesome disease all the time, filled her cup of woe. In one year's
time her house was empty, and she was obliged to give it up. Wherever
she is, the curse she brought on herself, in the murder of Blackie, will
follow her forever; and she will yet see her children made to suffer for
the cruel natures she encouraged in them.
Many a murderer can trace back his first wrong act to just such crimes
as this one. The first lessons in cruelty are the ones to be dreaded;
the children cannot reason, and they follow the example of those older
than themselves, and their hearts harden, and no later instructions will
ever counteract their influence. And soon the teaching in our
institutions supplement their home lessons of cruelty, and they are
ready for the pastime of vivisection. No wonder that they are adepts in
this criminal abuse of creatures in their power. And God suffers it just
as he allows men and women to follow their wicked natures and commit
crimes for which they have to pay the penalty. I heard my mistress say
this, and I did comprehend it; therefore I do not hesitate to write it
even if it does sound too deep for a cat. There are cats--and _cats_,
and I am of the second kind.
I have told you the story of Blackie that you may know what is passing
around you all the time. It is heartrending to see the poor cats
stealing about, trembling and hiding at the sound of a footstep. Half
starved and homeless, what can they do but steal, to satisfy the pangs
of hunger? Think how many people steal dress and jewels to decorate
their sinful bodies, while cats are satisfied with the forms and clothes
their Maker gave them; and they keep themselves clean without the
expense of a ticket to the public bath-houses.
There is much said about not giving to the poor, for fear of encouraging
laziness. There, again, cats are superior to the human race. You never
find a lazy cat. Give a cat a home, enough to eat, and then give her
work to do, to clear your house of rats, and she will spend days
patiently watching, allowing nothing to divert her attention till she
has accomplished her task, and the rats are all killed or driven away.
And they feel well paid by kind words. Cats are invaluable to amuse
babies, if you will trust them. I heard a lady say that her baby she
left for hours, with the cat sitting on its little crib. She did not
like the idea of nurse bottles, as she nursed her baby (that being the
fashion at that time); and as baby must have something to go to sleep
on, she made of pounded cracker and sugar a pap and put it into little
pieces of muslin tied around with a string. It was about as big as a
cherry, and the long ends of muslin would prevent the baby from
swallowing it. He would go off to sleep contentedly with that comforter
in his mouth. Nino had looked on with wide open eyes and even ventured
to smell of the little comforters.
One day, hearing the baby cry after a good long hour's sleep, the mother
went in, and saw one of the funniest sights. She said the baby was
crying, but Nino was lying on her side, with the little comforter in her
mouth. From the noise she made and the satisfied expression on her face
there is no doubt she enjoyed it, just as one does a new discovery in
cooking. When her mistress took it away from her, she made great
resistance. After that, when the baby had his comforter, she always laid
a fresh one by the side of Nino--a very satisfactory move for her.
She trusted Nino with the children, and Pussy seemed to find as much
pleasure in playing with them as she would have found with cats. There
was never any nice thing given to the children of which Nino was not
given her portion. They never enjoyed their own unless Nino had her full
share.
Cats are invaluable in stores. There is no doubt they often prevent
robberies and protect their master's property. In a grocery store they
do good service. They keep away rats and save a great deal from
destruction.
A nice grocer told my mistress that he would not take any sum of money
for his cat. He had a very large gray cat, and he might always be seen
walking about as if master of the store. His bright ribbon bow on his
neck made him doubly attractive to all the children around. He walked
over the boxes and cases, with velvet paws, and never was known to break
or destroy anything. He would lie quite happy in the window where the
sun came on him and would sleep for hours. But let any one presume on
his not hearing, and he would find a very wide-awake cat.
Dick never allowed cats to visit at the store. He would drive them out
with tooth and nail. But he evidently visited his own friends, for some
days he would be away for hours, though he never was absent nights, his
master seeing that Dick was in his box, on his rug, before he closed the
store.
The grocer's daughter was very fond of cats, and Dick was a prime
favorite. One evening, on returning home, she found a little kitten on
the doorstep. It was not more than two days old. It appealed to her
heart at once, and she decided to keep it. She gave it some milk in a
saucer, but it did not know how to lap it, and she gave it a few drops
on her finger. From the way it drew her finger into its mouth she got an
idea. She had seen dolls' nurse bottles, and she bought one, filled it
with milk just warm, and the little kitten took to it at once. It was so
happy, sleeping peacefully with that bottle in its mouth, that every one
who saw it was delighted. One friend suggested that the girl should
exhibit the kitten in the window of her father's store.
It was a dear little black and white kitten, and lying in a basket lined
with blue, a blue ribbon on its neck, and the nurse bottle in its mouth,
it was a lovely sight. A place was made in the large window, a big box
put in, and the basket put on it, and then the crowd were treated to
this little show. Not only children, but men and women, crowded the
sidewalk; and the exclamations of delight and admiration proved how deep
a hold cats have on real true hearts. The grocer facetiously reminded
them that as they had all enjoyed this free show, they might now come in
and patronize him, saying milk was expensive, and nurse bottles consumed
a great deal of the best; that now he had an extra mouth to feed, he
must get more custom. His joke was appreciated, and in a very few days
he found that the increase of trade, due to the charming picture in his
window, was really worth the experiment. And after the people had once
bought of him, his kind heart and the very nice quality of his goods
made them friends and customers from that time.
But Dick! Wasn't he as mad as a March hare. He looked upon the nurse
bottle as an infernal machine, and the little orphan as a fraud. He
would not go near the basket, but took a seat where he could measure
every drop of milk that was consumed; and although he had always scorned
milk as too weak for him, he would hang around the milk-can, and once,
when it was not given to him, he threw over the can, spilling all the
milk, and then walked away, as if to say, "Now I hope you will give me
my share." And they never after that overlooked him, for he developed
quite a love for what he had before despised.
His master said he had every reason to be grateful to cats as well as
fond of them, for they cleared his store of rats; and one large yellow
cat he had when he first kept a store, had saved him from being robbed.
The thief had got in through a window, and had made some excellent
selections from the boxes and cases, when the cat, seated on a high
shelf, knocked over a tin cracker box, and that fell against another,
and down went the whole shelf of tins, with a noise like thunder. The
man fled, leaving his tools behind him, probably thinking the store was
filled with armed men. Pretty good work for one cat!
It seems to me the best combination a safe could have would be a dog and
a cat. At the least provocation they would fight, and this would
intimidate intruders.
XXIV
RETRIBUTION
A great deal has been said about chloroforming animals. I should prefer
this mode of leaving the world to any other. Miss Eleanor was so unhappy
over hanging, that the desire to have criminals disposed of in that way
was one of her often expressed wishes. If it must be that one murder
should follow another,--"a life for a life,"--why should it be a cruel
one? Justice would be satisfied.
Miss Milly said, "Oh, that would not be satisfactory to those who
delight in punishing their fellow-creatures."
While the law will allow such exhibitions, reserved seats, and tickets
to witness the taking of life, and all the etiquette of a first-class
bull fight in Spain, just so long will they persevere in the most
barbarous way of taking life. It is murder just the same, however it is
done.
Sometimes we really see retribution follow crime. There is no doubt it
is always punished, though it is not given to us to know how it is done.
In the story I am about to relate we can plainly see just how swiftly
retribution followed the sin.
A friend told my mistress the tale, and it made my hair stand on end. I
suffered so deeply in thinking about it that I know I can tell it in a
forcible manner. Tales of this kind, however we may dislike to hear
them, must be put in black and white before we can reach the hearts of
those in whose power rests the future of that crime called vivisection.
Millions of innocent victims are offered up every year in the name of
science. It is simply pandering to the low animal craving for cruelty.
No man or woman can witness the torturing of helpless creatures and come
out of the ordeal innocent. Why is the cannibal worse than the doctor
who uses his knife on helpless creatures, teaching a class of young
people to do likewise? Is life safe when the fiendish craving to operate
comes upon him? Would his wife or his child be sacred? Would he not
practise on them?
And now, as this all-absorbing subject has driven me all around "Robin
Hood's barn," I will tell my story. An elderly lady who was very fond of
cats told the story to her daughter, and from her it came to my
mistress. A niece of this lady, a beautiful girl, had married a young
doctor. Her friends were not pleased with the match, but could not
influence her. She was young, beautiful, and rich. She was her own
mistress, being an orphan, and under no obligation to obey her aunt
unless she would do so willingly. It is a very true saying that love is
blind. She could see no flaw in her idol.
For two years she travelled in Europe with her aunt, the separation
being a great trial to the lovers. On her return they were married, and
his devotion made her life perfect. When their first child was expected,
they felt that nothing would be wanting to complete their happiness.
One year from the date of their marriage she died, and a few hours after
her beautiful little son followed her. Her husband was prostrated with
grief, and in two months from the day of her death he left his home and
sought in travel to forget his sorrow. Three years after, he died in
Rome, of fever.
His friends believed he had recklessly thrown away his life. Without his
wife he cared not to live. But there was a mystery that many friends
suspected, but the truth was never made public. The aunt held the key to
the mystery and revealed the sorrowful secret to her daughter.
Alice was one of the most sensitive girls. She never would tolerate a
falsehood. She had one master passion, and that was love of animals. Her
horse knew her voice and would follow her about like a dog. But of all
her pets, she loved cats the best.
Some time before her engagement to Dr. G. she had a beautiful little
kitten. She seemed to live for that little creature. It was always in
her arms and seemed to know as much as a child. When it was eight months
old it disappeared under the most mysterious circumstances. Search was
made, and great rewards were offered, but all of no avail. She mourned
for it, and had it been a child she could not have suffered more.
She fell ill of low fever, and her friends were very anxious about her.
They never mentioned Little Blossom to her, and she never had another
cat. After her engagement and marriage she was very happy, but never
could speak to her husband about her loss, and he knew nothing of her
love for Little Blossom. They were seldom separated, but two months
before her death her husband left her to visit a patient in a
neighboring town.
As she was well and cheerful, he did not feel any hesitation at leaving
her, though he expected to be away all day. He was surprised, on his
return, that his wife was not watching for him as usual. He ran up to
their room and, finding the door locked, called to his wife to open the
door. Receiving no answer, he was alarmed and, going through his
dressing-room, entered the room. The odor of chloroform caused his heart
to stand still with fear. His wife lay on the lounge insensible.
He threw open the windows and used every means in his power to restore
her, and she at last revived. With a look of horror she recoiled from
him, releasing herself from his arms in frantic haste. He thought she
had lost her reason, and when she again became unconscious he took her
in his arms and carried her into her room, where he laid her on the
couch, and she soon revived. Very tenderly he soothed her, asking her
why she had used a dangerous thing like chloroform so recklessly. He
remembered that she had, before her marriage, used it for neuralgia, but
since he had the care of her he had never allowed it.
She looked with a dazed expression. She trembled all over if he touched
her, and made no answer to his words of tenderness. He telegraphed for
one of the best physicians and a nurse. And then, with the aid of her
maid, who was very much attached to her mistress, he made her as
comfortable as possible.
The maid could give no explanation of the cause of her sickness. Her
mistress had received several letters, and had been shut up in her room
writing for some hours. She had taken her some toast and tea, though she
did not care to take it. She thought she had taken a chill, for she was
shivering and looked very white. She said she would sleep, and did not
wish to be disturbed. So the maid left her, and had heard nothing of her
since, till called by him on his return.
Though conscious when the doctor and nurse came, she closed her eyes and
never spoke a word. After an examination the doctor said, "She has
evidently received some shock that has unbalanced her mind." He advised
her husband to keep away from her, as the moment he came near her she
trembled and shrunk away from him.
It was torture to her husband, but his knowledge taught him that the
doctor was right--that the nearest and dearest are always turned from by
the diseased mind. Though he never left the dressing room, he kept out
of her sight.
Two days from the time she was taken sick she died, and her little son
followed her a few hours after. She never spoke to them, though they
believed her to be conscious. Their agony and grief did not move her at
all, and in the last few hours convulsions prevented any attempt to make
her speak.
This was a crushing blow to her husband. To lose her without one word
prostrated him. He was to know a deeper sorrow--one that would admit of
no consolation. It was a long time before he could look over her papers;
but at last it was necessary, and he aroused himself. Then came
retribution indeed.
A package met his eye, on opening her desk, directed to him in the
handwriting of his wife. The date on the outside convinced him that she
had written it soon after he had left her that fatal morning. It
contained a letter in a masculine hand, but the letter from his wife he
read first.
From that moment his life was ended. He spoke to no one of his friends
of his sorrow, giving the charge of their home into the hands of the
aunt with whom his wife had lived, and then he left his home, to travel
alone.
The letter from his wife, and the one she had received that had caused
all her sorrow, was sent to her aunt, at his death, with a letter he had
also written. The letter from his wife explained all. She wrote him that
after reading the enclosed letter all love for him had died out of her
heart, leaving only disgust. She could not endure the thought of him as
her husband. She was determined rather than live with him she would take
her own life and her child's. She could read only cruel thoughts in his
face, and her life would be filled with the dread that she and her child
would be subjects for his knife.
"My dear Little Blossom was like a child, and I can see her delicate
limbs quivering while you tortured her. I should go mad to live with
you, for her dear little face would always be before me."
She had evidently fought with her weakness, to finish her letter, for
the writing was almost unintelligible.
He at once recognized the handwriting of the other letter, and he knew
that there was no appeal from the truth. He could only say in anguish of
heart, "It is just." The letter was directed to her, in her maiden name,
and had been forwarded to her by her aunt. By some mistake it was over a
year since it had been written, and with other papers was found by her
aunt when she opened her house after a long absence.
It was from one of her old friends, a gentleman of high standing,
holding a very important position in a neighboring city. The news of her
marriage had never reached him, else the letter would never have been
written. He had known her from childhood and had loved her hopelessly.
His letter stated the fact that a power stronger than his own will
obliged him to write to her, and save her from marriage with a man who
would surely make her unhappy.
"If I cause you great sorrow, in this terrible relation, it may save you
from a life-long unhappiness. Doctor L., my cousin, whom you well know,
is my authority, and will swear to the truth of my story. Willard C.,
your little friend and neighbor, will also vouch for its accuracy, for
he took an active part in the scene of which I write.
"Dr. L., as you well know, is a classmate of the man to whom you are
engaged. And as he was a frequent visitor at your home, and a great
friend of your aunt, you will know there is no appeal against his
report. He returned from Germany last week, and when he asked my sister
regarding news of his old friends, she spoke of your engagement.
"'Impossible,' he exclaimed, 'of all things this is the most
unaccountable.'
"'Why?' said my sister; 'they are very fond of each other, and you are
not so shabby, because you have broken with him, to grudge him his
happiness, for he is devoted to her. You will admit it is a good match.'
"'Yes,' he said, 'so it looks to the world, but he never ought to marry
her.'
"Then he changed the subject, though my sister tried to get at his
reason for speaking in this manner. After she left us, I at once
insisted on an explanation. Then to my horror and disgust I heard this
fearful story.
"My cousin said: 'You know my love of animals and my opposition to
vivisection. I have never allowed myself to listen to or assist in any
act of this nature. You know my intimacy with Dr. G., and I never for
one moment suspected him of the cruelty of which I proved him guilty.
"'Visiting Alice M. so often, I knew all her feelings in regard to
animals, and I knew that her love for cats was the master passion of her
life. Her last pet was a beautiful little kitten. You surely remember
it? She called it Little Blossom.
"'One evening I called on her and learned from the servant that Miss
Alice had been ill for some days.
"'On my way home I had to pass Dr. G.'s office, and as I had some
business with him, I thought I would call. I found him very busy. Two
young students were waiting to accompany him to the classroom. He
invited me to go with them, saying, "We have a most interesting subject
to-night." I never thought to ask the nature of the study, and finding
an old friend in the outer room, I remained talking with him.
"'Soon cries the most agonizing came from the next room, and my friend,
an old physician said: "This is hellish work! G. is a fiend when he is
at it. I must go and prevent all the cruelty I can."
"'Some power stronger than my own will made me follow him. Dr. G. was
the actor in one of the cruellest cases of vivisection. A lovely little
kitten about eight months old, a pet kitten evidently, he was torturing,
without the least pretence of anaesthetic. Its cries were fearful, but
there was no release for it. I cried to him to give it something to
deaden the pain, but he was deaf to my request. If ever a man's face was
transformed to that of a demon, it was that man's.
"'Two of the students, to their credit be it said, turned away sick and
faint, while one of them, Willard C. cried out, "My God! it is Alice
M.'s pet, Little Blossom."
"'I gave one spring forward, and--yes, it indeed was dear Little
Blossom, her lovely eyes starting from her head, her soft fur matted
with blood, while her intestines were exposed to his cruel hand, to be
tortured. I tore a long scarf from my neck, and finding a bottle of
chloroform near, I saturated it with it and covered the dear little
kitten, holding it down with my breast till every sound was still. It
was a fearful task, for I was almost overpowered by the chloroform, and
Dr. G. fell upon me like a madman despoiled of his prey. But others came
to my aid, and Willard C. took the body of the little victim, saying he
would bury it himself.
"'To Dr. G. I said: "I will never take your hand again in friendship.
Professional honor requires silence, and in this case sympathy with the
owner or the victim will allow you to escape punishment. You know there
is a law against taking a pet animal."
"'He was in a great rage, saying, "That is not your business. I bought
her of a boy, supposing she was his property. I do not think you are
much of a doctor if you shrink from procuring the knowledge so necessary
to science, however painful the ordeal."
"'"Never would I be a doctor," I answered, "if I must also be a fiend.
Heaven grant you may never have wife or child, for they would not be
safe from you, if you needed subjects."
"'He laughed a scornful laugh, saying, "My wife, if I ever have one,
will be obliged to you."
"'And now, great Heaven! he is engaged to the loveliest and dearest
woman I ever knew, and she is the mistress of Little Blossom whom he
murdered.'
"'It must be prevented,' I said, as soon as I could control my feeling,
for the fearful tale my cousin had so feelingly related, made me sick.
'She shall never be his wife. I will prevent it, even though I have to
tell her this heartrending story. If she should discover the truth after
her marriage, it would kill her.'
"I could not sleep that night. I could see Little Blossom in your arms,
with her blue bow on her neck, just under one ear, and I could feel her
soft little paws, when she would give them to me when you told her to. I
could hear you say: 'Jack, I love her better than I could love a child.
If anything should happen to her, it would kill me, for I mean to keep
her all my life.'
"And then the face of that man, as he bent over that innocent little
creature! Even when she tried to lick his hand it did not touch his
heart.
"Can you blame me for telling you this? I know you so well that I do not
fear that the loss of such a fiend will ever trouble you. I know your
love will die at once, and Little Blossom will be avenged. And I cannot
answer to my conscience if I allow you to marry this man. Wife or child
would not be safe with a man who has entered into this compact with
Satan, called vivisection. Let no mother ever trust her boy after he has
willingly assisted in this cruel pastime.
"Show him this letter, if you wish, and Willard C. will tell you where
he made the grave of your dear little pet."
After Dr. G. read that letter he no longer needed a clew to the loss of
wife and child. Little Blossom was avenged. But at what a fearful cost!
There are often advertisements seen in the daily papers and great
rewards offered for lost pets,--dogs and cats. Never expect to find
them. The doctors will pay more than the offered reward for nice,
well-cared-for dogs and cats; and boys have no regard for those who feel
the loss of their pets. It is to get the highest price.
Is it not the duty of every one who can have influence to use it in
behalf of the dumb creatures who appeal to their mercy? They cannot
speak for themselves.
XXV
EVENTIDE
We are still in our pleasant rooms, and life is very quiet and happy.
Each day I grow less able to go about. I have no inclination to leave
our nice room. It is really true I am growing old. I can hear only in
one ear; but, oh my, don't I hear quickly in the other! The sense of
smell has grown stronger. I think I could smell a rat one mile away. My
eyesight is good. I do not believe even a Boston-born cat ever wears
glasses. Their literary tendencies do not need to be advertised by
glasses.
But alas! there are other indications of old age. I love to lie quiet,
looking in the fire, where I see pictures of the past. My appetite is
good, but I am very particular about my food, and if it does not please
me, I am irritable. Unless the boys or some friends I love come in, I do
not feel inclined to make myself agreeable. It is a real pleasure when
Will takes me on his knee, and I can stick my claws in, just as I used
to, scratching gently, while he says, "Oh, Daisy, you are at your old
tricks!"
But it makes me sad after they have gone. I look in the fire and see the
dear little boys of long ago, dressed so cunning and always so full of
fun. To know that they are no longer mine! These smart young men have
taken their places. Then, indeed, I feel I am an old cat and nearing the
end. I have learned now the meaning of "the beginning of the end." I
realize that I must finish my book at once, before I get too old to
write at all. My thumb is rather stiff and rheumatic, and my "index
claw" not quite as sharp a pen as it used to be, but I think I shall be
able to finish my work.
There is one thing very true. No one realizes my great age. Friends come
in daily, and say, "Oh, Daisy, how lovely you are! and your tail is just
perfect." Of course I know it is true. My tail is just lovely, and my
fur is as soft and luxuriant as it was years ago. But when they say,
"_She_ is beautiful," that arouses all the "old cat Adam" in me, for I
suppose that is the part of us that dies last. After having all my life
behaved like a gentleman, with all his virtues, and none of his vices,
now, in my old age, to be called "She" is more than I can bear. The
advanced woman cat may, like her superiors, have a desire to be men; but
no gentleman cat would ever care to change his nature or sex. Just
because my name is Daisy, they seem to think I am a "Miss Nancy," and
adapt their conversation to suit an inferior intellect.
One young girl came to visit us one day, and we were tired enough of
her. She had no brains and soon used up all her small talk. Then she
gushed over me. It made me sick. I opened my eyes wide at her. This
pleased her so much that she nodded just like a donkey, and clucked at
me just as if she thought me a hen. Then she repeated that awful silly
thing with no sense in at all:--
"'Pussy Cat, Pussy Cat, where have you been?'
'I've been to London to see the Queen.'"
Her voice was thin and pitched high, and it made me tired and cross. She
looked for approval and got disappointed. I backed away from her and
swelled up my tail till it was as big as a muff. She was rather
frightened, but my two friends laughed. They understood that I was
insulted by such childish nonsense. As if I had a mind no deeper than
that silly stuff!
I wanted her to know that "Washington" and the "President of the United
States" and his wife would be much more attractive to me.
London and the Queen! There are snobs enough to visit them without a cat
joining the crowd. I have no doubt the Queen is a nice old lady, but
then there are so many nicer ones who earn their own living that I can
see every day. Such a journey would be useless. I have never heard she
was fond of cats. If she had been, they might be treated better by those
who follow after and pin their faith on royalty.
I did get very nervous over that silly "Pussy Cat." It ran in my head,
and my nice fire pictures were filled with the maudlin trash. And I was
heartily glad when Miss Eleanor said, "Now we will have a little of
Dickens to clear the atmosphere." That calmed my nerves, and I fell
asleep, and I also fell off of the hassock, where I had perched myself.
The other day I heard Miss Milly say that she scarcely ever took up a
paper without finding some interesting anecdote of a dog or cat. Miss
Eleanor said, "What interesting stories we could tell of the pets we
have known!"
I just laughed to myself, thinking how surprised they would be when they
found my manuscript containing many of their nice stories. I never
forget stories I hear, and I hear many I would like to repeat if I had
space. Here is one, however, I cannot overlook.
A friend of ours had a beautiful maltese cat named Primrose. Primrose
had four kittens. They were just perfect, and she was very proud of
them. The mistress decided to keep them all, for the children were
delighted with them. As they were living that summer in a large old
farmhouse, they had plenty of room. Primrose had a large clothes-basket
for her nursery, with a nice rug inside. A more luxurious place could
not have been found for a home. Indeed, had she been a society cat,
feeling the necessity of giving importance to her home, she would, like
"human society people," have called her home "Catmore," "The Mewes," or
"Pussy Villa." But she was content to call it what it really was,--a
good homelike clothes-basket, with beauty and goodness enough inside to
allow of its being nameless.
One day one of the children tied a red ribbon around the neck of
Primrose. She looked so charming that the other children gave up their
pretty hair ribbons to decorate the kittens. There were pink, blue, and
yellow. The fourth one was red, like the mother's. It was a beautiful
sight. The basket looked like one huge bouquet.
Primrose was away when they were decorated, and on her return she looked
with surprise at the brilliant objects in her home. She gave one "cat
call" of surprise. This aroused the kittens, and they climbed up the
side of the basket and mewed for their dinner. Primrose looked at each
one, as if to make sure they were her kittens. Then she jumped into the
basket, boxed all their ears, and tore off every ribbon, with the
exception of the red one like her own. This was her way of saying;
"Stick to your mother's color; it is red. I will not allow children of
mine to indulge in such foolish masquerading!" She only made them
naughty little kittens, for they did crowd their little sister, with the
red ribbon, almost out of the basket. They whispered and licked and
played with each other, but would not speak to her.
The next day, however, the children, finding that Primrose preferred her
own taste in ribbons to theirs, brought red ribbons for them all. Then
the mother was satisfied. Was not that a proof that Primrose could tell
one color from another?
I have one great pleasure--I can go out every fair day. I climb on the
fence, but do not go away from our garden: for in the next house is a
dog, and he is a poor, evil-dispositioned creature. He seems to hate me.
Why he should want to make me answerable for his unhappiness, I cannot
understand. Just as soon as I appear on the fence, he barks and barks
till all the neighborhood is disturbed. I do not notice him, for I know
it is a free country, and I have as good a right to the fence as he has
to his garden.
Norah, the girl where we live, is very kind to me. She keeps the window
open, and I can jump in just when I please. The good kind old "gentleman
of the house" speaks very kindly to me, and I know he understands me,
for one day when I reached over when that dog was barking, and hissed
right in his face once or twice just to aggravate him, this nice old
gentleman laughed, and said, "Smart Daisy!" And I enjoyed it. When I got
over my madness at night, all alone in my basket, all asleep around me,
I did think how sad it was, when I ought to be at peace with all the
world, knowing that my life would soon end, to go and irritate that poor
dog by hissing at him; it made me feel ashamed. But then, I suppose I
shall do it again unless I stay in when he barks.
There was a very nice cat belonging to some people who had recently
moved into one of the houses near. He was a real "out and outer." I
never heard such a voice or such sentiments before. He said he wanted to
kill! It was his mission! Let the rats and mice in the neighborhood
beware! He was there. That was enough; they were doomed. He would make
that back yard a battle-field.
I was carried right off my feet by his eloquence. "Good heavens!" I
thought, "is his name 'Gladstone' or 'Bismarck'? What a loss to me! I
shall never find another rat; he will kill them all."
When weeks and weeks passed on, and I had killed a few, though I did not
tell him, he blustered so, I thought he had killed dozens. The nice cat
in the next house told me that he had never killed one. She said, "He is
a real coward." He is just like some men--all talk and brag, "great cry
and little wool."
I did like that cat. She said she was very soon going into the country
to live. She preferred it to the city. She said where she had lived
there were six cats. She liked them, but preferred a change. They were
all old cats and did not care to play. Three of them had no teeth, and
all the soft pieces of meat were given to them. But they were very poor
company. She could not help them, and was glad of a change; it was too
much like "The Old Ladies' Home" for her. One of them, she said, was so
crazy after valerian that it was given to her all the time, and it made
her just ugly and very quarrelsome.
"Well," I remarked, "I am very glad to know of cats that are cared for.
There are enough suffering around us to make our hearts ache."
"Yes," she said, "and I could tell you tales that would chill your
blood."
I begged her not to. I told her I had seen enough to make me very
unhappy, as I could not help them; but she would tell me one.
She said: "On this very street I saw a nicely dressed young man chase a
poor cat, a half-starved creature, into a sewer hole and beat her in
with his cane; then some boys joined him, and the boys filled in the
opening and stayed there shouting and yelling till she must have been
suffocated. And this fiend in shape of man came away, laughing. If we
could read the papers and knew his name," she added, "probably we should
read he had battered his wife's head with a shovel or killed his old
father."
I went home with a heavy heart. I had not felt well for some time, and I
could not bear to live in such a wicked world. I did not look out of the
window very often, for fear I should see that sewer hole and the ghost
of that poor cat peeping out.
I cannot help them. All I can think of to comfort me is that I am with
people who have all their lives done all they could to help and protect
the poor and afflicted, and every animal they could do for has been made
happy. And I rest in peace, for I believe that a higher power has guided
me, a poor cat, to write this little book, that my life and the many
tales of woe I have listened to and here repeat may go forth and do
their mission.
I feel that the end is near, and I know that the loving care I have had
through my happy life will be mine, for I know we shall meet again. I
shall watch for my loved ones at the gate of Paradise.
* * * * *
It is eventide. The glowing tints have faded from my life picture, but
the beautiful twilight remains. And when I have crossed to the "golden
shore," I hope my memory will come back to my loved ones like the
beautiful afterglow of a perfect sunset.
To all the dear friends who have known and loved Daisy I would say an
affectionate good-by till we meet again.
THE END
* * * * *
Transcriber notes
Obvious spelling and punctuation errors repaired.
Both "boot-jacks" and "bootjacks" used in this text. Bootjack used.
Both "life-long" and "lifelong" used in this text. Life-long used.
Numerous mismatch quote errors ignored.