KITTY AND THE FISH.
One morning, when Minnie went down stairs, she found Fidelle apparently
much distressed at having stepped into some water which the chamber girl
had accidentally spilled on the floor.
Puss shook one foot and then another in the most dainty manner imaginable,
and then, going to a dry place, sat down to lick her paws.
"What can be the reason cats don't like water?" Minnie asked her mother.
"Leo thinks a bath very refreshing, and I suppose Tiney would if Kate
did not scrub her so hard."
"I don't know, my dear, why it is so; but they do almost always dread
the water. Though they are extremely fond of fish, they seldom venture
into the water after it, but wait for it to be brought to them.
"But there are cases where they have become expert fishers. I remember
an account now which I think will interest you.
"A widow woman by the name of Rogers had a large family of children
dependent on her for support. By practising the greatest economy, they
were able to live for several years. At last there came a famine, when
provision of every kind was so scarce that this poor family were reduced
to the verge of starvation. Twenty-four hours had passed without one
mouthful of food, and the widow knew not where to obtain any; when,
hearing a faint scratching at the door, she went to open it. She saw
there a sight which made tears of grateful joy stream from her eyes. The
cat, which had long been an inmate of the family, a sharer of their
prosperity and adversity, with whom one of the children had divided her
last crust,--this cat stood at the door, holding in her mouth a large
fish, which furnished all the household with a plentiful meal.
"What was more remarkable, puss continued to do this for nearly three
weeks, until better times dawned upon them, when she suddenly ceased the
habit, and never was known to take to the water again."
"Wasn't that a good kitty, mamma?" cried Minnie, giving Fidelle an extra
squeeze. "She was a useful cat."
"Yes, my dear; and when your father comes home, I think he can find a
number of instances where cats have overcome their dislike of wet feet,
and have become expert fishers."
In the evening, Minnie did not forget to remind her father that she
liked to hear stories. Running up on the steps, she took the volume from
its place, and playfully put it into his hands.
After repeating to him the incident her mother had related in the
morning, he turned over the leaves, and presently found the following:--
"At Caverton Mill, in Roxburghshire, a beautiful spot on the Kale water,
there was a famous cat domesticated in the dwelling house, which stood
two or three hundred yards from the mill. When the mill work ceased, the
water was nearly stopped at the dam head, and below, therefore, ran
gradually more shallow, often leaving trout, which had ascended when it
was full, to struggle back with difficulty to the parent stream.
"So well acquainted had puss become with this circumstance, and so fond
was she of fish, that the moment she heard the noise of the mill clapper
cease, she used to scamper off to the dam, and, up to her belly in
water, continue to catch fish like an otter."
"That is really a curious instance," remarked Mrs. Lee, "where the
instinct of puss amounted almost to reason. She connected the stopping
of the wheel with the shutting off the water, and found by experience
that at such times the trout could be seen."
"Here is another," added Mr. Lee, "related by the Plymouth Journal, in
England."
"A cat who had for many years attached herself to the guard house, was
in the constant habit of diving into the sea, and bringing up the fish
alive in her mouth, for the use of the soldiers. At the time this
account was given, she was seven years old, and had long been a useful
caterer. It is supposed that she first ventured into the water, to which
cats have a natural aversion, in pursuit of the water rats, but at
length became as fond of it as a Newfoundland dog. She took her regular
walk along the rocks at the edge of the point, looking out for her prey,
and ready to dive in at a moment's notice."
"We have a neighbor at home," said Ida, "who cannot endure the sight of
a cat. I wish she could hear some of these incidents; it is probable
that it might change her opinion of their intelligence."
"They are really affectionate little creatures," rejoined Mr. Lee, "as
this story would convince any one."
"A cat, which had been well treated in a family, became extremely
attached to the eldest child, a little boy who was very fond of playing
with her. She bore with patience all maltreatment which she received
from him without making any resistance. As the cat grew up, however, she
daily quitted her playfellow for a time, from whom she had before been
inseparable, in order to catch mice; but even when engaged in this
employment, she did not forget her friend; for as soon as she had
caught a mouse, she brought it alive to him.
"If he showed any inclination to take her prey from her, she let the
mouse run, and waited to see whether he was able to catch it. If he did
not, the cat darted at it, seized it, and laid it again before him; and
in this manner the sport continued, as long as the child showed any
desire for the amusement.
"At length, the boy was attacked by small pox, and during the early
stages of the disorder the cat never quitted his bedside; but as his
danger increased, it was found necessary, on account of her cries, to
remove the cat, and lock her up. The boy died. On the following day,
puss, having escaped from her confinement, immediately ran to the
chamber where she hoped to find her playmate.
"Disappointed in this, she sought for him with great uneasiness, and
loud cries, all over the house, till she came to the door of the room
where the corpse had been placed. Here she lay down in silent melancholy
till she was again locked up. After the child was buried, the cat was
set at liberty, when she suddenly disappeared. It was not until a
fortnight later that she returned to the well-known apartment quite
emaciated. She refused nourishment, and soon ran away again with dismal
cries. At last, compelled by hunger, she made her appearance every day
at dinner time, but always left the house as soon as she had eaten the
food that was given her. No one knew where she spent the rest of her
time, till she was found one day under the wall of the burying ground,
close to the grave of her favorite.
"So indelible was her attachment to her deceased friend, that till his
parents removed to another place, five years afterwards, she never,
except in the greatest severity of winter, passed the night any where
else than close to the grave.
"Ever afterwards she was treated with the utmost kindness by every
person in the family, though she never exhibited partiality for any of
them."