An eccentric and parsimonious old lady, who died in a small village in the
State of Maine, some twenty years ago, always kept a half dozen cats about
the house. She was a dried-up-looking old crone, and some ill-minded
people had gone so far as to call her a witch, doubtless because of her
oddities and her cats, "black, white, and brindled." When one of these
delightful night-prowlers departed this life, the old lady would have the
skin of the animal stuffed, to adorn her mantel shelf. My informant said
he had once seen them with his own eyes, arranged along on the shelf, some
half score of them, looking as demure and comfortable as a stuffed cat
could, while the old woman sat by the fireplace, croning over her knitting
work.
[Illustration: STUFFED PETS.]
The woman paid no bills that she could avoid, always pleading poverty as
her excuse for the non-fulfilment of her responsibilities.
One dark and stormy night she was taken very sick, and by a preconcerted
signal to a neighbor,--the placing of a light in a certain window,--help
was summoned, including the village doctor, to whom she owed a fee for
each visit he had ever made her. But this was fated to be the doctor's
last call to that patient.
"O, doctor, then I am dying at last--am I?"
The physician assured her such was the case.
"Then, doctor, I must tell you that you've been very patient with me, and
have hastened day or night to see me, in my whims, as well as my real
sickness, and you shall be rewarded. I have no money, but you see all my
treasures arranged along on the mantel-piece there?"
"What!" exclaimed the doctor; "you don't call those cats treasures, I
hope!"
"Yes, they are my only treasures, doctor. Now, I want to be just to _you_,
above all others, because you've not only served me as I said, but you've
often sent me wood and provisions during the cold winters--"
Here she became too feeble to go on, and the doctor revived her with some
cordial from his saddle-bags, when she took breath, and continued,--
"See them, doctor; eleven of them. Which will you choose?"
The doctor, with as much grace as possible, declined selecting any one of
the useless stuffed skins; when the old lady, by much effort, raised her
head from the pillow, and said, "Well, I will select for you. Take the
black one--take--the black--cat--doctor!" and died.
Her dying words so impressed him, that he took the cat home, and, on
opening her,--for it was very heavy,--he found that the skin contained
nearly a hundred dollars, in gold.