Topsell's 'Four-footed Beasts' (1658, p. 81), we find the following
curious remarks: 'The root of the herb valerian (called _Phu_), is very
like to the eye of a cat, and wheresoever it groweth, if cats come
thereunto, they instantly dig it up for the love thereof, as I myself
have seen in mine own garden, for it smelleth moreover like a cat.'
There is also an English rhyme on the plant _marum_ to the following
effect:
If you see it,
The cats will eat it;
If you sow it,
The cats will know it.
"In Suffolk, cats' eyes are supposed to dilate and contract with the
flow and ebb of the tide. In Lancashire the common people have an idea
that those who play much with cats never have good health."[E]
[E] Mr. T. F. Thiselton Dyer's "English Folk-lore."
If tincture of valerian is sprinkled on a plant or bush the neighbouring
cats roll and rub themselves on or against it, often biting and
scratching the plant to pieces.--H. W.
In Lancashire it is regarded as unlucky to allow a cat to die in a
house. Hence,[F] when they are ill they are usually drowned.
[F] Harland and Wilkinson, "Lancashire Folk-lore," p. 141.
At Christ Church, Spitalfields, there is a benefaction for the widows of
weavers under certain restrictions, called "cat and dog money." There is
a tradition in the parish that money was given in the first instance to
cats and dogs.[G]
[G] Edwards's "Old English Customs," p. 54.
If a cat tears at the cushions, carpet, and other articles of furniture
with its claws, it is considered a sign of wind. Hence the saying, "the
cat is raising the wind."
Mr. Park's note in his copy of Bourn and Brand's "Popular Antiquities,"
p. 92, says: "Cats sitting with their tails to the fire, or washing with
their paws behind their ears, are said to foretell a change of weather."
In Pules' play of "The Novice" is the line:
Ere Gil, our cat, can lick her ear.
This is from Brand, and I do not think it refers to the weather, but to
an impossibility.
A CAT-CLOCK.
The following curious incident is to be found in Huc's "Chinese Empire":
"One day, when we went to pay a visit to some families of Chinese
Christian peasants, we met, near a farm, a young lad, who was
taking a buffalo to graze along our path. We asked him carelessly
as we passed whether it was yet noon. The child raised his head
to look at the sun, but it was hidden behind thick clouds, and he
could read no answer there. 'The sky is so cloudy,' said he; 'but
wait a moment;' and with these words he ran towards the farm, and
came back a few minutes afterwards with a cat in his arms. 'Look
here,' said he, 'it is not noon yet;' and he showed us the cat's
eyes by pushing up the lids with his hands. We looked at the
child with surprise; but he was evidently in earnest, and the
cat, though astonished, and not much pleased at the experiment
made on her eyes, behaved with most exemplary complaisance. 'Very
well,' said we, 'thank you;' and he then let go the cat, who made
her escape pretty quickly, and we continued our route. To say the
truth, we had not at all understood the proceeding, but did not
wish to question the little pagan, lest he should find out that
we were Europeans by our ignorance. As soon as we reached the
farm, however, we made haste to ask our Christians whether they
could tell the clock by looking into the cat's eyes. They seemed
surprised at the question, but as there was no danger in
confessing to them our ignorance of the properties of the cat's
eyes, we related what had just taken place. That was all that was
necessary; our complaisant neophytes immediately gave chase to
all the cats in the neighbourhood. They brought us three or four,
and explained in what manner they might be made use of for
watches. They pointed out that the pupils of their eyes went on
constantly growing narrower until twelve o'clock, when they
became like a fine line, as thin as a hair, drawn perpendicularly
across the eye, and that after twelve the dilatation
recommenced."
* * * * *
"Archbishop Whately once declared that there was only one noun in
English which had a real vocative case. It was 'cat,' vocative 'puss.' I
wonder if this derivation is true (I take it from a New York journal):
When the Egyptians of old worshipped the cat they settled it that she
was like the moon, because she was more bright at night, and because her
eyes changed just as the moon changes--from new, to crescent, and to
full. So they made an idol of the cat's head, and named it _pasht_,
which meant the face of the moon. _Pasht_ became pas, pus,
puss."--_Church Times_, March 8th, 1888.
"PUSS IN BOOTS" (_Le Chat Botte_)
Is from the "Eleventh Night" of Straparola's Italian fairy tales, where
Constantine's cat procures his master a fine castle and the king's
heiress, first translated into French in 1585. Our version is taken from
that of Charles Perrault. There is a similar one in the Scandinavian
nursery tales. This clever cat secures a fortune and a royal partner for
his master, who passes off as the Marquis of Carabas, but is in reality
a young miller, without a penny in the world.
The above is from Dr. Brewer's "Dictionary of Phrase and Fable," and
goes far to prove the antiquity of what is generally believed to be a
modern story, many believing it to be one of the numberless pleasant,
amusing, and in a sense instructive nursery or children's stories of the
present time.
SIGNS.
D'Urfey, in his poem on Knole, speaks of "The Cats" at Sevenoaks.
"The Cat" or "Cats" is by no means a common sign. The subject is well
alluded to in "The Cat, Past and Present," from the French of M.
Champfleury, translated by Mrs. Cashel Hoey, at page 33. A sign is
pictured from the Lombards' quarter, Paris. It is there over a
confectioner's shop, and is a cat seated, or rather two, a sign being
placed on either side of the corner. Underneath one is "Au Chat," the
other, "Noir." I may add the work is a most excellent and amusing
collection of much appertaining to cats, and is well worthy of a place
in the cat-lover's library.
In Larwood and Hotten's "History of Sign-boards," a work of much
research and merit, occurs the following: "As I was going through a
street of London where I had never been till then, I felt a general damp
and faintness all over me which I could not tell how to account for,
till I chanced to cast my eyes upwards, and found I was passing under a
sign-post on which the picture of a _cat_ was hung." This little
incident of the cat-hater, told in No. 538 of _The Spectator_, is a
proof of the presence of cats on the sign-board, where, indeed, they are
still to be met with, but very rarely. There is a sign of "The Cat" at
Egremont, in Cumberland, a "Black Cat" at St. Leonard's Gate, Lancaster,
and a "Red Cat" at Birkenhead; and a "Red Cat" in the Hague, Holland, to
which is attached an amusing story worthy of perusal.
"The Cat and Parrot" and "The Cat and Lion" apparently have no direct
meaning, unless by the former may be inferred that if you lap like a cat
of the liquids sold at the hostelry, you will talk like a parrot; yet,
according to Larwood and Hotten, it was a bookseller's sign.
"The Cat and Cage" and "The Cat in Basket" were signs much in vogue
during the frost fair on the Thames in 1739-40, a live cat being hung
outside some of the booths, which afterwards was not infrequent at other
festive meetings. What the exact origin was is not quite apparent.
"'Cat and Fiddle,' a public-house sign, is a corruption either of the
French _Catherine la fidele_, wife of Czar Peter the Great of Russia, or
of _Caton le fidele_, meaning Caton, governor of Calais."--DR. BREWER'S
_Dictionary of Phrase and Fable_.
* * * * *
_Cat and Fiddle._--"While on the subject of sign-boards," says a writer
in Cassell's "Old and New London," vol. i., p. 507, "we may state that
Piccadilly was the place in which 'The Cat and Fiddle' first appeared as
a public-house sign. The story is that a Frenchwoman, a small shopkeeper
at the eastern end soon after it was built, had a very faithful and
favourite cat, and that in the lack of any other sign she put over her
door the words, 'Voici un Chat fidele.' From some cause or other the
'Chat fidele' soon became a popular sign in France, and was speedily
Anglicised into 'The Cat and Fiddle,' because the words form part of one
of our most popular nursery rhymes. We do not pledge ourselves as to the
accuracy of this definition."
"In Farringdon (Devon) is the sign of 'La Chatte Fidele,' in
commemoration of a faithful cat. Without scanning the phrase too nicely,
it may simply indicate that the game of _cat_ (trap-ball) and a _fiddle_
for dancing are provided for customers."
Yet, according to Larwood and Hotten's "History of Sign-boards," there
is yet another version, and another, of the matter, for it is stated, "a
little hidden meaning is there in the 'Cat and Fiddle,' still a great
favourite in Hampshire, the only connection between the animal and the
instrument being that the strings are made from cats' entrails (_sic_),
and that a small fiddle is called a _kit_, and a small cat a _kitten_;
besides, they have been united from time immemorial in the nursery
rhyme:
Heigh diddle diddle,
The Cat and the fiddle."
Amongst the other explanations offered is the one that it may have
originated with the sign of a certain _Caton Fidele_, a staunch
Protestant in the reign of Queen Mary, and only have been changed into
the cat and fiddle by corruption; but if so it must have lost its
original appellation very soon, for as early as 1589 we find "Henry
Carr, signe of the _Catte and Fidle_ in the olde Chaunge." Formerly
there was a "_Cat and Fiddle_ at Norwich, the Cat being represented
playing on a fiddle, and a number of mice dancing round her."
_Cat and Bagpipes._--Was not uncommon in Ireland, this instrument being
the national one in place of the fiddle.
When doctors disagree, who shall decide? Thus I leave it.
_Cat and Mutton_, from Cassell's "Old and New London," vol. iv., p. 223:
"Near the Imperial Gas Works, Haggerston, is Goldsmith's row; this was
formerly known as Mutton Lane, a name still given to that part of the
thoroughfare bordering on the southern extremity of London Fields, where
stands a noted public-house rejoicing in the sign of the 'Cat and
Mutton' affixed to the house, and _two_ sign-boards, which are rather
curious. They have upon them the following doggerel lines:
Pray Puss do not tare,
Because the Mutton is so rare.
Pray Puss do not claw,
Because the Mutton is so raw.
_Cat and Wheel._--Most likely to be a corruption of Catherine Wheel;
there was a sign of this name in the Borough, Southwark.
In France some signs are still more peculiar, as a "Cat Playing at
Raquet" (_Chatte qui pelote_), "Fishing Cat" (_La Chatte qui peche_),
"The Dancing Cat," and the well-known "Puss in Boots."
"Whittington and his Cat" is by no means uncommon, and was not unknown
in the early part of the seventeenth century. Somewhere I remember
having seen "Whittington's Cat" without the master, which, I suppose,
arose from the painter not knowing how to portray "Sir Richard."
"_Cat and Kittens._--A public-house sign, alluding to the pewter pots so
called. Stealing these pots is termed 'Cat and kitten sneaking.' We
still call a large kettle a _kitchen_, and speak of a soldier's _kit_
(Saxon, _cytel_, a pot, pan, or vessel generally)."--BREWER'S
_Dictionary of Phrase and Fable_.
May not this sign be intended to mean merely what is shown, "The Cat and
Kittens," indicative of comfort and rest? Or may it have been "Cat and
_Chitterlings_," in allusion to the source from which fiddlestrings were
said to be derived?
_Cat and Tortoise._--This seems to have no meaning other than at a
tavern extremes meet, the fast and the slow, the lively and the stolid;
or it is possibly a corruption of something widely different.
THE LAW ON CAT KILLING.
An "Articled Clerk," writing to _The Standard_ with regard to the
illegality of killing cats, states: "It is clearly laid down in 'Addison
on Torts,' that a person is not justified in killing his neighbour's
cat, or dog, which he finds on his land, unless the animal is in the act
of doing some injurious act which can only be prevented by its
slaughter.
"And it has been decided by the case of 'Townsend v. Watken' 9 last 277,
that if a person sets on his lands a trap for foxes, and baits it with
such strong-smelling meat as to attract his neighbour's dog or cat on to
his land, to the trap, and such animal is thereby killed or injured, he
is liable for the act, though he had no intention of doing it, and
though the animal ought not to have been on his land."
DEAD CATS.
Lifeless cats have been from time immemorial suggestive of foolish
hoaxing, a parcel being made up, or a basket with the legs of a hare
projecting, directed to some one at a distance, and on which the charge
for carriage comes to a considerable sum, the _fortunate_ recipient
ultimately, to his great annoyance, finding "his present" was nothing
else but "a dead cat." Dead cats, which not infrequently were cast into
the streets, or accidentally killed there, were sometimes used as
objects of sport by the silly, low-minded, and vulgar, and it was
thought a "clever thing" if they could deposit such in a drawing-room
through an open window, or pitch the unfortunate animal, often crushed
and dirty, into a passing carriage; but "the time of times" when it was
considered to be a legitimate object to use was that of either a borough
or county election, cats and rotten eggs forming the material with which
the assault was conducted in the event of an unpopular candidate for
honours attempting to give his political views to a depreciatory mob
surrounding the hustings. An anecdote is recorded in Grose's "Olio" of
Mr. Fox, who, in 1784, was a candidate for Westminster, which goes far
to show what dirty, degrading, disgusting indignities the would-be
"_people's_ representative" had to endure at that period, and with what
good humour such favours of popular appreciation, or otherwise, were
received:
"During the poll, a dead cat being thrown on the hustings, one of Sir
Cecil Wray's party observed it stunk worse than _a fox_; to which Mr.
Fox replied there was nothing extraordinary in that, considering it was
a 'poll cat.'"
This is by no means the only ready and witty answer that has been
attributed to Mr. Fox, though not bearing on the present subject.
[Illustration]
THE CAT AS A TORMENTOR.
Shakespeare, in "Lucrece," says:
"Yet foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally,
While in his holdfast foot the weak mouse panteth."
In an essay on "The Art of Ingeniously Tormenting" (1753), the cat is
alluded to in the frontispiece--a cat at play with a mouse, below which
is the couplet:
The cat doth play,
And after slay.
_Child's Guide_.
Giovanni Batista Casti, in his book, "Tre Giuli" (1762), likens the cat
to one who lends money, and suddenly pounces on the debtor:
Thus sometimes with a mouse, ere nip,
The cat will on her hapless victim smile,
Until at length she gives the fatal grip.
Again, John Philips, in the latter part of the seventeenth century, in
his poem of "The Splendid Shilling," referring to debtors, writes:
Grimalkin to Domestick Vermin sworn
An everlasting Foe, with watchful Eye
Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky Gap
Protending her fell Claws, to thoughtless Mice
Sure Ruin.
HERALDRY, ETC.
A cat (hieroglyphically) represents false friendship, or a deceitful,
flattering friend.
The cat (in heraldry) is an emblem of liberty, because it naturally
dislikes to be shut up, and therefore the Burgundians, etc., bore a cat
on their banners to intimate they could not endure servitude.
"It is a bold and daring creature and also cruel to its enemy, and never
gives over till it has destroyed it, if possible. It is also watchful,
dexterous, swift, pliable, and has good nerves--thus, if it falls from a
place never so high, it still alights on its feet; and therefore may
denote those who have much forethought, that whatsoever befalls them
they are still on their guard."
"In coat armour they must always be represented as full-faced, and not
showing one side of it, but both their eyes and both their ears.
_Argent_ three cats in pale _sable_ is the coat of the family of Keat of
Devonshire."
Many families have adopted the cat as their emblem. In "Cats, Past and
Present," several are noted. In Scotland, the Clan Chattan bore as their
chief cognizance the wild cat, and called their chief "Mohr au Chat,"
the great wild cat. Nor is the name uncommon as an English surname,
frequently appearing as Cat, Catt, Catte; but the most strange
association of the name with the calling was one I knew in my old
sporting days of a _gamekeeper_ whose name was Cat.
PERFORMING CATS.
Cats, unlike dogs, are not amused by, nor do they in any way take an
interest in what are termed "tricks." Performing dogs will sit about
their master watching anxiously for their turn, and they have been known
on more than one occasion to slip before the dog that has next jump
through the hoop or over a stick, barking merrily, exulting in having
excelled the other; generally they await with intense eagerness the
agility of the others and strenuously try to surpass them. Possibly this
is so from the long time the dog has been under the dominion of man, and
_taught_ by him how to be of service, either in _hunting_, _sporting_,
_shepherding_, _watching_; in a sense his friend, though more his bond
or slave, even to dragging carts, waggons, and sleighs, to fetch and
carry, even to smuggle. _Long teaching_, _persistent teaching from time
immemorial_ has undoubtedly had its due effect, and in some instances,
if not all, has been _transmitted_, such as in the pointer and setter,
which particular sections have been known to require little or no
present training, taking to their duties naturally, receiving but little
guidance as to how much, when, and where such instinctive qualities are
required.
With the cat it is widely different. Beyond being the "necessary" cat,
the pet cat or kitten, it never has been an object of interest, beyond
that of keeping from increase those veritable plagues, rats and mice;
the enormous use it has thus been to man has had but scant
acknowledgment, never thoroughly appreciated, vastly underrated, with
but little attention not only to its beauty, nor in modifying its nature
to the actual _requirements_ of civilisation. The cat through long ages
has had, as it were, to shift for itself; with the _few_ approved, with
the _many_ not only neglected, but in bygone days, and with some even in
the present, it has been, and is looked on as a thing that is not to be
cared for, or domesticated, but often absolutely ill-treated, not
because there has been wrong done, but because it is _a cat_. I heard a
man of "gentle blood" once say that there was no good in a cat, and the
only use they were, as far as _he_ could see, was as an animal to try
the courage of his terriers upon.
Happily all are not alike, and so the cat survives, and by the present
generation is petted and noticed with a growing interest. Though long
closely connected with man in many ways, still, as I have before said,
it has been left to itself to a certain degree. In no way, or but
slightly, has it been guided; and thus, as a domestic animal, it has
become what it is--one repelling most attempts to make it of the same
kind of value as the dog; its great powers of observation, coupled with
timidity, make a barrier to its being trained into that which its nature
dislikes; and its natural and acquired repugnance to confinement and
tuition prevent it--at least at present--from being "the humble
servant," as the dog, "past and present," has been and is.
Studying closely the habits of the cat for years, as I have, I believe
there is a natural sullen antipathy to being taught or restrained, or
_made_ to do anything to which its nature or feelings are averse; and
this arises from long-continued persecution and no training. Try, for
instance, to make a cat lie still if it wants to go out. You may hold it
at first, then gently relinquish your grasp, stroke it, talk to it,
fondle it, until it purrs, and purrs with seeming pleasure, but it
_never once forgets it is restrained_, and _the first_ opportunity it
will make a sudden dash, and is--gone.
However, all animals, more or less, may be trained, and the cat, of
course, is among them, and a notable one. By bringing them up among
birds, such as canaries, pigeons, chickens, and ducklings, it will
respect and not touch them, while those wild will be immediately
sacrificed.
One of the best instances of this was a small collection of animals and
birds in a large cage that used to be shown by a man by the name of
Austin, and to which I have already referred. This man was a lover and
trainer of animal life, and an adept. His "Happy Family" generally
consisted of a cat or two, some kittens, rats, mice, rabbits, guinea
pigs, an owl, a kestrel falcon, starlings, goldfinches, canaries,
etc.--a most incongruous assembly. Yet among them all there was a
_freedom of action_, a self-reliance, and an air of happiness that I
have never seen in "performing cats." Mr. Austin informed me that he had
been a number of years studying their different natures, but that he
found the cats the most difficult to deal with, only the most gentle
treatment accomplishing the object he had in view. Any fresh
introduction had to be done by degrees, and shown outside first for some
time. It was quite apparent, however, that the cats were _quite at their
ease_, and I have seen a canary sitting on the head of the cat, while a
starling was resting on the back. But all are gone--Austin and his
pets--and no other reigns in his stead.
Occasionally one sees, at the corners of some of the London streets, a
man who professes to have _trained_ cats and birds; the latter,
certainly, are clever, but the former have a frightened, scared look,
and seem by no means comfortable. I should say the tuition was on
different lines to that of Austin. The man takes a canary, opens a cat's
mouth, puts it in, takes it out, _makes_ the cat, or cats, go up a short
ladder and down another; then they are _told_ to fight, and placed in
front of each other; but fight they will not with their fore-paws, so
the _master_ moves their paws for them, _each looking away_ from the
other. There is no training in this but _fear_. There is an innate
timidity, the offspring of long persecution, in the cat that prevents,
as a rule, its performing in public. Not so the dog; time and place
matter not to him; from generation to generation he _has been used to
it_.
In "Cats Past and Present," by Champfleury, there are descriptions of
performing cats, and one Valmont de Bomare mentions that in a booth at
the fair of St. Germain's, during the eighteenth century, there was a
cat concert, the word "Miaulique," in huge letters, being on the
outside. In 1789 there is an account of a Venetian giving cat concerts,
and the facsimile of a print of the seventeenth century picturing a cat
showman.
"In 1758, or the following year, Bisset, the famous animal trainer,
hired a room near the Haymarket, at which he announced a public
performance of a 'CATS' OPERA,' supplemented by tricks of a horse, a
dog, and some monkeys, etc. The 'Cats' Opera' was attended by crowded
houses, and Bisset cleared a thousand pounds in a few days. After a
successful season in London, he sold some of the animals, and made a
provincial tour with the rest, rapidly accumulating a considerable
fortune."--MR. FROST'S _Old Showman_.
"Many years ago a concert was given at Paris, wherein cats were the
performers. They were placed in rows, and a monkey beat time to them.
According as he beat the time so the cats mewed; and the historian of
the FACT relates that the diversity of the tones which they emitted
produced a very ludicrous effect. This exhibition was announced to the
Parisian public by the title of _Concert Miaulant."--Zoological
Anecdotes._