_Cats Among the Ancient Egyptians--Feline Peculiarities--Prince
Krapotkine's Cat--Sailor s Superstitions About Cats--How a Cat Asked
for a Surgical Operation--Steamboat Cats and their Travels--Display of
Feline Gratitude--The Cat that Gathered Apples for Its Master--Putting
Out a Fire--Cats as Foster-mothers for Rabbits, Foxes and Other Small
Animals--Fishing with Hook and Line--Superstitions of Cats--Fashionable
Cat Parties--How Dan saved the House from Burning--A wonderful Troupe of
Performing Cats--The Lesson of Kindness to Pussy._
As intimated in the last chapter, cats were the subject of conversation
between Mr. Graham and his sons, after the story of the horse that
lifted the cat out of his manger when he wanted to eat his oats.
[Illustration: 9094]
Several feline anecdotes were related, and then the further
consideration of the topic was postponed until the next evening, when
Mr. Webb formed one of the party. Henry Johnson happened in during the
course of the evening and contributed his share to the general fund of
entertainment.
“Cats are among the earliest animals domesticated by man,” said Mr.
Graham, “but possibly they are ante-dated by the horse and dog. We find
these three animals appearing on the sculptures and paintings of the
ancient Egyptians, by whom cats were held in the highest reverence.
Temples were erected in their honor, their bodies were mummified after
death, sacrifices and devotions were offered up to them, and it was
customary for a family to shave off its eyebrows whenever a cat died in
its house.”
“Superstitions concerning cats have descended to the present time,” Mr.
Webb remarked, when Mr. Graham paused. “In the Middle Ages, they were
supposed to be the familiars of witches, and a black cat was an object
of dread rather than of veneration, as it was supposed to be the
embodiment of Satan. Sailors formerly had a dread of cats on shipboard,
as a sign of ill-luck, and to a considerable extent this belief
continues among them to-day. Many people predict rain when they see a
cat washing its face, and a cat-call on a housetop is by some persons
held to be a sign of death. It was a current belief in the Middle Ages
that a cat had nine lives, and the saying is a common one how. The
prevalence of this belief has been the cause of a great many cruelties
inflicted on this graceful animal.
“Cats do not usually attach themselves to persons,” continued Mr.
Webb, “their preference being rather for places than individuals. This
preference gave rise to the belief, which was endorsed by Buffon and
other naturalists, that the cat is incapable of affection, and retains
in its domesticated state its savage ferocity, which is merely disguised
by cunning and restrained by selfishness. But there are many stories
told, on perfectly good authority, to illustrate the affection of cats
for their owners and friends, though it is proper to say that instances
of personal affection are far less numerous in the cat than in the dog.”
[Illustration: 0095]
“Dr. Johnson and Southey were fond of cats,” said Mr. Graham. “Southey
declared that no house was properly furnished without a child rising
three years and a kitten rising three weeks. Lord Chesterfield left a
sum of money for the support of his favorite cat, Prince Krapotkine,
like other famous captives, has a prison pet--a cat,--which has been a
jail bird almost from its birth, and has grown to be a great favorite
with the Prince. Like Sir Walter Scott's cat, this cat can do everything
but talk.”
[Illustration: 0096]
Mr. Graham then read the following from Prince Krapotkine's story of his
prison life:--
“When the cat wants my door opened, it does not mew, it stretches itself
to its full length and shakes the latch with its paw. If the door had
another kind of fastening, it would certainly open it by raising the
latch. It knows perfectly well the meaning of all the bells which ring
in the prison--that to bid the inmates to rise in the morning, that
which sounds before soup is served. Its dictionary is very limited, but
it understands perfectly the meaning of the words it knows. Thus, in the
evening when I walk in my room, it performs all sorts of gambols, and by
making certain special sounds, endeavors to make me play with it at hide
and seek--it plays this game exactly as children do, and insists that
each party should hide in his turn--or to draw a string along for it to
run after. If, in reply to its invitation to play, I say to it, 'What do
you want? Food? Drink?' it is displeased, and goes with a sulky air to
sit behind my little stove. But when I say, 'the string?' it replies
immediately by two sounds, concerning the affirmative tone of which
there can be no doubt. I could relate other instances of sagacity, but I
do not wish to impose upon the credulity of your readers.
[Illustration: 9098]
There is, however, an interesting point which it would be well to have
cleared up. Are cats susceptible to music? Without being able to affirm
positively, I believe they are. When my cat was little, it several times
seemed to us that it found a real pleasure in listening to some air of
a pleasing cadence. For example, the waltz from Faust, provided it was
sung by a very high and pure voice. We even thought that music caused
it to assume almost a sentimental air. It is unnecessary to say that my
cat, like all others, is very susceptible to caresses, and, for I must
confess its faults, to flattery. In general, cats are less intelligent
than dogs, but, by care and attention, their intelligence can be highly
developed. I am sorry that I have not sufficient time, or I should
undertake the education of my cat by a system of cards, as proposed by
Lubbock.”
“Speaking of sailors' superstitions about cats,” said Mr. Webb, “a lady
told me not long ago that she bought a Persian cat in Calcutta and
brought it home on a sailing ship. Every time they were becalmed the
sailors would try to get her cat and throw it overboard, for they think
that doing so would raise a wind.
“This is an old superstition of the mariner. It would be hard to say how
it originated, but it is probable that it was originally intended as
a sacrifice to Neptune, the god of the sea; as on land the gods were
propitiated by the offerings of the devout, so Jack sought to calm
the sea god's fury by offering him a cat. The old sailor, even in this
meaning of the word 'cat's-paw.' It is simply a quaint idea of the
marine, who sees in the sudden and peculiar zephyr that ruffles the
water, a resemblance to the frolics of the cat. Does pussy jump around
good-humoredly there will be a good breeze and fair. But when she arches
her back and swells her tail, then look out, for her scowling look will
be as a calm to the storm it foreshadows, and the flashes from her
eyes but as sparks to the blue streaks of zig-zag lightning which will
certainly soon illuminate the sky.”
“I've a story about an intelligent cat that belonged to a doctor,”
said Charley. “I found it in the _Tribune_; it is dated at Deposit, and
signed O. T. Bundy.”
All listened while Charley read the following:
“My cat, which we knew by the name of 'Peter,' was a sufferer from a
large abscess on the lower jaw, directly underneath. I attempted to
lance it, with what proved to be a broken pointed instrument. He cried
while the attempt was being made, but did not run away from me, advanced
age, regards the cat as a veritable weather gauge. The old landsman
is often puzzled to account for some of the strange sea terms, and
questions are often asked as to the although I did not hold him, or try
to. Of course I failed to introduce the instrument into the sore, and
showed what I held in my hand. I then took a sharp lance from the case
and showed it to him.
[Illustration: 8099]
He came up directly to me and raised his head in such a way that the
sore was exposed, and held it in this position until I had completely
opened the abscess and withdrawn the lance, not crying or offering to go
away from me. Now the blunt tool was torture, and it gave him no
relief, yet he must have thought from my talk and manner that relief was
intended, or he would never have held still for the second trial.”
“Here's a story about a steamboat cat,” said George, “which was written
by somebody for the _New Orleans Pickayune_.”
“In July the steamer. _Golden Rule_ arrived here from Cincinnati. A
little common gray cat lived on the boat, that had been left at Bayou
Sara, by accident. She had stepped on the wharf boat and had not
returned in time. The officers on the _Golden Rule_ felt sorry to lose
her, for she had left three little kittens behind, who missed their
mother sadly. But, to the surprise of all, the next boat that arrived
down brought puss as a passenger or stowaway. She remained on board in
her new quarters till near midnight, then made her way to the _Golden
Rule_.
[Illustration: 0100]
The watchman saw her come on board and witnessed the happy meeting
between the kittens and their mother. I was a passenger on the boat as
she returned to Cincinnati that trip, and puss was quite a heroine. But,
alas, the temptations to visit wharf boats was so strong that she got
left behind again, somewhere on the Indiana side of the Ohio, I have
forgotten the town. Real grief was manifested by her friends when they
missed her; they thought she was lost to them forever. On their arrival
at Cincinnati, the steward left the boat, and the kittens disappeared
with him. Three or four days afterward the _Ariadne_ arrived from below,
and the gray pussy came up on her. No one knows how she found out that
boat was bound up the river instead of down, for other boats had stopped
at that place, but only this one going up to Cincinnati. Puss was soon
installed in her old home again, but the kittens were gone, and she was
lonesome; so she went out on the wharf-boat and found a poor, forlorn
kitten nearly as large as herself. This she carried in her mouth up into
the cabin of the _Golden Rule_ and placed it on a chair, and insisted
that it should be noticed and caressed, nor would she eat until it was
supplied, and she had it with her last winter.”
“That steamboat cat reminds me of one in New Haven,” said Henry, who
felt that it was his turn to tell a story. “I found the anecdote in the
_New Haven News_:
“'A curious story is told of a cat which lives on the Starin steamboat
dock. The cat will occasionally take a notion to visit New York, and if
driven off the boat at one place, will be seen to jump on at another, in
time to avoid getting left. She will stay in New York two or three
days at a time, and when her visit is concluded, will return and remain
contented in New Haven for a season, until the fever for traveling comes
on again. The persistency and ingenuity of the cat in boarding the boat
for one of these journeys excites wonder, as the cat has a family of
kittens living in New Haven. These kittens appear to be resigned to the
temporary absence of their mother, but are always glad when she gets
back from New York.'”
“There are many instances of the display of gratitude by cats,” Mr. Webb
remarked. “One of the best I know of is told by a lady in California, as
follows:
“'My cat, with regard to his meals, is a most grateful cat, and, however
hungry he may be, he never thinks of eating until he has purred his
thanks and rubbed his head against my hand. This trait of character was
once displayed in the most affecting manner. One day 'Pret' had been
shut up in the loft, on account of a lady visitor who had a strange
antipathy to cats. I was going to town that day, and did not return
until after midnight. As I was going upstairs I heard 'Pret's' voice
calling me in a very anxious manner, and, on inquiry, I found that the
poor cat had been forgotten, and had been shut up all day without a
morsel of food or a drop of milk. Of course I immediately procured some
milk and meat and carried it up to him. The poor creature was half wild
with happiness when he heard my footsteps, and on seeing the plate of
meat and saucer of milk he flew at them like a mad thing. But scarcely
had he lapped a drop of milk when he left the saucer, came up to me with
loud purring, and caressed me, as if to express his thanks. Then he went
to the plate, but only just touched it with his nose, and again came to
thank me for having attended to his wants, both of food and drink. It
quite brought the moisture to my eyes to see the affectionate creature,
though nearly wild with hunger and thirst, refrain from enjoying his
food until he had returned thanks.'”
Mr. Graham said the Californian story reminded him of a Connecticut one,
that appeared a short time before, in a New Haven paper. The story was
that Mr. George Baldwin had several apple and pear trees, and last fall
his cat awoke to the fact that these trees bore fruit which his master's
family liked to eat.
[Illustration: 9102]
One day in October, the cat's owner was surprised by the action of his
pet. The animal was walking slowly about one of the trees, stopping
every minute or two to gaze up at the apples on the boughs. After
completing its tour of inspection, the cat climbed the tree, and slowly
made its way out on a limb toward what was probably the ripest and
largest apple of several bushels of fruit on the trees. When it reached
its goal, the animal made several attempts to break the stem with its
teeth, and finally succeeded. It had taken care to bite off a bit of the
stem long enough to be securely held, and with its prize in its mouth
the cat began its descent. Once on the ground, the apple was carried
to a porch and laid by the side of a door opening into the house. The
exploit was frequently repeated by Mr. Baldwin's sagacious puss, and the
side of the porch was usually lined with apples.
“Did anybody ever hear,” said Charley, “of the cat that shared its
dinner with its master?”
Nobody had heard of this wonderful cat, thereupon Charley read the
following from the _Manchester Times_:
“A member of the Zoological Society says: I once had a cat who always
sat up to the dinner-table with me and had his napkin round his neck,
and his plate and some fish. He used his paw, of course, but he was very
particular, and behaved with extraordinary decorum. When he had finished
his fish I sometimes gave him a piece of mine. One day he was not to be
found when the dinner bell rang, so we began without him. Just as the
plates were put round for the entrée, puss came rushing upstairs and
sprang into his chair with two mice in his mouth. Before he could be
stopped he dropped a mouse on to his own plate, and then one on to mine.
He divided his dinner with me as I had divided mine with him.”
There was a laugh all around over this amusing incident, and when it
subsided, George asked what became of the mouse which the cat put on its
master's plate. History seemed to be silent on that point, but whether
the youth supposed the dainty was or was not devoured by the gentleman,
we will not inquire. The subject was not discussed, as the attention
of the party was next turned to a cat that put out a fire. The incident
happened in Monongahela, Pa., and was as follows:
A family went out to a meeting, leaving Master Tom, a favorite cat, in
sole occupation of the house.
[Illustration: 8103]
On their return the cat's actions led to an examination, when his feet
were found to be blistered. The sitting-room served to explain matters.
A live coal had been thrown out and set the carpet on fire. Puss had
evidently clawed out the fire for a considerable distance about the spot
burned, leaving nothing but a center of ends, charred and frizzled. All
the circumstances indicated that the cat had put out the fire.
“Cats are very fond of valerian,” said Mr. Graham, “and I have heard of
a woman in St. Thomas who turned this fact to practical use.”
“How was that?” queried Mr. Webb.
“She detected the odor of sewer gas in her parlor,” was the reply, “and
as the landlord from whom she leased the house would not believe in the
existence of the gas, she hit upon a device to convince him. She first
poured a quantity of valerian down the pipe of one of the basins in the
upper story. The odor of valerian presently filled the parlor below.
Procuring two cats she turned them loose in the parlor. They immediately
evinced delight at the odor, and ran to an adjoining closet where it was
strongest. They finally jumped upon a shelf in the closet, and there, by
their contentment, showed that they had traced the odor to its source.
The householder sent for a plumber, who, removing the lath and plaster,
discovered a leak in the pipe which communicated with the sewer.”
[Illustration: 0105]
Feline peculiarities were discussed at the conclusion of the foregoing
story. Some one told about a cat in Missouri, which had four kittens,
and one day she went into the woods and brought in two young rabbits,
which she added to her family. She licked and caressed the little
rabbits, just as she did her own kittens, and the new comers got along
with the others on perfectly friendly terms.
Then somebody else told about four young foxes in Indiana that have been
adopted by a cat. She seems to manifest as much maternal solicitude and
motherly fondness for them as though they were her own. The foxes
have accepted the situation in a spirit of meekness, and are seemingly
satisfied. This was followed by a story of a cat whose kittens had been
drowned; she found three young squirrels that she adopted and tenderly
nursed.
“That is not so strange,” said Mr. Graham, “as the performance of a
French cat, which I read about in the _Revue Scientifique_. One day the
cat came into the house, having in its mouth a sparrow, caught in the
neighboring garden. Scarcely had puss entered the room when she let
the bird free, evidently for the purpose of playing with it, as is the
custom of cats with mice before devouring them. The sparrow, having one
of its wings injured, could not escape by flying, but boldly began to
attack its huge enemy by fierce blows on the nose with its beak. The cat
seemed astonished at the attack, and beat a retreat. From that moment
the two seemed to forget their natural instincts and came to a mutual
understanding. The truce continued and gradually grew to a fraternal
friendship. They ate, played and slept together. Often they ran about
the house, the sparrow perched on the cat's back, and sometimes carried
gently in the cat's mouth, from which it was released on the first wish
to be free. When feeding together, puss never touched a morsel till her
friend had first partaken.”
“I read not long ago,” said Charley, “a story about a friendship between
a cat and a rat. It was signed C. A. B., and appeared in Our Animal
Friends. Here it is:
“'My cousin was much plagued by rats; they were so troublesome that
every method was used to exterminate them. One day the cook thought she
would try to scald them, and, watching her opportunity, threw a pail
of boiling water, which covered the back of one, taking the hair and a
portion of the skin off,--but he was enabled to reach his hiding place.
Some days afterward a rat was seen eating from the same dish with the
cat, having no hair on its back and appearing quite feeble. The cook
called the attention of her mistress to the fact, and told the story of
her throwing the scalding water some days before, and that the rats had
ceased to be troublesome since.
“'Time rolled on, and it became quite an amusement to the family to
watch for the coming of the rat, and the eating of its regular meals
with the cat, and the little gambols indulged in together after eating.
“'In the course of the summer the family went on a visit, and closed
their house for a few months, but made provision for the favorite cat,
that she should stay with a relative in the same town.
“'Upon their return in the fall they called upon their relative for the
cat, as the house was much infested with rats, and learned from them,
that soon after they had left, an ugly-looking rat, without any hair on
its back, made its appearance and used to eat with the cat, till one day
one of the family killed it. Since that time they couldn't get the cat
to eat anything, and she would not stop in the house, but had gone to a
neighbor's. They caught her several times and brought her back, but she
wouldn't remain with them.
“'My cousin, after hearing the particulars, became much interested, and
chided herself for her thoughtlessness in not letting her relative know
the curious story of the rat while making provision for the care of her
cat. She went to the neighbor, but the cat would take no notice of her.
She persevered and took the cat to her old home, but the cat wouldn't
stay--off she would run to the neighbor she had selected as her friend.
They got the daintiest food they could select, they coaxed and petted
her, kept the door closed, and did everything they could to win back her
confidence; but she wouldn't eat or taste a thing in the house, and they
finally gave up in despair and allowed her to have her own way.
[Illustration: 0108]
“'They never could get that cat to notice any one of the family or to
come into the house again. Was this _instinct?_Was it reason? Was it a
type of chivalry and grandeur in the animal not yet recognized by man?”
“Some time ago,” said Mr. Webb, “The _New York World_ published a story
about a cat that lived in Eighteenth Street, in that city, and was
called 'Ears.' The _World_ said of her:
“'She can fetch and carry like a retriever, and when her mistress throws
a paper out of a third-floor window, Ears climbs into a basket fixed
outside on a pulley, shuts the lid, and quietly lets herself down to the
ground. Then she gets the paper, hides away in the basket and mews as
a signal to be drawn up. She will play dead and alive and allow the
wickedest boy alive to whirl her around his head by the tail. She takes
a bath every day of her own accord and rocks herself to sleep on the
back of a rocking-chair. The canary that lives in the same house uses
her as a riding-horse, and every morning Ears gallops round and round
the room with the bird on her back.'”
“I thought cats didn't like water,” said Charley, “and never took a bath
except by accident.”
“They dislike water very much,” replied Mr. Webb, “as their fur has very
little oil in it to resist the effect of moisture. I knew a cat at the
Wawayanda Club, on Great South Bay, Long Island, that used to go into
the water to catch small fishes; she didn't seem to mind the wetting, or
rather she cared less for it than for a fish dinner. I read recently of
a mill on a stream in South Carolina, belonging to a man named Pruitt.
Pruitt owns a large cat that, as soon as the mill is stopped, by
shutting down the gate, will immediately run down behind the mill and
get on a log just over the sheeting over which the water is flowing. She
will then look intently into the water, which is from eighteen inches to
two feet deep, until she spies a fish; she then plunges into the water,
frequently burying herself under it, but almost always coming out with a
fish. She then sits quietly down on a rock near by and enjoys her meal.
[Illustration: 0109]
“A newspaper of Portland, Maine,” said Mr. Graham, “published a story
some years ago about a cat that used to catch fish with a hook and
line.”
“Of course every one laughed at the absurdity of the idea, all except Mr.
Graham, who didn't relax the muscles of his face, but declared that he
believed the story to be true. “And so will you,” he continued, “when
you hear the details.”
“By all means give us the details, then,” said Mr. Webb.
“Well, this is the story as I remember it. The cat belonged in a
counting house or office that was on one of the piers in the harbor and
had a trap-door in the floor through which dust was swept. Fishes swam
under the pier and the clerks in the office used to bait a hook and
lower the line through the trap-door to catch a fish for the cat's
dinner. She sat and looked on at the proceeding and very soon learned
that the trembling of the line was the signal that a fish had been
secured on the hook.
“One day the clerk who had baited the hook and set the line was busy at
his desk when the line trembled and puss knew that the time to haul in
had arrived. The clerk did not come promptly enough to suit her; so she
seized the line and drew it up 'hand over hand,' or rather 'paw over
paw.' The clerk looked on in surprise as she hauled up the line and
secured the fish, and ever after that she was allowed to do her own
fishing. She never got up to the ability of baiting the hook and setting
the line, but she certainly did all the rest of the work. The newspaper
that I read it in said hundreds of citizens of Portland had seen that
cat take her own fish, and the story is so well vouched for that I have
no doubt of its truth.”
“Cats are more skillful in the use of their paws than many people
believe,” said Mr. Graham. “For instance, listen to the following:
“A clergyman, the Rev. R. Lane, at Claverack, Columbia County, that was
once asked at a school examination; 'How many toes has a cat?' Can you
tell?”
Charley shook his head and admitted that he didn't know. George and
Henry were equally unlearned on that point, and the former asked how the
question was answered at the school.
“Not one of the pupils in the school could tell,” said Mr. Webb, “and
then the principal was applied to for a solution. He also, with a
good-natured smile, gave it up, when one of the teachers, determined not
to be beaten by so simple a question, hit on the idea of sending out a
delegation of boys to scour the neighborhood for a cat.
“That brings up the question,” said Mr. Webb turning to the boys: the
idea was announced, the whole class wanted to join in the hunt. Several
boys went out and soon returned successful. A returning board was at
once appointed, and the toes counted, when to the relief of all it was
learned that a cat possesses eighteen toes, ten on the front feet and
eight on the hind feet.”
“The _Kingston Freeman_ writes as follows: 'There is a young lady in the
town of Claverack who has a pet cat which she has taught to sit at the
table, and with a napkin about its neck it takes meat from a plate with
its paws as dexterously as an epicure. When given a piece of meat on a
fork it will hold the fork in its fore-paws and take the meat from the
tines, and when given a cup of milk it will hold up the cup and drink.
The cat has a well-developed 'thumb' on each fore-paw.'”
[Illustration: 0111]
“Cats are inquisitive,” Mr. Graham remarked, “and examine new
things with a great deal of care. They are not altogether free from
superstition and sometimes display great alarm at things they do not
understand. Théophile Gautier tells of a cat he had which was a great
pet and used to sit for hours and watch him at his work.
“One day Gautier brought home a parrot; the cat surveyed the bird
carefully and evidently came to the conclusion that it was a green
chicken. It showed no alarm whatever until the parrot spoke. Then a
great fear came over the cat; it arched its back, enlarged its tail and
fled in terror, and not for days could it again be persuaded to enter
the room where the parrot was.
“It is not uncommon for cats to play with a soap bubble without
appearing to be astonished or mystified by its sudden disappearance.
In one case, however, puss was so demoralized at the mystery as to grow
big-tailed, and spit at any soap bubble which might happen to fall to
the floor and drift across it. Another, which up to that time had never
seen a colored person, fled so precipitately from a good-looking negro
girl, that it tumbled into a grating, from which it could not be coaxed
until hunger overcame its terror; and the oddity of it was that puss
herself was as black as a coal.”
“There is fashion in everything,” said Mr. “Webb, “and a New York
newspaper says that cat-parties are the latest sensation. Recently a
young girl, the happy possessor of a fine maltese cat, invited a number
of her friends to bring their pet cats to five o'clock tea, each cat
to have a ribbon about its neck, corresponding to that worn by its
mistress. At the appointed hour the cats made their appearance, in
charge of their respective owners. After the feline introductions had
taken place, some of which were the reverse of friendly, games were
introduced, and soft balls, toy mice and other objects dear to pussy's
heart were provided. These pastimes, however, were sometimes marred by
a vigorous slap, when two strangers came in collision, and once the
belligerent pussies had to be separated by friends. When tea was
announced, a table furnished with saucers of milk and small cakes, with
cushioned stools, was disclosed.
[Illustration: 0113]
The floral decorations consisted of catnip, lavender, grasses, and
bright flowers. The cats, placed on their respective stools, and
attended by their mistresses, partook of the good cheer set before them.
Their behavior was quite correct. With their fore-paws on the table,
they lapped the milk with becoming propriety. When all were satisfied,
there was a comical sight. Each pussy began making her toilet, and the
face-washing was decorous in the extreme. After leaving the table a
spray of catnip was given each kitty, and the feline happiness was
complete. These sprigs were tossed in the air, caught, and lovingly
caressed. As each kitty departed, it was presented with its ball or toy
mouse as a memento of the party.”
“Before we separate,” said Mr. Graham, glancing at the clock as a hint
that it was time to bring the conference upon felines to an end, “let
me tell you of a cat that saved a house from being burned. His name was
Dan, and he was the property of a little boy who was very kind to his
furry pet.
[Illustration: 9114]
The time came at last when Dan could repay this kindness; and he did so.
One cold winter night all had gone upstairs to bed, and were sleeping
soundly. Dan was cosily rolled up on his nice warm mat behind the
kitchen stove, when all at once the room became very light. Dan awoke;
and what should he see but the broom, which had been left standing a
little too near the stove, all on fire. In a few moments the house would
have been ablaze, but Dan thought of his master; so away he trotted
upstairs to his room.
“Dan called with a very loud voice, 'Mew, mew, mew'; but his master did
not hear him. Then he said, 'Mew, mew, mew,' still louder; but that did
not awake him. Then he jumped upon the bed, pulling back the bed-clothes
with his paw, and gently struck his master in the face. This aroused
the sleepy boy, and he very soon learned the meaning of Dan's strange
actions. He jumped out of bed, ran downstairs, and put out the fire
before it had got under very great headway. The story was told afterward
in the local newspaper and Dan became a hero in the place where he
lived.”
A few more cat stories were told in spite of the lateness of the hour,
and it was agreed in conclusion that cats greatly resemble dogs, horses
and children, too, in being influenced by their surroundings, training
and teaching. A child taught to be cruel, or to lie and steal in early
life, is not likely to be a good or useful member of society. Horses
and dogs are made vicious by bad treatment or gentle by kindness, and
a cat's conduct will depend very largely upon its surroundings and
education.
[Illustration: 0115]
A writer in Harper's _Young People_ gives the following interesting
account of a wonderful troupe of performing cats at the Winter Circus in
Paris:
“M. Bonnetty, the owner and trainer of these performing cats, believed,
in spite of all opinions to the contrary, that puss belonged among
animals of the highest intelligence. He collected cats of all kinds, and
set patiently to work to educate them. The result has been wonderful,
and puss has shown that when treated kindly she is capable of great
things, and is a most willing slave, affectionate and gentle, and always
ready to do her master's bidding.
[Illustration: 0116]
“M. Bonnetty never gives puss a harsh word or a blow, for those arouse
her hatred, and she never forgets them. His work has been accomplished
by coaxing and caressing. He usually begins the training with kittens,
but he has had almost as great success with cats which have been several
years old when they reached his hands. At first he keeps them in a large
apartment for several months, feeding them and petting them until he
has won their entire confidence and affection. Then pussy's education
begins. The first exercises are very simple, such as jumping through
a hoop and climbing a pole, until by degrees puss, obedient to her
master's voice, will do every trick that a beast of her size is capable
of.
“After a year's training the graceful creatures make their first
appearance in public. This is the time of trial, for it sometimes
happens that the little feline artist will perform beautifully when
alone with her master, but will be frightened and confused by the music,
the glare of lights, and the crowd of people at the circus.
“There are fourteen beautiful pussies in the troupe, and the tricks they
do are wonderful. They play with mice and birds, holding them in their
paws and even in their teeth without doing them the slightest injury;
they jump through a blazing hoop held up by the trainer, perform
graceful gymnastic exercises on the backs of thirty-two chairs placed
in a row, march around in time to music like little soldiers, and group
themselves in many graceful and comical attitudes. And the best part
of it is that the pussies seem to take as much delight in their amusing
capers as do the crowds of children who watch them; and when a thousand
little clapping hands applaud them, they form in a row and look as
pleased and proud as if they understood what it was all about. Perhaps
they do.
“A gentleman who went with M. Bonnetty to visit the cats in the room
where they live found them all sleeping in graceful groups around a
glowing stove, for an educated cat loves heat as well as her more humble
sisters, and cannot be kept in good condition without it. As the trainer
and his friend entered the room fourteen pair of little eyes opened,
little ears were pricked up on the alert, and the pussies arose,
stretching themselves and purring, and at once crowded around their
master, rubbing against him, and reaching up to be caressed, while one
little white cat named Gora climbed up to his shoulder and nestled in
his neck. 'Yes, they all have names,' said their master, 'and they know
them. There are Juno and Brutus and Caesar and Mayor and Lucette and
Boulanger--he's that large cat. He's as gentle and loving and playful
as a kitten. You know every word I am saying, don't you, old fellow?'
he added, as a beautiful, glossy tiger cat, with large liquid eyes,
came forward purring and showing every sign of feline delight and
satisfaction.
[Illustration: 0118]
“The star of the troupe is named Tibert, after the famous cat in the
ancient romance of 'Reynard and the Fox.' Tibert is two years old. He
is very agile and skillful. He leads the company in the jump through
blazing hoops, and his greatest delight is to turn somersaults over the
backs of chairs.
“The performing cats lead very temperate and regular lives. They are
given an airing every day, and the large room where they live is lighted
and sunny and well supplied with soft cushions for beds. They are fed at
regular hours on bread and milk, and once a day they have all the liver
they can eat, as that has been found to be the most healthy meat for
them. They always have a pan of water, for water is something of which
every full-grown cat needs an abundant supply.
“The cats in this troupe are all of the common varieties, black and
white cats, tigers, Maltese, and tortoise-shell. The trainer has tried
in vain to teach the Persian and Angora cats. They are beautiful for
pets, but they are not agile, nor capable of much affection, and they
have very little brains and a short memory. When M. Bonnetty needs
recruits for his troupe, he seeks them among the cats that climb roofs
at night and prowl over back-yard fences, as among these despised and
persecuted creatures he has discovered the highest degrees of docility,
sagacity, and intelligence.”
[Illustration: 0119]