[Illustration: MY NAME IS MEOW]
_PUSSY MEOW_:
_The Autobiography of a Cat_
_BY_
_S. LOUISE PATTESON_
_With an Introduction by
SARAH K. BOLTON_
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO
103-105 SOUTH FIFTEENTH STREET
Copyright, 1901
BY GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
_To “Guy”_
_Preface_
In the fall of 1895, while the National Convention of the S. P. C. A.
was in session in Cleveland, a group of people stood in the assembly
room one day discussing “Black Beauty” and “Beautiful Joe.” One
expressed the hope that as the horse and the dog had now secured a
public hearing, some one would be willing to undertake the same for the
cat. That same evening “Pussy Meow” began writing her story. Its only
object is to breathe out the joys, the sorrows and the longings of a
misunderstood and much maligned fellow-creature, and to secure for her
the consideration which humanity owes to the dumb.
_Cleveland, O., 1901._
_Contents_
CHAP. PAGE
Introduction 11
I. Early Recollections 17
II. Budge and Toddy 22
III. My Reasons for writing this Story 28
IV. A Pleasant Outing 34
V. Some Experiences on the Farm 41
VI. Home Again 47
VII. New Companions 52
VIII. Budge and Toddy the Second 59
IX. A Happy Home 64
X. Our Happiest Days 71
XI. Betsy Whitefoot 76
XII. Sunshine and Shadow 84
XIII. Jack 91
XIV. Christmas 96
XV. Old Blackie 102
XVI. My Great Sorrow 109
XVII. The Kind Providence 115
XVIII. A Welcome Visitor 125
XIX. A Joyful Reunion 131
XX. A New Home 137
XXI. Our Winged Friends 143
XXII. New Neighbors 151
XXIII. Our Summer Outing 157
XXIV. Raising a Family 165
XXV. Breaking Home Ties 172
XXVI. A Friendly Chat 178
XXVII. Another Home 185
XXVIII. Booker T. Washington and Admiral Dewey 194
XXIX. Two Far Journeys 203
XXX. The Burglar Man 214
XXXI. A Friend in Need 222
XXXII. A Kittie Party 230
_Illustrations_
PAGE
My Name is Meow _Frontispiece._
Guy 28
My friend Dennis 29
He crawled in and fell asleep 72
Jack 91
He told me a very interesting story 93
The two were holding a friendly talk in the garden 141
Toddy--Mrs. Smith’s particular friend 191
Booker T. Washington 194
Snowdrop 210
Hiddigeigei, Patsy, and Lady Jane Grey 230
_Introduction_
I have read with great interest this true story of “Pussy Meow,”
written by one, who, in the midst of a very busy life, finds time
to be a devoted friend to the speechless, and to study their nature
and habits. The life of the author has been full of noble deeds for
animals, and I am glad of an opportunity to say how much I wish all
women would do likewise.
The book abounds in practical suggestions about the care, the food, the
comfort, and the needs of the animal world, blended so pleasantly with
the story that both young people and adults will find it charming and
helpful. The picture of the happy home of mother and child, where cats
sleep in the sun, or kittens frolic and make merry with their human
friends, will linger in one’s mind long after the book is closed. Now
one’s heart is touched by the pathetic death of a homeless creature,
and again one laughs at the winsome and intelligent acts of our dumb
companions.
After reading the book, some will remember to make their pets happy
on Christmas day, rather than spend all for personal enjoyment. Some,
it is hoped, when going into the country for the summer, or for a
vacation, will take their cats with them, as did the writer of “Pussy
Meow,” and not let them starve alone at home; or, on returning to the
city, leave them on ocean beaches, or deserted mountain-tops, to die of
hunger and cold.
Cats have had a varied history. In Egypt, in early times, they were
loved and worshiped. At death they were embalmed, and given a costly
funeral. Cambyses, the son of Cyrus the Great, when he conquered Egypt,
placed a number of cats and dogs at the head of his army, and the
Egyptians unwilling to kill the creatures they loved, would not defend
themselves, and became an easy prey. The present Shah of Persia, it is
said, has fifty petted cats, each cared for by an attendant, and these
accompany him in his travels.
Cats have been loved by noted persons through the centuries. Mahomet
cut off the sleeve of his robe rather than awaken the pet cat who
slept upon it. Petrarch loved his cat and had it embalmed at death.
Montaigne could do his best writing only when his left hand fondled his
cat.
The love of sailors and soldiers for their pets is well known. In
the dreadful explosion of the Maine before Havana, two of the three
cats belonging to the sailors, perished, but Tom, thirteen years old,
beloved by all the seamen, was saved. He was asleep three decks down,
or nearly thirty feet below the upper deck. In the agony of dying men,
probably nobody thought of Tom. In the morning he was discovered crying
piteously, on that part of the wreck which remained above the water.
Commodore Wainwright hastened to take him off in a boat to the Fern,
where he was warmly welcomed.
Nothing attracted me more on the great battle-ship Indiana, battered in
the war with Spain, than a basket containing a cat and five kittens,
whom the sailors were shielding from the sun with a piece of canvas,
and talking to them in terms of endearment.
“Take care of my cat!” were the last words of Dr. Stark, a British
surgeon killed by a shell at Ladysmith, in the war with the Boers. The
animal had been his constant companion.
“The cat,” as Harrison Weir says, “is not only a very useful animal
about the house and premises, but is also ornamental. It is lithe and
beautiful in form, and graceful in action.”
Another well-known English writer says, “There is no animal in
existence more sensitive and capable of attachment than the domestic
cat, or any of her progeny.”
Cats have often saved life; also houses from burning. At Geneva, N.
Y., a child of three attempted to take a rattlesnake. A pet Maltese
cat killed it, and saved the child. A similar thing happened in
Pennsylvania.
A woman in New York City took into her house a stray and hungry cat. A
year later by the explosion of a lamp, the house was set on fire. The
cries of the cat aroused the owner, and thus all the inmates of the
tenement house were saved.
On the Pacific Coast, the steamer Wildwood went to the bottom of the
bay. There was but one man asleep on board at the time of sinking. The
boat’s cat scratched the face of the sleeper, who threw her away from
him. Again she scratched his face, and cried so vigorously that the
man was aroused, climbed the mast, and was rescued.
Cats are often devoted to animals, as well as to persons. My own pet
cat, Maltese and white, was the loving friend of my great St. Bernard
dog, Bernie. When the mate of the Maltese died, the cat came to the
dog, apparently for sympathy. For a year they walked together, shared
their bed, and were like human friends. The dog died when six years
old, and the lonely cat soon followed, and was buried beside Bernie.
We seem to be coming into a nobler civilization. Queen Victoria said at
the Jubilee meeting of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals: “No civilization is complete which does not include the
dumb and defenseless of God’s creatures within the sphere of charity
and mercy.”
We are growing kinder to animals; homes are being provided for the
homeless. There are homes for cats in Dublin, in London, and other
English cities, as well as some in Egypt and India. The Gifford
Sheltering Home for Animals, in Boston, is doing great good; also the
Frances Power Cobbe Refuge in Indianapolis, Indiana. We are teaching
our children to be kind to every living creature. May this story of
“Pussy Meow” help forward the good work.
SARAH K. BOLTON.
_Pussy Meow_
I
EARLY RECOLLECTIONS
I am a little pussy cat, and my name is Meow.
When I was a very small kitty, I lived with my mother and two other
kittens in a nice green yard. My mother was a purple Maltese, and she
used to tell us with great pride how, as a kitten, she was brought here
by her mistress from old Virginia. Her name was Malta, and her children
were Nora, Fluffie and Trix.
I was Fluffie.
And we had such a dear little mistress.
Her full name was Annebelle Virginia Lowery, but they called her
“Virgie” for short. She had beautiful golden curls, and eyes the color
of the sky when the sun shines. Her cheeks were like two little rosy
cushions.
Every morning a “bus,” filled with pretty children, called to take Miss
Virgie to the kindergarten, and sometimes she would take Miriam and
Mildred with her. I used to wish she would take me too.
In the garden Miss Virgie had a little playhouse, in a sunny corner of
which was our basket and rug, and here also lived Miriam and Mildred.
On pleasant afternoons the nurse would bring Miriam and Mildred out
under a big shade-tree where there was a bench and a table; and here
Miss Virgie sometimes “served tea” in dainty blue china, while we
kittens would frolic among the bushes and learn to climb trees. But
poor Miriam and Mildred could not have any such fun as we did; they
just remained seated on the bench all the time; you see they were only
dollies.
My mother could climb clear up to the tops of the tallest trees, and
she was allowed to go wherever she pleased, because she was so wise.
Sometimes she would be gone away a long time, and upon her return would
bring a mouse or a sparrow for us, and teach us how to play with it.
But our favorite plaything was her long bushy tail, of which she seemed
to be very proud, and which she would twist and toss and sway before
our eyes in the most tantalizing fashion. Of course, we would all take
our turn at trying to catch it, but the minute we thought we had a good
hold, the first thing we knew the tail would be over on the other side;
and then by the time we got over there, it would be back where it was
before. Many times, when, after long chasing, I finally caught hold of
the elusive member, and while holding on to it with all my might, I
could feel it slipping and sliding through my claws, and before I knew
it had gone from me, I would see her proudly waving it in the air again.
One morning, when my mother had gone away as usual, I saw some children
at play on the sidewalk, and I thought how nice it would be to be with
them. It was very naughty for me to think of such a thing, because we
had been told never to go outside the yard; and as neither Trix nor
Nora would go with me, I went alone.
As soon as I reached the sidewalk, a big black dog came across the
street and barked at me. I started to run back through the gate, but it
had closed, and I hadn’t time to look for a hole to crawl through. So I
ran down the sidewalk, trembling with fright.
When I had run a long way, I went into a yard, but the people there
didn’t like cats; a boy was sent to chase me through the gate, and I
continued my wearisome journey. How I did wish that somebody would take
me up, or show me the way home; but nobody seemed to care what became
of me. Finally, being so very tired, I crawled in under a fence, and
seeing no one around, I lay down in the corner and went to sleep.
I do not know how long I lay there. When I awoke the moon was shining,
and I continued my journey down the sidewalk, hoping to find my yard.
But when after a long walk I didn’t find it, not knowing what else to
do, I sat down by a tree and began to cry.
To make me still more wretched and unhappy, two boys came along, and
one of them started to pelt me with stones. He was the same boy that
had chased me out of his yard that very morning. I suppose he would
have killed me had not a kind lady come along just at that moment. I
was trying to hide behind the tree so the stones would not hit me, but
as soon as the lady saw me, she called one of the boys by name. “Teddy,
dear,” said she, “I am surprised to see that you will allow such a
heartless thing as this to happen in your presence. Think how your
mother would feel if she knew of it.”
The lady then stooped down and talked very kindly to me, and I answered
her; and when she got up to go, I followed, and cried after her so
loudly that she finally picked me up and took me with her. Oh, how glad
I was to get away from that dreadful boy and his stones! I kissed the
gloves on the hands that held me to show my thankfulness.
My lady friend had walked but a short distance when she stopped at a
little house and rang the bell; but the house was dark, and it was a
long time before any one opened the door. At last a lady came out, and
my friend said, “Isn’t this one of your kittens?”
“Yes,” said the lady, without even looking at me, “they run away every
little while.”
Then she took me out of my friend’s hands and carried me to the
kitchen, and put me in a basket that had a nice soft pad in it, and
some other cats. But they did not notice me, and very soon I fell
asleep and forgot the day’s troubles.
II
BUDGE AND TODDY
The next morning I was still in the basket when I heard some one say:
“Do look, here is a new kitten, a tiger! it must be the one I took in
last night, thinking it was mine.” The voice was the same that I had
heard at the door the evening before.
For a moment I feared that I should lose my nice new home; but when I
saw the lady’s round, good-natured face, I knew that she could not find
it in her heart to turn away a helpless little creature like me, even
if she had taken me in by mistake.
After petting the other kittens a while, the lady took me up and looked
into my eyes, and said I had a good face. Then a big boy came out and
she put me into his arms. I trembled when he took me, for I had learned
to be afraid of boys. But this boy handled me very gently, and after
looking me all over carefully and pressing me fondly to his cheek, he
said, “Why, mamma, this is a beautiful kitty! Won’t you let her stay?”
Then he put me very tenderly back into the basket.
“She looks so much like our old Meow,” said the lady, “I think we will
keep her.” You can imagine that this made me very happy.
They named me “Meow,” and the other two cats were “Budge” and “Toddy.”
They were Maltese.
For a time Budge and Toddy acted anything but friendly toward me, but
as they were bigger than I, I just kept very quiet, while they stood
by the edge of the basket, humping their backs, bristling their tails
and grinning at me to their hearts’ content. Pretty soon mistress came
out with our breakfast, and they ran to meet her; but I remained in the
basket until invited to join them. I was glad mistress stayed while we
ate, for Budge gave an angry growl every now and then, and Toddy tried
his best to crowd me out of the dish. But the breakfast tasted good
just the same, because a day’s fasting had made me very hungry.
I saw at once that Budge and Toddy were very well-bred cats, for they
washed themselves as soon as they had finished the meal, just as my
dear mother had taught me to do. But being in a new place, and amid
strange surroundings, somehow I forgot myself for a time, and while
Budge and Toddy washed I just sat and watched them. When Toddy had
finished, to my great surprise he came over and started to wash me
too. I suppose he thought I hadn’t been properly taught because I sat
and watched him instead of washing myself. But I soon showed him that
he was mistaken, and I have ever since strictly observed the rule of
washing after meals.
They say folks wash before meals, and that only cats wait until
afterward. The reason for this is, as I have heard, that once a cat
had caught a nice fat mouse, and was just going to make a dinner of
her, when Mousie said: “Shame on you, to eat without first washing
yourself.” So the cat stopped to wash; and while she did so, Mousie ran
back into her hole.
When Budge and Toddy saw that I had really come amongst them to stay
they wanted to know where I had come from, and I very gladly told them.
As I talked about my proud and beautiful Virginia mother, and my sweet
little mistress, Miss Virgie, and her playhouse, they kept moving
closer and closer to me; and when I finished, Toddy said he hoped I
would stay, and that he and Budge would do all they could to make it
pleasant for me. They both begged me to forgive them for their spiteful
conduct in the early morning; from that time on they acted very kindly
toward me, and I was permitted to join them in their play.
I soon found that they had many cozy corners all around the yard, as
well as in the house, and one of our favorite places was under the
porch, where we used to go for safety. You may wonder what I mean by
“safety,” when we have such a kind mistress and such a good home. I
will tell you.
Mistress and the boy are away all day, and very often during those days
when we were small, helpless kittens, a certain little boy would come
into our yard and annoy us. He had no one to play with, and I suppose
he wanted to play with us, but he didn’t know how. How I did wish that
the “bus” would come and take him to the kindergarten.
Whenever he came in, if we saw him in time, we would run as fast as we
could and crawl in between the latticework under the porch, and hide in
there till he had gone.
As time went by the fur on my back and sides became worn very short,
because I had such hard work to squeeze through. You see I grew bigger
every day, and the hole didn’t.
One day our little tormentor tied a string around Toddy’s neck,
fastened it to his velocipede, and then rode up and down the sidewalk,
as fast as he could. And there is no telling how long he would have
kept it up if a kind neighbor across the street had not come over and
taken Toddy away from him.
When mistress came home that evening, they told her about Eddie’s
cruelty, and as she had warned him already many times to let her
kittens alone, she said she would report the case to the “Humane Agent.”
I never learned what the gentleman did, but from that day Eddie did not
trouble us for a long time, and we think that next to mistress and the
boy, the Humane Agent is our best friend.
But alas for poor Budge and Toddy! A few moons after I came to my new
home Toddy disappeared, and we all felt very badly about it. The next
day Budge went away, I suppose to look for Toddy, and he never came
back. Then for several days mistress and the boy had such sad faces
that it made me very unhappy. They asked the milkman and the grocer
and the letter-carrier to look out for the two kittens, but we never
heard anything more of them, and I was without any companions for quite
a while.
As for me I rather enjoyed being alone, because mistress and the boy
paid more attention to me than they had ever done before. At meal-time
I was allowed to sit on a chair beside mistress, and at night I slept
at the foot of her bed.
But the days seemed very long, until I became acquainted with our
neighbor’s dog, Dennis, a large handsome fellow with brown curly hair
and beautiful brown eyes. Although Dennis had more good things at home
than any one dog could eat, for he was always burying something in
his yard, yet he came to our house daily for the little titbits that
mistress would give to him. But having had one unpleasant experience
with a dog I kept at a distance from Dennis; till one day he proved
himself a real friend. Two saucy little curs came into my yard and
chased me up a tree, when Dennis, with one bound, jumped at them and
drove them away, and after that he and I were the best of friends.
III
MY REASONS FOR WRITING THIS STORY
When mistress and the boy are at home, he generally reads aloud to her
and at such times I usually sit on his lap or by his side. About the
time Budge and Toddy went away he read a story which was written by
“Black Beauty,” a horse. I thought it was rather peculiar that a horse
should write a story. But Black Beauty told people how to take care of
horses, how to provide for their comfort and how to sympathize with
them, in doing which he set the whole world to thinking for a time
about nothing but horses, and in that way did them a very good turn.
By the way, the boy’s name is Guy. His eyes are just like Miss
Virgie’s, and he has beautiful flaxen hair.
[Illustration: GUY]
Before I knew Guy, I supposed all boys were rude and cruel, but I feel
sure now that I was mistaken. One of Guy’s dearest friends is Teddy,
who was with the boy that threw stones at me on that sad day when I
was a homeless cat. Teddy came to see Guy quite often, but he always
treated me very kindly. I really think it a pity that he should ever
have been with that cruel boy.
After Guy had finished reading the story of Black Beauty, he read one
written by a dog, “Beautiful Joe.” I saw his picture in the book, but
I did not think him half as beautiful as my friend Dennis that visits
me every day. But Joe had a beautiful spirit, and that counts far more
than a beautiful body. Who could read of the cruel blows and kicks and
all the other insults which he suffered so patiently at the hands and
feet of old Jenkins, without feeling in his inmost soul that henceforth
he would defend and protect all helpless and harmless creatures? In
this way Joe conferred a lasting benefit upon his fellow-dogs, and
even I, who am only a cat, with no natural fondness for dogs, must say
that I learned many things from Joe that made me have more respect for
dogs. I also became filled with a desire to be as good and useful a cat
as Joe was a dog, and it was during those long, lonesome days when I
was without any companions that the thought came to me about writing
this story. May be you think a cat does not even have thoughts. How
dreadful! Well, I thought if dogs and horses can write stories, why
can’t I? And so I concluded to try.
I had often heard mistress read stories about cats, cat shows and cat
clubs, but it was always about Persian cats and Angoras, and I made
up my mind that my story should be about tigers and Maltese and black
cats, because they are considered to be of so very little importance.
I have known of many a poor, sick cat just treated as a nuisance, and
compelled to stay outdoors; whereas then, if ever, she needs a warm,
comfortable place, and nourishing food.
[Illustration: MY FRIEND DENNIS]
And when a cat has kittens, she is usually put into the barn, or the
basement, if tolerated in the house at all. Now very few kittens will
learn orderly habits when raised in a place where they can do as they
please; and when such a kitten is taken into a home it causes no end of
trouble. In many cases it is abused and made very miserable, not for
any fault of its own, but because it has not been properly trained.
This is one reason why there are so many poor tramp cats. Another
reason is, that some people will let a cat raise five or six kittens
without paying any attention to her needs as to food or shelter, and
the poor things somehow live, or rather, they exist. Then when nobody
wants them, as is always the case with kittens raised in this way, they
are given to the milkman or to some farmer to be “strayed” out in the
country, where no other fate awaits them but slow starvation. In a case
like this, five cents’ worth of chloroform administered to the kittens
at the time of birth, leaving only one alive for the mother cat, would
have saved them from the terrible tortures of starvation.
Then too some people who are very kind-hearted themselves, have cruel
servants who look upon a pet in the household as an added burden, and
who will utterly neglect, if not positively abuse them. Right here I am
reminded of an incident told to mistress by a young lady who called one
evening. She was doing some writing for a minister, and she said that
almost daily her feelings were wrought up at sight of an old black cat,
gaunt looking, half-starved, and with a broken leg, hobbling around in
the yard. “To-day,” said she, “I had some milk left over from my lunch,
and I asked the cook for the cat’s dish.”
“Cat’s dish! the cat ain’t got no dish, throw it on the walk,” was the
reply. “Why,” continued the lady, “I saw enough table scraps thrown
into the garbage can each day to make a feast for that poor cat, and
not one of the good people ever gave her a thought.”
Speaking of ministers reminds me of a gentleman that called on mistress
one evening, and as I happened to be lying on the library table, they
fell to talking about me, and about cats and dogs generally.
“It’s all right,” said the gentleman, “for people that can afford it,
to have pets. But in my experience in visiting among all classes of
people, somehow wherever I find a big family of half-fed and neglected
children there are sure to be in the same home one or more cats or
dogs, and sometimes both; and of course, the food that is given to them
ought by rights to go to the children. But the worst of it is, these
people seem to think as much of their cats and dogs as they do of their
children.”
“That is an unintended compliment,” said mistress, “which proves the
softening and humanizing effect of these pets upon those with whom they
associate. And certainly, this more than makes up for the few little
extra morsels that they require for their maintenance.”
Now I have told you some of the things I would like to bring to the
notice of ladies and children especially. Oh, if with this story I
start all the world to think for awhile about cats--Maltese and tigers
and black cats, that are so much exposed to suffering because within
the reach of everybody, I shall feel that I have done some real good.
And even if I do not write as good a story as did Black Beauty, or
Beautiful Joe, you will at least know that I tried to do what I could
to help my fellow-cats. And who knows but some cats, older and wiser
than myself, may be encouraged by my effort to do more?
IV
A PLEASANT OUTING
When the time came for mistress and Guy to take their summer outing,
they did not desert me or leave me to the mercies of our neighbors, as
has been the fate of many a poor cat. No; they very thoughtfully made
the necessary provision to take me with them.
When they were ready to start, they put me in a nice big bag, which Guy
suspended over his shoulder. It was a bag that mistress brought from
Switzerland, and I have heard her say it is such a one as the women
there carry to market when they go to buy provisions. It had large
holes between the stitches so I could look through, and see what was
going on.
First we took a long ride on a street car and Guy held me on his lap.
But never having been on a car, I was dreadfully afraid of the noise.
Guy held me real close to his breast and talked kindly to me, but by
the time I got over being afraid, we were at the end of our ride.
When we alighted from the street car, we boarded a big steamboat on
which we rode all day. Mistress allowed me to walk around a little, and
I saw the beautiful water and the bright sunshine, and some birds. How
birds could live on the water greatly puzzled me.
There were many people on the boat, and some children played with me
and gave me cake and popcorn. I thought they must have cats at home,
for they knew just what cats like.
But while the children were very polite to me, some of the older people
were just the reverse. For instance, there was a woman who poked her
umbrella into my side, saying: “There is a cat; what a nuisance!”
Mistress said to her very kindly: “It is my kitty.”
Then the woman asked mistress a good many questions about me: why she
didn’t leave me at home; how she could be bothered with a cat when
traveling; or, was it a new “fad.”
Mistress told her there was no one at home, and that she thought it
cruel to desert a faithful domestic animal. Furthermore, she said, I
had been no trouble to her so far, and that this was not the first time
she had had a cat for a traveling companion.
Then the woman became more polite to me, and said I had a beautiful
coat and a pleasing face.
After a while a big girl came over to where I lay. She came so quickly
it frightened me, and I got up and started to run from her, but she
grabbed me by the tail and pulled me back.
Of course, I cried out, not so much from pain, as because of the
insolence of such treatment.
“What’s the matter, Tabby?” said she.
I said “Me-ow” just as loud as I could.
Mistress told her I was not used to being pulled around by my tail.
Then the girl stroked my back and smoothed my fur, and I was no longer
afraid. I think she did not mean to frighten me, only she didn’t know
the proper way to call a cat.
Mistress told her how I stayed at home alone every day when she was
gone, and never ran away, and how I behaved so nicely on the cars. I am
sure the girl will be a better friend to cats hereafter.
I had never before been in such a large crowd as there was on that
boat, and I could not help noticing what a difference there is in
people. Some in passing by would look at me sneeringly, and even point
their fingers; some would take no notice of me at all; others would
smile, and still others would bend over and give me a gentle stroke.
But the children--bless their dear hearts--they all had good words for
me, and some gave me something even better.
As the sun was going down we arrived at a place where the boat stopped
and everybody got off. Guy put me into my nice bag, and the next thing
I knew we were in a large room in a great big strange house that they
called a hotel. Guy got me a saucer of milk for my supper, and I slept
all night on mistress’ bed.
The next morning we started out right after breakfast and took a long
ride in a carriage. I noticed after we had ridden a while that it was a
very long distance between houses. Finally we stopped at a nice white
cottage with green blinds, standing in a yard that was so long I could
not see the next house. They called it a farm.
The weather being terribly hot, the long ride in the carriage had made
me very ill; I could hardly get my breath, and I was dizzy. I lay in
the orchard under an apple tree, and mistress sat beside me, wondering
what to do. Finally she poured some castor oil down my throat, which
tasted very unpleasant; but in a few hours I was all right again, and
after that I had a delightful time.
There were two big cats on the farm; one white and the other yellow;
and as they had no name, only “Kitty,” mistress named the white one
“Blanche” and the yellow one “Goldie.”
They did not like me at first; in fact they acted just like Budge and
Toddy did when I came to live with my mistress. But the next morning
mistress took us all in her lap and petted us for a long time; then
she gave us some nice warm milk in a big saucer, and we ate breakfast
together; and after that Blanche and Goldie were more friendly towards
me. But we did not see much of each other, for they spent most of their
time out in the field. Their “corner” was a big market-basket on the
kitchen porch; but I did not have to share it with them, because I
always slept on my mistress’ bed.
This reminds me of a wicked slander on cats that I have heard, namely,
that it is not safe for people to sleep in the same room with them
for fear they will suck their breath and cause them to suffocate. The
only foundation for this is that cats love warmth. When sleeping in a
cold room they will seek out the warmest place they can find, and if
that happens to be near a person’s face, they are apt to go there; not
because they want to suck the breath, but simply because they love the
warmth that emanates with the breath.
An old gentleman lived on the farm whom Guy called grandpa, and an
old lady whom he called grandma, whose portraits I had often seen in
mistress’ room. Grandpa was abed most of the time, and was visited
every day by a man they called “Doctor.” It was he who told mistress to
give me castor oil.
One day mistress took me into grandpa’s room and said, “Father, this is
Meow the Second.” Although grandpa was too ill to say much to me, still
I knew from the kind look on his face, and from his gentle touch, that
he was a friend of cats. “I’m very glad to see Meow, but don’t hurt
Watch’s feelings,” was all he was able to say, and pretty soon mistress
took me out.
Watch was a big shepherd dog that had lived on the farm for many
years. He wanted to be in grandpa’s room all the time. When he was
admitted he would lie down alongside the bed, and look straight at
grandpa all the while, till he was ordered out, and then he just went
as far as the door and lay down. There he would stay all day, and
unless his food was brought to him, he would go hungry.
Watch never did me any harm, but he wasn’t as friendly with me as
Dennis. He barked at all strangers, but never hurt anybody.
In front of the house was a very large maple tree under which mistress
stretched her hammock, and there in the cool shade we spent many happy
days; but Guy spent most of his time at the neighbors helping the boys
do their chores.
V
SOME EXPERIENCES ON THE FARM
I had never seen any chickens until I visited grandpa’s farm, so one
day shortly after our arrival I went into the chicken-coop to make them
a visit.
A hen was sitting on a lot of eggs, and I had no intention of
disturbing her. But when she saw me she began a terrible cackling, and
flew away. Then I went up and sat on the eggs myself; but in a few
minutes the big rooster came to the coop, followed by nearly all the
other roosters and the hens, and such a cackling and crowing I never
heard in all my life. It seemed as if every one of the seventy fowl in
the barnyard would cry themselves hoarse. I concluded that I was not
a welcome visitor, so I left the nest and jumped out of the window. I
thought it best not to go through the door with all those cacklers in
wait for me.
The stable was empty, because Elsa the cow, and Kate the horse, were
out in the pasture. Elsa had large brown eyes and a beautiful brown
coat with a white star on her forehead, and she was very gentle. Guy
generally rubbed her back and sides and shooed off the flies while
grandma milked her, and we cats were always on hand at milking time.
Just as soon as grandma had finished she would always pour some milk
into our saucer, and it tasted just about like our city milkman’s
cream. (Once when Guy came home from school he filled my saucer out of
the cream pail, and that’s how I know what city cream tastes like.)
Elsa had once been the queen of a large milk-herd, and she seemed
very proud of her old Swiss cow-bell which always hung at her neck,
suspended from a leather strap. Whenever it was time to bring her in
from the pasture, grandma or Guy would take a little bucket containing
salt, and stand up on the fence and show it to Elsa. Then as soon as
she saw it she would come right along; and, of course, she was always
given some salt as soon as she reached the barnyard.
It was Kate that brought us out from the steamboat landing on that
dreadfully hot summer day. There was no real hard work for her to do
on the farm. But she had served grandpa so well during the years of
her strength, that, although no longer needed, still she was allowed to
remain and enjoy the rest and quiet. All the neighbors seemed to know
and respect her, and whenever any of them passed by, she would go up
to the fence and whinney, in response to their greeting. Elsa was her
constant companion in the pasture, and their lot was indeed a happy one.
Another animal on the farm was Billy, the pig, though I am sorry to say
his place was so uninviting I did not care to visit him very often. But
really, poor Billy was not to blame; his “pen” was so small, and there
was no way for him to get out when he wanted to; how could he keep it
clean and tidy?
Why he was singled out to be treated as a prisoner, when all the other
animals on the farm were free to roam at will, was more than I could
understand, unless it was because grandpa was too ill to attend to
him. As I used to see Billy stare through the cracks in the walls of
the narrow gloomy prison that shut him away from the great, beautiful
world, and as I listened to his ceaseless grunting, I could not help
but pity him. Although I did not understand his language, I felt sure
that he must be complaining of his unhappy lot.
“How I wish that somebody would write a book for Billy,” said mistress
to Guy one day, as they were passing his place, “so that people would
be made to think how unjustly he is being treated.”
“Yes,” said Guy, “it’s just as easy to have pigs in clover as in a pen.
Have I never told you about the excellent arrangement Uncle Ellison has
on his farm?”
“No, you did not; what is it?” said mistress, eagerly.
“Well,” said Guy, “his pig yard is quite a good sized enclosure,
extending at the rear into a little grove where the pigs can lie in the
cool shade when it is hot. Adjoining this is a similar enclosure, and
every year the pigs are changed from one field to the other, and the
one last used by the pigs is plowed up and sown to clover. In this way
they have a clean, wholesome and comfortable place all the time.”
“This explains why Uncle Ellison gets a higher price for his hogs than
any farmer around there,” said mistress. “If grandpa were well, I would
tell him about it; but perhaps you could make Billy just a little
happier by spading up the ground inside of his pen.”
“Yes,” said Guy; “and perhaps the neighbor’s boys will help me.”
So the next day the boys locked Billy into the corn-crib while they
turned the ground in his pen with spades and freshened it; the trough
was scalded and scrubbed, and left in the sun to dry. When Billy was
led back to his pen, he grunted his thankfulness to his friends the
best he knew how. As for me, I concluded to put Uncle Ellison’s plan
into my story; for who knows but some of the boys who read it may be
farmers some day, and will want to try it?
While we were at grandpa’s one of his neighbors’ hogs was taken sick,
and the man brought six little white pigs up to grandpa’s because he
wished to separate them from their mother, for fear they too might
catch the disease. I never saw anything prettier than those little
pigs, and they were just as clean as so many kittens. The man put them
into an old pen not far from Billy’s, and there they squealed and
grunted to their hearts’ content, and stuck their noses through every
little crack in the pen. I noticed that some of the boards were loose
so that they could wiggle them up and down, and each one tried to make
them wiggle a little more than the others had done before him. One
day at dinner-time, when I was in my usual place on the window-sill,
suddenly I saw a white streak shooting through the orchard and out into
the road, and just then Guy jumped up and said: “There go the pigs.”
They had succeeded in loosening one of the boards and making their
escape, and the last I saw of them they were running down the road to
their mother as fast as they could, leaving a big cloud of dust behind
them.
This set me to thinking on pigs in general, and I concluded that they
are by nature intelligent and clean, and like the rest of us, all they
want is a chance.
VI
HOME AGAIN
One morning very early mistress packed up her things and Guy’s, and
Kate was hitched up to the carriage and brought up to the side of the
house. Everybody was very sad; and I couldn’t understand what it all
meant, till I saw mistress and Guy bid grandpa good-bye. Grandpa was
still lying in bed, with Watch by his side, and they were all crying.
Blanche and Goldie were just ready to go out into the field, but they
stopped to bid me good-bye, and said they were sorry to have me go
now that they had got acquainted with me; and they hoped that another
summer I would visit them again.
I was put into my bag as usual; and Guy took me with him into the
carriage. Kate took us to the boat landing; and in a short time we were
afloat on the beautiful blue water.
The boat was crowded with people, and it was very warm. I was tired and
wanted to sleep, so mistress took me into her stateroom, where I lay
on the bed and had a nice rest. Soon after I awoke we reached a place
where we alighted and took dinner at a large hotel. Guy carried the bag
in which I was, suspended over his shoulder by a leather strap, and
when he was seated at the table he slipped the bag over my head and
fed me on his lap. You must remember that at that time I was still a
kitten, about half grown.
After dinner we sat on the lawn in front of the hotel, and I was
allowed to run around at will till it was time to return to the boat.
I was listening to the music of the band, when I espied on the piazza
a poodle dog. As soon as he saw me, he came down the steps and I,
thinking to exchange greetings with him, walked over to meet him. I
don’t know whether he objected to the curve in my back, or the jug
handle shape of my tail, but evidently Mr. Poodle was not in the
habit of meeting lady cats. Instead of responding to my greeting in a
gentlemanly manner, he bent low on his forelegs and barked at me.
At this I showed him the color of my teeth, and the length of my
claws, and he immediately retreated, his tail drawn tightly between his
legs.
“What next?” you say. Well, I chased some grasshoppers, and caught a
fly or two, and by that time we had to return to the boat to resume our
journey.
At the hotel mistress met some friends, who were going on the same
boat, and welcome ones they were, for they were the first people we had
met on our entire journey that did not “exclaim” at seeing a cat in the
party.
The one I liked best of all was Miss Wallace, a very lovely young lady,
who held me on her lap nearly all the time. I was very thankful to her,
for it was better than being out where I would get my tail pulled and
umbrellas poked into my side. Miss Wallace told us about her kitty at
home, Nellie, of purest white; and she said she was just homesick to
see her, because she had been away over a week.
“I suppose, of course, you left her in somebody’s care,” said mistress.
“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Wallace, “I would not think of such a thing as
leaving her uncared for.”
I was not at all surprised to hear Miss Wallace’s answer, for I knew
the moment I saw her gentle face and soft brown eyes, that she had a
tender and sympathetic heart. I think I must have taken a nap on her
lap, for it seemed in a very little while the boat stopped at the
landing whence I had started on my first trip a few weeks before.
The street cars took us quickly to the little brown house on Poplar
Avenue, which is dearer to me than any farm, hotel, or floating palace
that I have ever seen. Dennis received us with a joyous bark, and with
that merry wag of his tail which speaks such volumes of happiness. My
cushion, my pad, and the dear sunny porch were more precious to me than
ever before. Only one thing worried me! I had grown too big for the
hole through which I used to crawl in under the porch, and wondered
where I would go for safety in case of danger. But I soon found that
Dennis was all the “safety” I needed, for he stayed with me nearly
all the time; and whenever any bad boys or dogs came into our yard he
promptly chased them out with that powerful bark of his. And I found
him to be a very useful as well as agreeable companion.
There is a beautiful song which I have often heard, that there is no
place like home, but I never really understood the meaning of those
words until I had been away from my home and my friend.
So you see I was doubly thankful, first because mistress took me with
her on her vacation, and second because I had such a happy home-coming.
VII
NEW COMPANIONS
One morning soon after we returned from the farm Guy brought into the
house, dripping wet, a little Maltese kitty, which he said he found
crying in a vacant lot on his way to school. My heart went out to the
poor little thing, shivering with cold and frightened, and coming from
no one knew where.
Mistress rubbed the kitty’s coat dry with a towel, and smoothed it all
out with a coarse comb. Then she fixed her a nice warm bed in a little
basket, and in a short time she dozed off into a nap. As I sat looking
at the little stranger I was reminded of the time when I was taken into
this dear home in just about as sorry a plight, and I made up my mind
to give her a better welcome than I had received from Budge and Toddy.
Her nap over, the little kitty looked as plump and bright as anything,
and mistress named her “Beauty.” She was a talkative little creature,
and before the day was over had told me her whole history. Said she,
“My home is in a grocery store, where I have been living with my mother
and three other kittens in a barrel. This morning our master gave me
to a boy to take home to his sister. But he squeezed me so hard, I
scratched him, and then he threw me out on the wet grass and walked
away.”
“How cruel,” said I, “but don’t think that all boys are like him, for I
know some that are just as kind as anybody.”
“Then I tried to go back and find my mother,” said Beauty, “and I went
up to the door of a place that looked like my home, but as I stood
there crying, a man came out and picked me up very harshly, and threw
me out onto the sidewalk. It seemed as if all the world were against
me, and I tried to crawl away to a place where no one would find me,
when a boy came along who picked me up very tenderly, and it was he who
brought me here.”
I told Beauty of my own experience as a homeless cat and bade her be
thankful that she had fallen into such good hands.
During the evening we played together by the beautiful moonlight, but
all at once I missed her, and when mistress called us in for the night
I was the only one to respond. I have no doubt that Beauty went to look
for her mother.
After Budge and Toddy left, mistress tied a pretty colored ribbon
around my neck, with the street and number, 127 Poplar Avenue, plainly
written on it in black ink. She had also tied one around Beauty’s neck,
and for this reason she expected that Beauty would be returned. But we
looked for her in vain.
One evening when mistress and Guy were talking about Beauty, mistress
said: “I presume she has found a home; I only hope it is a good one.”
“I don’t think it is,” said Guy. “Anybody that would steal a cat would
not treat her well after he got her.” And I think he was right, for
it was just as bad as stealing, to keep a cat that had the street and
number written on his necktie. How foolish Beauty was to leave such a
good home.
Not many days after Beauty’s departure, a little girl brought us a
light colored tiger kitty, which she said she had found in front of a
vacant house, cold and hungry, and she brought her to us because she
thought it was our little Beauty.
Mistress petted the little thing, and praised the little girl for
being so kind and thoughtful in trying to find its home. She asked the
little girl to take it to her own home and keep it, but she said her
mother would not permit her to have a kitty because they lived in a
flat, or she would be only too glad to keep it. So then, rather than
have the little thing turned out without a home, mistress allowed it to
remain, and she named it “Beauty” after the last one.
On the following morning one of our neighbors, having seen two strange
kittens in the yard within so short a time, said to mistress: “What are
you keeping over there, a cat refuge, or a hospital?”
“Why both,” said mistress. “I wouldn’t turn a stray cat away, much less
a sick one.”
The lady said no more.
The little stranger seemed so thankful for a nice warm basket (I shared
mine with her) she hardly left it the entire day, except to go to her
meals. She would lap a whole saucer full of milk, and ask for more,
and mistress fed her till she had all she wanted. I tried to find out
where she had lived, but she seemed to feel so grieved at the way she
had been treated, that it was fully three days before she finally
consented to talk about it. Then she told me that the folks all left
the house and all the things were loaded on a wagon and taken away.
Said she, “I waited day after day on the doorsteps hoping they would
come back. All I had to eat was what I could find in the ash pile, and
nights I crawled into an old stovepipe.”
This was so much worse than anything I had ever experienced, or even
heard of, I hadn’t a word to say in reply.
But evidently the cold and hunger that she had suffered had had their
effect on little Beauty. Although she had the best of care, still a
few days later she was taken so very ill one night that it caused her
to groan most pitifully; and in the morning when Guy came down, her
lifeless form lay on the floor, cold and stiff.
Mistress very tenderly wrapped the little dead body in some soft white
tissue paper, and put it in a box, and Guy buried it in the rear of the
yard, marking the spot with a stake on which he printed:
“SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF BEAUTY.”
Then mistress planted some mignonette and pansies on the spot, and Guy
fenced it in with pieces of arched wire, so that it made a nice little
flower-bed.
After it was all over I heard mistress say to Guy: “Aren’t you glad we
have been kind to this little creature during the few days of her life
that she was with us?”
“I was just thinking how sorry I would be if I hadn’t been kind to
her,” said Guy. “Yesterday when she whined so I was tempted to put her
out, but I am glad now I didn’t; I guess she was sick then.”
“Yes,” said mistress, “when animals act ill-natured or fretful, it is
generally because they are not well; and instead of being impatient
with them, we ought to be all the more tender, and see whether we
cannot find out the cause of their trouble, and relieve them.”