mistress had had an experience which made us all feel the need of such
a place. I heard her tell Guy of a poor sick and homeless pug dog she
saw on the street, and how she stopped to put a court-plaster over a
raw spot on his ear. Of course, the dog felt that she was his friend,
and he followed her to her office. But she had no place to keep him, so
she sent word to the Dog Hospital about it. She might have called the
Humane Agent to come and shoot the dog, but she thought he was a nice
animal and worth saving.
Well, the hospital man came and examined the dog, said he was old and
sick, not worth trying to save, and that the only thing he could do for
him was to chloroform him and take him to the glue factory. Mistress
told him to do that; but she had to pay him two dollars before he would
do another thing for the dog. A hospital of that kind is all right for
an animal whose master is able to pay; it does not as a rule help poor
homeless creatures. My idea of a hospital is one where any animal, no
matter how poor or sick or unsightly, is welcomed, and either nursed
back to health or put out of its misery. I have heard that in some
large cities kind-hearted people have founded such asylums. But we must
hope and pray that good people may be found in every town and city,
willing to devote a portion of their means to the relief of suffering
animals.
XII
SUNSHINE AND SHADOW
One pleasant Saturday afternoon I was awakened from my nap by a sound
as of rustling foliage, and the room seemed to be suddenly filled
with the odor of fresh violets. I opened my eyes and saw a very
stately-looking lady, dressed in a beautiful silk gown and a hat that
was covered with gaily colored birds, all having their wings spread
as if about to fly away. She was seated in the high-back chair, and I
quickly climbed up on it from the rear, and was just ready to spring
upon the birds, when she gave a dreadful scream and ran out onto the
porch.
At this, mistress came rushing down-stairs, and the lady told her with
frantic gestures and loud exclamations what a dreadfully rude thing I
had done to her. Mistress led her back into the parlor, and got her
quieted as well as she could, but presently Budge and Toddy, who had
been napping in the bay-window seat, also came into the parlor.
“Are all of these cats yours?” said the lady, with apparent
astonishment. “I should think they would be a dreadful nuisance.”
I could see that mistress was annoyed by the remark, but she answered
her very gently, and said: “It depends on your treatment of cats, Mrs.
Cotton, whether they will be a nuisance or a pleasure. I have always
found them a pleasure, and besides, I have a special purpose in keeping
pets.”
“A purpose in keeping cats!” exclaimed the lady; “do tell me what it
is.”
“It is to teach my boy to be tender and humane toward all animals;
and as we cannot afford expensive pets like dogs and horses, we are
satisfied with cats.”
“You are the first person I ever heard speak of a purpose in keeping
cats,” said Mrs. Cotton. “I always supposed that people had cats
because they just happened to come to them.”
“That is not the case with these cats,” replied mistress. “We formerly
lived in a flat where we could not keep pets, and that is one of the
reasons why I went to housekeeping.”
“But do you not find it very expensive to keep house for just you two?”
“We do,” said mistress, “but it is the money that is wisely expended,
after all, that brings the largest returns. To many people, no doubt,
our modern flats are a great boon, affording comfort and safety that
they could not possibly secure elsewhere. But to my mind, the landlord
who banishes children from his flat is a public benefactor, however
selfish may be his motives. A child should have a home in the truest
sense of that precious word, a home with lawn and garden, with room
for pets and tools and playthings, affording him ample opportunity to
give wholesome expression to his feelings. It is the life lived day by
day in the home that moulds and fashions a child’s character, rather
than any training he receives in school. Spend your money right now in
_forming_ correct ideas, and encouraging expression of them, rather
than save it by ignoble economy, only to be spent later in the vain
attempt to _reform_ a character perverted and dwarfed through narrow
and contracted living.”
“I have never before had my thoughts turned to this subject,” said Mrs.
Cotton, looking very earnestly into mistress’ face, “but I believe what
you say is true. I am so thankful my children are still young, that I
may profit by your excellent ideas. And as for cats, I never before
thought they were good for anything, having been brought up to think of
them as uncanny creatures, something to be abhorred and dreaded. But
as my little boy has written Santa Claus to bring him a kitty for a
Christmas gift, I suppose I will have to give up my prejudice.”
“It is the superstition of a by-gone age,” said mistress; “but a
happier day is coming, when the cat will be given her rightful place as
a household pet; and through gentle treatment her nature will become
still more refined and ennobled. Notwithstanding all that has been said
about their selfish disposition, my cats have at times shown great
consideration for each other. For instance, once I gave them their milk
in a narrow dish, where only one could lap at a time, and to my great
surprise they took turns. On another occasion I had prepared a plate of
meat for them, arranging each cat’s portion by itself. Budge and Meow
were not present, so Toddy ate his portion and left theirs untouched.”
“That is certainly remarkable,” said Mrs. Cotton. “I shall no longer
object to having one in our house. But I fear we shall no sooner have
become attached to her before she will leave us. My neighbor has had
three very pretty kittens given her during the last six months, and not
one stayed longer than a week.”
“Where does she keep them?”
“Oh, they stay around the yard, and when it’s cold they crawl under the
barn, or if they get a chance they go up in the haymow.”
“No wonder,” said mistress. “A cat, with her domestic instincts, in
order to become attached to a place, must have a cozy, comfortable
corner somewhere in the house that she can call her very own. It may be
nothing more than a basket with a pad or a cushion in it, but it must
be permanently located in a retired corner of a comfortable room. A cat
thus provided will become attached to her own peculiar furniture, and
even should the family remove to another place, if she is carefully
transferred to the new home, and her corner is at once fitted up in a
quiet room where she can be kept indoors for a few days, she will not
go away.
“And while we are talking on this subject, I trust you will pardon me
if I mention something that may seem very trivial to you, but which I
consider of great importance. A cat should have a name, because it
adds to her dignity, and commands respect for her. Moreover it enhances
her commercial value to be thus individualized, and lifted above the
general mass of her kind.”
“I am very glad to know all these things,” said Mrs. Cotton. “You
certainly have interested me in this subject as I never have been
before in all my life.”
Before Mrs. Cotton went away that afternoon she actually came over to
the window-sill and gave Budge several gentle strokes. I suppose she
chose Budge because he is the smallest.
“How docile and confiding,” said she; “they seem to know no fear at
all; and such soft and glossy coats I never saw before.”
“Their confiding and docile nature is due to kind treatment,” said
mistress, “and the soft and glossy coats are the result of good food,
plenty of fresh water and clean pads.”
As Mrs. Cotton took her departure, it seemed as though her face wore a
far more kindly expression than it did when she came in.
Of course, I was delighted to hear all these good things, and
especially that we cats are useful, and serving our dear mistress such
a good purpose. May the time be near at hand when the sunshine of love
and good-will shall chase away every shadow of hatred and cruelty!
[Illustration: JACK]
XIII
JACK
Jack was a large black Manx cat that lived on Poplar Avenue, the friend
of Betsy Whitefoot, as you will remember. His tail was only about an
inch long, and his hind legs were higher than his front ones.
One day when jack’s mistress called at our house he followed her, and,
having known him since the death of Betsy, I gave him a hearty welcome.
“Where did you get this beautiful cat?” said mistress, the moment she
saw Jack.
“My husband brought him home one bitter cold day last winter,” said
Mrs. Vandervere. “He saw some boys chase him through an alley. The
poor creature was so thoroughly frightened that for several days he
stayed almost constantly behind the cook-stove, refusing to come out.
We thought the boys had cut off his tail, but when I came to wash him
I discovered that he never had one. When he recovered from his fright
we found him to be a very affectionate cat, and now we feel as though
we could not do without him. Often when I am sewing he sits on my
shoulders, and he used to have a fashion of pulling pins out of my
waist with his teeth and drop them on the floor. But one day he pulled
out a crooked pin and swallowed it, and by the way he acted we thought
Jack would not be with us much longer. A raw egg, however, seemed to do
him good, and in a few days he was all right again; but he has never
pulled out any more pins.”
Jack and I with Budge and Toddy had been lying in our sunny bay-window,
but while his mistress was still talking we two got up and went out
into the yard. Jack went straight to Betsy’s grave and sniffed around
a while, then he mounted the fence and showed me the shortest cut over
to his house, and he also invited me to visit his catnip bed, in which
he turned several somersaults. Then he led the way through the cellar
window up into the house, and in the library beside the fireplace was
his basket, a beautiful willow trimmed with red ribbons, and a soft
cushion inside. Jack told me that was his “corner.” After a while we
went outdoors again, and he showed me how far he could jump. It
was from the top of the porch railing to the ground; and when I am a
full-grown cat I expect to be able to do the same.
[Illustration: “HE TOLD ME AN INTERESTING STORY”]
After that day Jack came to see me quite often, and he seemed
especially to enjoy our beautiful sunny porch, which, with its pads and
cushions and baskets, looked very much like Miss Virgie’s playhouse.
Whenever I visited Jack, we used to sit on a garden bench that stood in
his yard, and upon which his mistress always left a blanket for Jack’s
special comfort.
Jack was a great fellow to talk about old times, and one day when we
were enjoying a sun bath on the bench he told me a very interesting
story. He said that his ancestors came from an island across the ocean,
and that he hoped some day to visit that country.
I described to him my journey last summer on the steamboat, and our
visit on the farm, and it made him even more anxious to go.
Continuing his story, Jack said that he was a lineal descendant of the
famous cat that made a fortune for Richard Whittington, who was “Thrice
Lord Mayor of London.”
At this point I interrupted Jack to have him explain to me the meaning
of “ancestor,” and “lineal descendant.” Jack was so friendly with me, I
did not mind asking him, and he willingly explained it to me.
He said that the cat that lived with Richard Whittington very many
years ago had a son named Tom; Tom had a son named Toby; Toby had a son
named Jack, and so they kept on having sons till it finally came down
to him, and that made Tom his ancestor, and him a lineal descendant.
Jack then told me of some of his experiences. He said that his ability
to catch rats used to be quite as good as that of his early ancestor,
but that since he lived in his present home, he had not much practice,
there being no rats in the neighborhood, except an occasional one
around the ash barrel.
I asked him where he learned the business, and he told me that he used
to live in a down-town boarding-house, where he sometimes killed as
many as twenty rats in one day. But the cook caught one alive one day,
and tied a string around his neck with a little bell attached, and let
him go back to his hole; and the ringing of the bell so frightened
the other rats that they all went away. Said Jack: “My occupation
was gone, and as the boarding-house keeper had no further use for
me, she got some boys to chase me away.” And then he added with some
bitterness: “That was the way she rewarded me for my services.”
I told Jack that I thought the treatment he received was very cruel.
Indeed, I think a dose of chloroform administered to a cat one has no
further use for, is much more humane than chasing him away, especially
in cold weather. Of course, I didn’t tell Jack so; and indeed I am glad
it was not done in his case. But not every cat is so fortunate as to be
picked up by a kind-hearted person and taken to a good home.
Continuing our conversation I said to Jack: “Don’t you think your
present beautiful home and kind mistress came to you as a reward for
your industry in the boarding-house?”
He said he had never thought of it in that light before, but that he
believed it must be so, and that he would forgive his former mistress
for her unkindness.
At this time Jack’s mistress called him into the house, and I returned
to my home, thankful that I had such a genial fellow as Jack for a
neighbor.
XIV
CHRISTMAS
I shall never forget the delightful time we had on Christmas Day.
Imagine my surprise when on a beautiful winter morning we were decked
out the first thing with bright new ribbons. I knew it was not Sunday,
so I thought it must be Christmas, having heard Guy say that Christmas
was just like Sunday.
After we had our ribbons tied, we were called into the library, and
there on our bay-window seat was a beautiful lily plant with seven snow
white bells on it, which filled the entire house with their fragrant
odor. On the table stood a tree, like some I have seen in the country,
and under the tree were three beautiful new pads, one orange, one blue
and one pink, and a large willow basket with a soft cushion in it.
Hanging on the branches of the tree, instead of apples or cherries as
in grandpa’s orchard, were rubber balls, spools, and white muslin bags
filled with popcorn. The spools had little tufts of bright colored
worsted sticking out at each end, and they were suspended on narrow
ribbon long enough to reach nearly to the table, which made it handy to
play with them. The balls had something inside, which, when we squeezed
them, would come out and tickle our noses, but we could never see the
thing that came out. We used to try to catch it, but how could we catch
a thing we couldn’t see?
After we had admired the beautiful tree for a while, Guy took down a
bag for each of us. The muslin of which the bags were made was so thin
that you could see the popcorn that was inside. The bags were tied at
each end with pretty colored ribbon, which made them look just like
little white sausages; but how to get them open and get at the popcorn
was what puzzled me. But cats know just as well as people, that “in
union there is strength,” so all three of us took hold of the same
bag. It was tied with blue ribbon and belonged to Budge. For a while
we played with the bag, each one pulling in a different direction, and
in a few minutes the whole floor was littered over with popcorn. For a
while we were very busy helping ourselves, and I am sorry to say that
each growled at the others while eating, for fear they would get the
most: it tasted so good.
While we were busy eating the popcorn, Dennis came in, wearing a
beautiful new silver collar with his name and address: “Dennis Hilton,
129 Poplar Avenue,” inscribed upon it, and a yellow satin bow in the
ring. Of course, we invited him to have some popcorn. But Dennis was
more interested in our new pads and basket than in the popcorn, and
after smelling of them all very cautiously, he stretched himself out on
my pad at full length and took a nap. I was so glad he was too big for
the basket.
I wondered all the morning why Jack didn’t come over, but in the
afternoon we met accidentally on the fence ledge, and he told me that
they had also had a Christmas over at his place; and he invited me to
go over with him.
He said that on the night before when he was out in his poplar tree,
he saw an old gray-haired man with a long, white beard, and wearing
a furry coat and cap, drive down our street in a chariot drawn by
reindeer, and that the chariot was loaded with the most beautiful toys
and bonbons, such as children like, and that he stopped at every house
in the neighborhood except Eddie’s.
Said I: “May be that’s Santa Claus, that we hear so much about; but
they say he always travels in a sleigh.”
Jack said he guessed not, unless there was snow on the ground.
By this time we had reached his yard, and he invited me in and showed
me his presents. He had a beautiful new brass collar with “Jack
Vandervere, 111 Poplar Avenue” inscribed upon it. He also had a box of
sardines which tasted perfectly delicious.
Mistress sometimes gives us salmon and it is very good; but I like
sardines better because they are whole, and it is such fun to toss them
around and play “catch” with them. If they would only wiggle a little,
it would be still more fun to play with them.
Jack had many other presents, but the one that interested me most of
all was a little box that sings when you pull a string. His mistress
pulled the string for me, and the very first song that came out was
one I have heard mistress sing, about an Owl and a Pussy Cat that went
to sea and got married. Another song that came out of the box was “My
Pussy has gone from her Basket.” It seemed to be gotten up on purpose
for pussies. Perhaps if I am a real good cat, the little old man will
bring me a song box some time. Next Christmas eve I shall watch for him
from my poplar tree.
While I was admiring Jack’s presents and listening to the lovely music,
in came Willie Cotton, carrying in his arms a beautiful jet black
kitten with amber eyes and a white “breastpin.” It had a yellow ribbon
around its neck, to which was fastened a note, as follows
“LABRADOR, Dec. 25.
“DEAR WILLIE:
“This will introduce to you Nicodemus. I have sent him to you because
you belong to the Band of Mercy, and want some animal to love and
care for. Fix him a comfortable place in some room where he will be
obliged to be neat and orderly in his habits. He will make you no
trouble, if you will take him out into the yard every morning, noon
and evening, and always take him to the same place.
“Your faithful friend,
“MRS. SANTA CLAUS.”
As Nicodemus was a Manx cat, Jack treated him very kindly, and invited
him to have some sardines with us. While we were eating, the box
played a song that I have often heard about some little fishes that
asked their mother if they could go and play. I can’t repeat the song
but I will tell you what I remember of it. Their mother said no, but
the little fishes went anyhow; and the result was that they got so
far away from home they could not find their way back again. At last
they were caught in a net with a lot of other fishes, and taken to the
cannery.
“Perhaps these are the very ones,” said Jack, as he pointed to the box
that was fast becoming empty. I don’t know whether Jack’s object was to
save his few remaining sardines or not; but, anyway, I did not care for
any more just then; and as the sun had gone down, I bade Jack and his
guest a very good-evening.
And so ended our Christmas.
XV
OLD BLACKIE
I had often wondered how it happened that a busy woman like mistress
was so much interested in cats, till one evening the mystery was
cleared up. A lovely lady whom Guy called “Aunt Minnie” was staying
with us at the time--and by the way we cats are very happy whenever she
comes to visit us, because then somebody always sends such beautiful
flowers.
I had climbed up into mistress’ lap to listen to a story she was
reading about some Cat Club. But as it was only about Angoras and
Persian cats, and not a word about Maltese and tigers, it did not
interest me very much, and I curled up and took a nap. When I awoke,
mistress was talking, and the first I heard was:
“When I was a little girl in Switzerland, we had horses, cows, dogs,
cats and rabbits, and I was very fond of them all. I suppose the reason
I have become so fond of cats is because I have for many years been
deprived of the other pets, and for some time while boarding, I didn’t
even have a cat. But just before Guy was born we started housekeeping
in a down-town cottage, and on the very first day an enormous black
cat came to the kitchen door, pleading for admittance. Having found
that there were mice and rats in the cellar, I gladly let him in and
from that day I never saw a rat or a mouse in the house. We fixed him a
comfortable corner in the basement, and named him ‘Tom.’ From the first
he acted like one thoroughly familiar with the premises, and no wonder:
I learned afterward from the neighbors that he had lived in that house
for many years with successive tenants.
“But one morning I heard some very queer noises in the basement, and
when I went down to see what it was, I found Tom lying in his basket
with four of the tiniest kittens I had ever seen, and looking up at me
so pleadingly, as if to say: ‘You’ll be good to them, won’t you?’
“We knew then that ‘Tom’ was not an appropriate name for our cat, for
whoever heard of a mother cat named ‘Tom’? So we told Guy’s nurse to
find a new name for her, and because she was so black, Emma named her
‘Old Blackie.’”
“What has become of Old Blackie and her kittens?” said Aunt Minnie.
Mistress continued: “Blackie raised her family, two tigers and two
Maltese; the Maltese were named ‘Jumbo’ and ‘Fritz,’ the tigers ‘Meow’
and ‘Peggy.’ Jumbo and Peggy were adopted by the doctor who attended
Guy; Fritz was taken home by our milkman, and I kept Meow. But the
following year Guy’s health was not good, and we went to my father’s
to spend the summer on the farm. In the meantime some more kittens had
come to Blackie, and I arranged with my neighbor’s little girl to take
care of the whole family during my absence, and to find homes for the
little ones, if she could. Meow we took with us, in a large bird cage
covered with a cloth.”
As I listened to the story of Old Blackie, I was reminded of old Peter,
a cat that was deserted by his people who left him in the cellar. He
was nearly drowned when the landlord found him, and took him to his
own beautiful home; and he named him Peter, because he had found him
walking in the water.
Aunt Minnie had by this time become so interested in mistress’ story,
that she asked her to also relate the history of Meow.
“That was my first experience traveling with a cat,” said mistress.
“Emma took care of Meow, and I held the baby.
“On the farm Meow became very popular, and she and grandpa were the
best of friends. I well remember how at meal-times she would always sit
on the broad window-sill in the dining-room, and as soon as grandpa
finished, and began to lean back in his big armchair, she would
spring on his shoulder and caress him. Then he would prepare her a
dainty dinner and carry it out to the kitchen with her perched on his
shoulder. I also remember that when her first kittens came she was
determined to put them into my bureau drawer. But I took her out into
the kitchen and made her a nice soft bed in an old cheese box, where
she raised her family and became a very good mother.”
“But where is Meow now?” said Aunt Minnie.
“When the summer was over and the time approached for our departure,”
said mistress, “grandpa had become so attached to Meow, he invited
her to stay with him; and as she had a family I was glad to let her
remain.”
“And is she there yet?” asked Aunt Minnie.
“No,” said mistress. “She lived there seven years, and then grandpa
went to live on another farm. On the day they moved he put her into
a bag to take her to the new house; but, instead of putting her into
a closed room until she recovered from the excitement caused by the
removal, he opened the bag in the yard, and she ran away as fast as she
could.
“Some months later grandpa learned that she had gone back to the old
place; for on the morning after the new family moved in, they found her
lying in her cheese box, very ill and unable to move, and on that same
day she died. She had traveled three miles and crossed a wide creek in
order to reach her old home.”