Out of a barn,
With a pair of bagpipes
Under her arm;
She could sing nothing
But fiddle cum dee,
The mouse has married
The bumble-bee;
Pipe, cat; dance, mouse:
We’ll have a wedding
At our good house.
CAT AND TIGER.
_A Fable._
The cat and the tiger were once on very good terms. They considered
themselves members of the same family; and, whenever any disputes
arose among the animals, they were both found vigorously supporting
the other’s case. They were often to be seen roaming about the country
together, and they frequently did each other great services, the tiger
by his superior strength, and the cat by his more nimble wit.
Although, for the most part fast friends, the tiger when they were by
themselves would often harass the cat by his conceited speeches.
“You may be very well for small game,” he would say, striding up and
down, and lashing his tail to and fro, “but you must know that you are
but a small and very plain edition of me. I can easily bring down deer,
and I have even put the great elephant to flight. Look how my beautiful
stripes flash in the sun. Are you not proud of belonging to my family?”
To this the cat said nothing, but closed his eyes and mused.
Now, it is well known that, though the tiger can easily climb up a
tree, once he is up, if he wishes to come down, he must either leap or
fall, since he is unable to climb down.
One day he said to the cat: “I have long wished that I could climb a
tree. Many of my tormenting enemies escape from me because I must stick
to the ground. You climb very well, though you are so little. Why will
you not teach me?”
“Come along; I will teach you with pleasure,” said the cat, leading
the way to a tall tree. After a great deal of instruction the
tiger succeeded in getting up the tree; but the cat, seeing now an
opportunity to retaliate for the tiger’s unpleasant words, ran off,
laughing.
“I am up very well,” said the tiger, a little frightened at finding
himself so far from the ground; “now show me how to come down.”
“Oh, no,” said the cat. “I was only to show you how to get up. Now you
must get down the best you can. Since you are so much more powerful and
beautiful, surely you can do that much better than I.”
The tiger tried to cajole his small friend, then begged him for help;
but, finding him obdurate, flew into a rage and leaped to the ground,
meaning to catch and crush him at once. Instead, he almost crushed
himself, and lay on his side for some moments, gasping for breath.
At last, when he was able to rise, he rushed after the cat with the
best speed he could muster. Lame as he was, he gained rapidly, and it
would have gone hard with the cat had he not, luckily, spied a man’s
house a little way off. In this he took refuge, and he has never yet
mustered courage enough to leave that protection.
WHERE ARE THOSE SLEEPY KITTENS.
_Action Poem._
[1]Cunning little kittens,
Cuddled in a heap,
Tired out with playing,
Now are sound asleep.
[2]Mother cat comes stealing in,
And softly says, “Im-mieouw.”
[3]Where are those sleepy kittens?
[4]Do you see them now?
DIRECTIONS.
[Footnote 1: Children all huddled in a bunch, with faces in hands on
desk.]
[Footnote 2: One child comes softly creeping in toward them and says,
“Im-mieouw.”]
[Footnote 3: All children stretch, rub eyes and gather round their
mother, now wide awake.]
[Footnote 4: All skip about as kittens do, when their mother is near,
and play with one another.]
A SAD CASE.
CLARA D. BATES.
I’m a poor little kitty,
And alas! when born, so pretty,
That the morning I was found,
Instead of being drowned,
I was saved to be the toy
Of a dreadful baby-boy,
Who pinches and who pokes me,
Holds me by my throat and chokes me,
And when I could vainly try
From his cruel clutch to fly,
Grabs my tail, and pulls so hard
That some day, upon my word!
I am sure ’twill broken be,
And then everybody’ll see
Such a looking Kitty!
That baby has no pity!
Thinks I’m “only a kitty”—
I won’t stand it, nor would you!
’Tis no use to cry out m-e-w!
Listen! Some day I shall scratch,
And he’ll find he’s met his match;
That within my little paws
There are ever so many claws!
And it won’t be very long,
If this sort of thing goes on,
Till there’ll be a kitten row
Such as has not been till now;
Then, my lad, there will be found,
Left upon that battle-ground,
Such a looking Baby!
CATS AND DOGS.
JEROME K. JEROME.
I like cats and dogs very much indeed. What jolly chaps they are!
They are much superior to human beings as companions. They do not
quarrel or argue with you. They never talk about themselves, but listen
to you while you talk about yourself, and keep up an appearance of
being interested in the conversation. They never make stupid remarks.
And they never ask a young author with fourteen tragedies, sixteen
comedies, seven farces, and a couple of burlesques in his desk, why he
doesn’t write a play.
They never say unkind things. They never tell us of our faults, “merely
for our own good.” They do not, at inconvenient moments, mildly remind
us of our past follies and mistakes. They never inform us that we are
not nearly so nice as we used to be. We are always the same to them.
They are always glad to see us. They are with us in all our humors.
They are merry when we are glad, sober when we feel solemn, sad when we
are sorrowful.
“Hulloa! happy, and want a lark! Right you are; I’m your man. Here I
am, frisking round you, leaping, barking, pirouetting, ready for any
amount of fun and mischief. Look at my eyes, if you doubt me. What
shall it be? A romp in the drawing-room, and never mind the furniture,
or a scamper in the fresh, cool air, a scud across the fields, and down
the hill, and we won’t let old Gaffer Goggles’s geese know what time
o’day it is, neither. Whoop! come along.”
Or you’d like to be quiet and think. Very well. Pussy can sit on the
arm of the chair, and purr, and purr, and Montmorency will curl himself
up on the rug, and blink at the fire, yet keeping one eye on you the
while, in case you are seized with any sudden desire in the direction
of rats. And when we bury our face in our hands and wish we had never
been born, they don’t sit up very straight, and observe that we have
brought it all upon ourselves. They don’t even hope it will be a
warning to us.
But they come up softly; and shove their heads against us. If it is a
cat, she stands on your shoulder, rumples your hair, and says, “I am
sorry for you,” as plain as words can speak; and if it is a dog, he
looks up at you with his big, true eyes, and says with them, “Well,
you’ve always got me, you know. We’ll go through the world together,
and always stand by each other, won’t we?”
He is very imprudent, a dog is. He never makes it his business to
inquire whether you are in the right or in the wrong, never bothers
as to whether you are going up or down upon life’s ladder, never asks
whether you are rich or poor, silly or wise, sinner or saint. Come luck
or misfortune, good repute or bad, honor or shame, he is going to stick
to you, to comfort you, guard you, and give his life for you, if need
be—foolish, brainless, soulless dog!
Ah! old staunch friend, with your deep, clear eyes, and bright, quick
glances, that take in all one has to say before one has time to speak
it, do you know you are only an animal, and have no mind? Do you know
that dull-eyed, gin-sodden lout, leaning against the post out there, is
immeasurably your intellectual superior?
Do you know that every little-minded, selfish scoundrel, who lives by
cheating and tricking, who never did a gentle deed, or said a kind
word, who never had a thought that was not mean and low, or a desire
that was not base, whose every action is a fraud, whose every utterance
is a lie; do you know they are all as much superior to you as the sun
is superior to rush-light, you honorable, brave-hearted, unselfish
brute?
They are _men_, you know, and _men_ are the greatest, noblest, and
wisest, and best Beings in the whole vast eternal Universe. Any man
will tell you that. Yes, poor doggie, you are very stupid, very stupid
indeed, compared with us clever men, who understand all about politics
and philosophy, and who know everything in short, except what we are,
and where we came from, and whither we are going, and what everything
outside this tiny world and most things in it are.
Never mind, though, pussy and doggie, we like you both all the better
for your being stupid. We all like stupid things. It is so pleasant
to come across people more stupid than ourselves. Ah me! life sadly
changes us all. The world seems a vast horrible grinding machine, into
which what is fresh and bright and pure is pushed at one end, to come
out old and crabbed and wrinkled at the other.
Look even at Pussy Sobersides, with her dull sleepy glance, her grave
slow walk, and dignified, prudish airs; who could ever think that once
she was the blue-eyed, whirling, scampering, head-over-heels, mad
little firework that we called a kitten.
What marvelous vitality a kitten has. It is really something very
beautiful the way life bubbles over in the little creatures. They
rush about, and mew, and spring; dance on their hind legs, embrace
everything with their front ones, roll over and over, lie on their
backs and kick. They don’t know what to do with themselves, they are so
full of life.
Can you remember when you and I felt something of the same sort of
thing? Can you remember those glorious days of fresh young manhood;
how, when coming home along the moonlit road, _we_ felt too full of
life for sober walking, and had to spring and skip, and wave our arms,
and shout? Oh, that magnificent young _Life!_ that crowned us kings of
the earth; that rushed through every tingling vein, till we seemed to
walk on air; that thrilled through our throbbing brains, and told us
to go forth and conquer the whole world; that welled up in our young
hearts, till we longed to stretch out our arms and gather all the
toiling men and women and the little children to our breast, and love
them all—all.
Ah! they were grand days, those deep full days, when our coming life,
like an unseen organ, pealed strange, yearnful music in our ears, and
our young blood cried out like a war-horse for the battle. Ah, our
pulse beats slow and steady now, and our old joints are rheumatic, and
we love our easy chair and sneer at boys’ enthusiasm. But oh! for one
brief moment of that god-like life again.
[Illustration:
PICTURE VI.
“She ain’t ner tommon tind o’ tat,
She am Andora, yes, she be.”]
[Illustration: PICTURE VII.
“Er nussin’ bottle wiv er mouf,
F’um wich she dinks her milk w’en hot.”]
DICK WHITTINGTON.
[Music: SONG WITH TABLEAUX.
1. “Clouds of trouble hover o’er me,
I will leave this London drear;
Save my cat, I’m lone and friendless,
Naught but failure greets me here.”
Thus said Dick; and off he wandered,
Eyes bedimmed with burning tears,
Till, fatigued, he paused and rested—
Sweet-toned bells salute his ears.
“Stay, O stay!”
They seem to say.
“Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Mayor of London.”
2. Years rolled by, and Dick was dwelling
In a land beyond the sea;
Fickle fortune smiled upon him,
He was rich as man need be.
Gold and jewels were his payment,
But the labor was his cat’s—
It had cleared the Prince’s palace
Of a mighty swarm of rats.
Still he hears,
As pass the years,
“Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Mayor of London.”
3. Once again in merry London
Dick had landed safe and sound;
Famed afar for truth and honor,
Many were the friends he found.
As Lord Mayor he counseled wisely,
Cheered the poor man’s humble lot,
For the struggles of his boyhood
In success he ne’er forgot.
Yet again
Resounds the strain,
“Long live Dick Whittington,
Lord Mayor of London.”]
PERSONS REPRESENTED IN THE TABLEAUX: Dick Whittington, a
beggar, attendants, etc. A cat.
SCENE. For Tableau I, an exterior; for Tableaux II and III,
an interior.
N.B. The chimes played on the Fairy Bells or some similar
instrument will greatly add to the effect.
TABLEAU I. Verse 1. Dick, with a bundle over his shoulder,
turns round at the sound of the bells.
TABLEAU II. Verse 2. Dick, well dressed, sits fondling his
cat.
TABLEAU III. Verse 3. Dick, as Lord Mayor of London, sits
in a chair of state. He gives alms to a poor man who kneels
before him. Attendants look on.
“TWO’S COMPANY, THREE’S NONE.”
MRS. FREDERICK W. PENDER.
_Written expressly for this book._
Two kittens bright
With haughty air
That plainly said,
“Two make a pair,”
A picture made
As they sat there,
A parasol
Kept off the air.
It shaded them
From wind and sun;
’Twas Japanese,
(A lovely one!)
And well they knew
They had outdone
In style, their chums,
Yes, ev’ry one.
And how they blinked
At Pussy Snow,
And said, “My friend,
You cannot go
With us about,
You are too slow;
Besides, your voice
Is never low.
“And people might,
Why, something say,
If you were seen
With us to-day.
Besides, we’ve heard
You’ve been quite gay,
And that should make
Us say, ‘Nay, nay!’
“Then, we, you see,
Are finely bred,
And our swell set
By us is led;
And nothing ’bout
Us must be said
To make us blush
And bow our head.
“We put on style
In dress, and air,
And often tend
Some great affair;
And you, by now,
Must be aware
We surely are
A happy pair.
“Then, too, perhaps,
You do not know
What ‘blue blood’ in
Our veins doth flow.
It might affect
Our social sway
Were we with you
For just one day.
“Then you have heard
By ev’ry one,
How ‘two’s company’
While ‘three is none.’
So run away,
And seek some fun
With peasant cats,
Out in the sun.”
Poor Kitty Snow
Was very sad,
The little dear,
It was too bad!
And though her voice
Was high, ’twas sweet;
And neat she looked
In house or street.
She did not know
That selfish pride
Was used to all
Her goodness hide,
By those who oft
She’d played beside,
From day to day;
And they to chide
Her for her birth—
She, too, a pet.
Oh, how it hurt!
Her eyes were wet
From grieving much
When told to “get,”
By those she loved
And daily met.
A lowly life
Is often best
To prove our friends;
And, for the rest,
If they should not
Stand by the test,
It’s well we know
Them at their best.
POLLY PRY’S KITTEN.
[1]My dear old Maltese pussy!
You’re so soft and sweet to pat,
[2]An’ I love you all the better,
’Cause you’re called a Maltese cat.
[3]When brother Dickey brought you,
He said: “Now, Polly Pry,
You can’t maul an’ tease this kitty,
And I will tell you why.
[4]“She’s called a Maltese pussy,
[5]So as little girls like you,
Will know that maulin’ an’ teasin’ her
Is what they musn’t do!”
DIRECTIONS.
[Footnote 1: Child enters, walks to chair at stage C, looks down at
kitty, speaking in loving tones, and petting her.]
[Footnote 2: Speaks as if she felt slightly teased.]
[Footnote 3: Continues petting kitty, and shakes a finger as if in
warning.]
[Footnote 4: Drawls the line, separating the word into “Mal-tese,” and
giving stress to “tease.”]
[Footnote 5: Shakes finger insistently, pulls and hauls at kitty. Gives
a little meow.]
THE RASH YOUNG MOUSE.
_Action Poem._
“[1]Come in, [2]come in, you naughty child,
Don’t run about the house,”
[3]“Oh, mother, mother, let me please!”
Thus spoke the little mouse.
[4]“Those crumbs, I’m sure they’re meant for me,
Upon the parlor floor,
And most [5]delicious cheese I smell,
[6]Within the pantry door.”
[7]“Dear child, dear child,” mamma replied,
“The danger you don’t see;
If [8]puss appeared, what would become
Of you? [9]_That_ troubles me.”
“Pussy won’t come,” said young Miss Mouse,
[10]“I’m pretty sure of that,”
And [11]off she ran to taste the cheese,
Quite [12]merrily, pit! pat!
And mother-mouse [13]within her hole,
Said [14]“Dear! oh dearie, dear!
Young children are so headstrong, ah!
They never think of fear.”
So little mousie ate her cheese,
And never [15]heard behind
The [16]footsteps soft, which mother dear
Had told her she must mind.
[17]Pounce, pounce, squeak, squeak! Oh! ’tis too late!
And never, never more
Will young Miss Mouse eat cheese so nice,
Behind the pantry door.
So ends the tale of little mouse,
But one word more comes here;
Remember, mother always knows
What’s best for children dear.
DIRECTIONS.
[Footnote 1: and]
[Footnote 2: Beckon.]
[Footnote 3: Put hands together.]
[Footnote 4: Point to floor.]
[Footnote 5: Fold hands quickly.]
[Footnote 6: Point to door.]
[Footnote 7: Shake head slowly.]
[Footnote 8: Hold up forefinger.]
[Footnote 9: Emphasize with forefinger.]
[Footnote 10: Nod head saucily.]
[Footnote 11: Point outward.]
[Footnote 12: Shake hands loosely.]
[Footnote 13: Bend hands and place them together.]
[Footnote 14: Shake head slowly.]
[Footnote 15: Point over shoulders with both hands.]
[Footnote 16: Imitate walking with fingers on desks.]
[Footnote 17: Bring hands down suddenly.]
THE GOOD-FOR-NOTHING CAT.
There lives a good-for-nothing cat,
So lazy it appears,
That chirping birds can softly come
And light upon her ears.
And rats and mice can venture out
To nibble at her toes,
Or climb around and pull her tail,
Or boldly scratch her nose.
Fine servants brush her silken coat
And give her cream for tea;
Yet she’s a good-for-nothing cat,
As all the world may see.
THE TIMID KITTEN.
CAROLYN WELLS.
There was a little kitten once,
Who was of dogs afraid,
And, being by no means a dunce,
His plans he boldly made.
He said, “It’s only on the land
That dogs run after me,
So I will buy a _catboat_, and
I’ll sail away to sea.
“Out there from dogs I’ll be secure,
And each night, ere I sleep,
To make assurance doubly sure,
A _dog watch_ I will keep.”
He bought a _catboat_, hired a crew,
And one fine summer day
Triumphantly his flag he flew,
And gayly sailed away.
But in midocean one midnight—
’Twas very, very dark—
The pilot screamed in sudden fright,
“I hear a passing _bark_!”
“Oh, what is that?” the kitten said.
The pilot said, “I fear
An _ocean greyhound’s_ just ahead,
And drawing very near.”
“Alack!” the kitten cried, “alack!
This is no paltry pup!
An _ocean greyhound’s_ on my track!
I may as well give up!”
OUT FOR A HIGH TIME.
E. LOUISE LIDDELL.
Three gay little kittens, named Black, White and Gray,
From their own cozy corner once wandered away.
And old Mother Catkins, asleep on her chair,
Ne’er dreamed that her babies were off “on a tear.”
The kitty-cats frolicked, and gambolled, and ran,
And cut up such capers as only cats can;
And when they encountered a very high wall,
Up scrambled and clambered the little cats all.
“We’re out for a high time,” the kitty-cats said;
And they danced a few quicksteps; turned heels overhead.
Then Whitey and Graycoat struck up a sweet tune,
While Black sat sedately and mewed at the moon.
But brief was their pleasure. They soon heard a yell
Of “Scat there, you cats there!” while shoes and things fell.
Down scrambled and tumbled the poor little kits,
And scampered off homeward, scared out of their wits.
With joy, their warm corner the runaways spied;
And when they were nestled by old Catkin’s side,
The kittens purred softly, “No more will we roam,
For all the world over, there’s no place like home.”
WE CATS.
ACTION SONG.
[Music:
1. [1]We sit upon the mat,
Each comfortable cat,
And we [2]lick our sleek, soft fur, you see;
Then we [3]curl up on the rug,
And we [4]lay ourselves so snug,
And in [5]happy dreams we purr, you see,
In happy dreams we purr, you see.
[6]When dinner-time comes round
How hungry we are found,
With our [7]eager paws held out, you see;
And the [8]kittens rush and roll,
[9]Till they tumble in the bowl,
And they [10]splash the milk about, you see,
And they [11]splash the milk about.
2. But if [12]a dog should bark,
With bristling ears we hark,
And with [13]saucer eyes we glare, you see;
For we [14]know the way to fight,
We can [15]scratch and we can bite—
Let him enter if he dare, you see,
[16]Let him enter if he dare, you see.
What merry games and free
[17]We have when dinner’s done!
And how gaily then we [18]play, you see!
For a feather is enough,
[19]Or a little bit of fluff,
[20]To amuse our kits all [21]day, you see,
To amuse our kits all day.
3. [1]We sit upon the mat,
Each comfortable cat,
And we [2]lick our sleek soft fur, you see;
Then we [3]curl up on the rug,
And we [4]lay ourselves so snug,
And in [5]happy dreams we purr, you see,
In happy dreams we purr, you see.
But [22]when the night comes round
A-hunting [23]we are bound,
And we [24]rampage thro’ the house, you see!
We have [25]played, and slept, and fought,
And [26]now we think we ought
Just to [27]catch a fine, fat mouse, [28]you see,
[29]Just to catch a fine, fat mouse.]
[Illustration: PICTURE VIII.
“Oh, she do be ser very nice.”]
[Illustration: PICTURE IX.
“Maybe I mite dess tazy dit,
Ef f’um titten I did part.”]
DIRECTIONS FOR ACTIONS IN “WE CATS.”
[Footnote 1: Each child should sit on a footstool.]
[Footnote 2: Affect to lick breast and paws like a cat.]
[Footnote 3: Lay head down on curled left arm upon knee.]
[Footnote 4: Change attitude to right arm.]
[Footnote 5: Look up with shut eyes, blink and smile, and lay head down
again.]
[Footnote 6: All get up and look about eagerly.]
[Footnote 7: Stand on tiptoes and raise paws, like a cat begging; open
mouth.]
[Footnote 8: Run three steps to left.]
[Footnote 9: Same action to right.]
[Footnote 10: Raise forefinger, looking down with severe air.]
[Footnote 11: Affect to lap milk eagerly.]
[Footnote 12: Spring back, raise head, put hand to ear.]
[Footnote 13: Stand stiff and erect, with wide eyes.]
[Footnote 14: Shake clenched fist, scowling.]
[Footnote 15: Scratch and bite at imaginary foe.]
[Footnote 16: Remain with both hands extended in clawing attitude and
teeth showing.]
[Footnote 17: Each lay left arm around left hand neighbor’s shoulder,
smiling.]
[Footnote 18: Each pats her neighbor lightly, smiling.]
[Footnote 19: Blow upward, as if at a feather.]
[Footnote 20: Pounce down playfully with right hand.]
[Footnote 21: Sit down on footstool, and affect to play with something
on floor.]
[Footnote 22: Look up mysteriously and lay finger to lips.]
[Footnote 23: Rise stealthily and look to and fro with keen eyes.]
[Footnote 24: Rush three steps to left and then three steps to right.]
[Footnote 25: Quickly pat the next child as in 18, lay head on shoulder
and shut eyes, and scratch forward as in 15.]
[Footnote 26: Raise forefinger, smiling mysteriously; stoop, crouching
forward.]
[Footnote 27: Pounce forward and seize imaginary mouse.]
[Footnote 28: Swallow imaginary mouse.]
[Footnote 29: Look up smiling, and resume seat on footstool.]
CATKIN.
I had a little pussy,
And her coat was silvery gray;
She lives in a great wide meadow,
And she never runs away.
She always was a pussy;
She never came a cat.
Because—she’s a pussy willow!
Now, what do you think of that?
THE CATS.
(_With Apologies to Robert Southey._)
Hear the warbling of the cats—
Merry cats!
Oh, I love to hear the music of their midnight nightly spats!
And they waltz around and frisk all,
In the icy air of night,
In a way so weird and brisk all,
While their shapely tails they wisk all
With a Cataline delight—
Keeping time with their tails,
Like a lot of Runic flails,
To the concat-cantentation, sung in sundry sharps and flats,
Of a canticle on rats,
Rats, rats, rats,
Rats—
To a wild carnivorous canticle on rats!
Hear the turbulent Tom cats,
Daddy cats!
How the catapultic bootjack interrupts their fiendish chats!
In the darkness of the night,
How their ghoulish outcries smite
Portland flats!
From their catacoustic throats
An intense
Cataphonic ditty floats
To the turtle cat that gloats
On the fence!—
Ah, the tabby cat that listens, while she gloats,
To the surging cataclysm of their wild, catarrhal notes!
Hear the hoarse grandfather cats—
Aged cats!
How they make us long to grasp a score of rattling good brickbats!
They have caught a bad catarrh,
Caterwauling at the moon!
(See it? Caught a bad cat R!)
You may hear them from afar,
Roll it like a British R,
Out of tune.
In a clamorous appealing to the aged tabby cat,
In a futile, mad appealing to the deaf, old tabby cat!
Shrieking higher, higher, higher,
Like a demon in a fire—
While the little kitten cats—
Infant cats—
Sing an emulous, sweet ditty of their love for mice and rats?
That’s
But a rudimental spasm of the capers of the cats!
KITTEN AND THE MOUSE.
Once there was a little kitty, whiter than the snow,
In a barn she used to play, long time ago.
In a barn a little mousie ran to and fro;
For she heard the kitty coming, long time ago.
Two black eyes had little kitty, black as any sloe;
And they spied the little mousie, long time ago.
Four soft paws had little kitty, paws soft as dough;
And they caught the little mousie, long time ago.