MOODS
Sally was a cat with moods. When she was well and busy, she was a happy
kitten, but if there was the least thing wrong with her, she felt very
forlorn. It was at these times that she thought of her dear mother and
lamented her loss, for even dear Miss Harvey, who understood so well
the feelings of a cat, could not quite make up for a furry mother who
would put her paw about her and wash her when she was too tired to do
it for herself. Oxford was not of much use as a sympathizer, and yet
Sally always had the hope that he would be.
So one hot summer day, when Sally felt very unhappy and as if she were
of no use to any one, she spoke to Oxford of her feelings.
‘I feel as if I were a perfectly useless cat,’ she said. ‘You can do so
much for the family.’
The kittens were in the shade of the oak tree near the front door. It
was a delightful spot, for they could have a view of the path, and see
any one who went up or down it. Then, too, if any one came to the door,
like the postman, they could take the chance to slip into the house,
without bothering to go around to the back door.
Oxford made no reply.
Suddenly Sally remembered something she had heard in a sermon that
Elvira was reading out of a newspaper. The preacher had said that the
best way to forget one’s own troubles was to do something for some one
else.
‘Oxford, wouldn’t you like me to wash around your ears?’ she said.
‘Oh, bother, no,’ said Oxford.
‘I feel so blue to-day,’ she said. ‘I thought maybe if I did something
useful like washing your ears I’d feel better.’
‘There’s no use in doing something useful that nobody wants you to do,’
said he.
Sally hoped he would add, ‘My poor little sister, I am so sorry you are
blue,’ but instead of that he said, ‘Sally, you have been eating too
many grasshoppers.’
Sally was pretty sure this was the case, but she had hoped Oxford would
not have thought of it.
‘Grasshoppers are so alluring,’ said Sally. She had picked up this word
from one of Miss Winifred’s callers who was speaking of the moving
pictures. It certainly applied to grasshoppers which were so constantly
on the move.
‘You see,’ Sally went on, ‘they are hard to catch, and if you do catch
a grasshopper, there doesn’t seem any point in letting it go.’
‘You could give them to me,’ said Oxford.
‘But you get more than I do.’
‘Yes, that is true. But they never upset me and make me blue. If they
affected my spirits, I should cut down on grasshoppers.’
Sally knew this would have been the case. She admired her brother’s
strength of character.
Just then Sally saw her friend, Mrs. Conant, going down the path with
some letters to mail. She stopped to speak to the kittens.
‘Well, you do know how to make yourselves comfortable,’ she said as she
passed. She had on one of the pretty pink-and-white dresses that Sally
liked so much, and in her present mood she thought how nice it would be
to be a pretty young lady whom every one loved, with a thin cool dress
on instead of fur.
Although Oxford did not express his affection, he was very fond of
his little sister, and he wanted to help her. But he could not resist
saying, ‘Sally, you ought to learn to brace up.’ He quickly added,
‘Suppose we play with our catnip mice for a change? Maybe the catnip
will brace you up.’
They saw Miss Winifred and a friend coming up the path. This meant a
fine chance to get into the house, so the kittens went up the steps and
stood before the front door.
‘Dear me!’ said Miss Winifred, ‘I wonder how long you have been waiting
here.’ She took out her latch-key and, as she opened the door, the
kittens slipped in ahead of her. They ran along to the door that led
to the kitchen. Miss Winifred followed them and, as it was dark in that
corner, she stooped down to see if the kittens were there. Yes, she
felt two furry backs, they were patiently waiting for her to open the
door.
Once in the kitchen, Oxford gave a leap from a chair to the small shelf
on which the clock stood, for on it were the catnip mice. He knocked
off first one and then the other.
‘Bless your heart,’ said Elvira, as she looked at Sally. ‘You look a
little peaked to-day. Too many grasshoppers, I fear.’
Miss Harvey came into the kitchen just then and Sally got into her lap
and put her two paws around her neck, for she wanted a little petting.
There are times when this is even more comforting than catnip.
‘My poor little Sally,’ said Miss Harvey, as she stroked the pussy. ‘My
poor, dear, little Sally. Did she feel as if she wanted some one to pet
her? I understand, dear, just how you feel.’
Miss Harvey was tactful enough not to refer to the grasshoppers.
Oxford was already playing with his catnip mouse, tossing it high in
the air and running to sniff it where it fell. Suddenly Sally scrambled
down from Miss Harvey’s lap and flew toward Oxford’s mouse, seizing it
before his astonished eyes.
‘Silly kittens,’ said Elvira. ‘There are two mice, you can each have
one,’ and she picked up the other mouse and threw it on the floor. Then
they both ran to get that mouse. Sally had it in her mouth and Oxford
knocked it out.
‘Oh, if that is your game, all right,’ said Elvira, who was an
understanding person.
Sally felt much refreshed after half an hour spent with the catnip
mice, and as usually happened after a time with this stimulating
plaything, she felt like talking in verse instead of prose. Even Oxford
felt like answering back in rhyme. It was a fine game.
_Sally_: I’d like to be a lady fair,
All dressed in silks and fur,
With rosy lips and golden hair,
And speech, instead of purr.
My father’d give me a fur coat,
And on a summer day,
When on the waters I could float,
I’d put my coat away.
Were I in silk instead of fur,
How pleasant that would be,
Pink silk I’d choose, and, Oxford Gray,
You’d be so proud of me!
_Oxford_: Pink silk, indeed, you foolish maid,
Why can’t you be content?
You’re costumed for both sun and shade,
Nor does it cost a cent.
Sally, I’d hate the sight of you,
I like you as you are,
A modest kitten, sweet and true,
With eyes that see afar.
_Sally_: Well, Oxford, since I’m dear to you,
Thankful I ought to be,
For human brothers oft find fault
With sisters’ fineree.
Perhaps the lady in her silk
And coat of costly fur,
Would sometimes like my bowl of milk,
If she could have my purr.
For cares, they say, must come with wealth,
And, Oxford, we are free
To roam the house at night, by stealth,
With mice for company.
To sleep all night, when mice are near,
Would seem a waste of time,
Than ladies I am surely freer,
For I can race and climb.
_Oxford_: Now, Sally, there’s my own good cat,
A cat of parts and sense,
Your wits are sharp, I’m sure of that,
People are often dense.
Of all the creatures on this earth
The kitten’s life is best,
I’ve always known this from my birth,
I pity all the rest.
The men I pity very much,
They cannot watch the ants,
And grasshoppers, and worms, and such,
In their accustomed haunts.
I’d hate to be so very tall,
A man I would not be,
It’s easier if you are small,
To climb a chestnut tree.
My fur coat is a grand affair,
It did not cost a cent.
Were I a man and fur did wear,
What hundreds would be spent!
The lesson surely seems to read,
And it is very plain,
To make the most of what you are,
With heart, and paws, and brain.
[Illustration]