TAFFY AND TRICKSEY
I can hardly call Taffy a patient, as he is so well and strong. Perhaps
an attendant would be more suitable, as he is always in the hospital,
looking after the patients, and nothing goes on that he does not see,
but Tricksey is suffering from the asthma.
Taffy is the largest tiger cat I have ever seen, and, as he has the
crook in his tail, he belongs to the tabby breed. Taffy is very large,
usually weighing fourteen pounds, but he has a very small head and very
small, finely shaped paws. The under parts of them look like black
velvet. In colour he is mostly jet-black, and the other fur, very much
like a raccoon’s, light tan at the ends, shading into yellow, then into
drab. As the sun strikes him, every hair seems full of light, and he is
one mass of iridescent colours. His marking is most beautiful. The top
of his head is black, branching out into five narrow black stripes down
his neck, a black stripe three inches wide (without one light hair)
going all the way down the back and to the end of the tail and under; of
course, on the tail the stripe is much narrower. Then narrow black
stripes go down each side of his back and tail. His tail is not long,
but very bushy, like a nice boa. I never saw more exquisite colouring
and marking than Taffy has underneath, from his throat to his tail. His
coat is beautifully soft and thick, and shines like satin, and his eyes
are very green. He is particular about his toilet, but insists upon my
helping him to keep it glossy. His own comb is kept on my
dressing-table, and he asks me to comb him twice a day, and sometimes
oftener.
I can tell you nothing of Taffy’s antecedents, as I found him one
morning in our back yard almost starved to death, and about as thick
through the body as a shingle. At first I thought he had dropped from
heaven, but I soon learned from his sayings and doings that he must have
been quite intimate with the inmates of the lower region. I tempted him
with chicken, but it was some little time before I could put my hand on
him; and, to tame any animal, you must be able to touch it with your
hand. After two or three pats, he seemed to realize that I was a good
friend. Soon I had him in the house, and for three years we have been
devoted to each other. I have had a great many cats, but never one who
had so much of the wild animal in him. All of my friends said I never
could tame Taffy, and it was many weeks before I had much influence over
him, and I never feel quite sure now whether I am to be loved or
scratched, as he still has the temper and the actions of a tiger when
anything goes the wrong way.
He usually lies down like a tiger, with legs straight out in front, tail
straight out behind, and when I speak to him he will always blink his
eyes and speak to me. If you touch him in passing, he will grab at your
feet and spit and growl. He never mews when he wants anything to eat,
but will chase me or my maid, and grab at our feet. If he does not like
what is given him to eat, he will walk all about his plate, and scratch,
as if he were covering it up.
I am the only one Taffy ever shows much affection for, but to me he is
very loving. He will lie as long as I will let him with his paws about
my neck and head on my shoulder. If he is sound asleep anywhere, and I
begin to read aloud, sing, or whistle, he will get up directly, jump on
my lap, put his paws about my neck, his face close to mine, and begin to
purr. As he always looks very pleasant, I flatter myself he likes the
tone of my voice.
When I had my bird, Little Billee, it would make Taffy simply furious if
I put him out of my room and closed the door. One morning he was so
ugly, my maid did not dare open the door to come in.
After that, when I wanted him to go down-stairs, I had my maid come to
the bottom of the stairs and call, “Taffy!” then there was never any
trouble. When he is in a tearing rage, I can always quiet him by taking
tight hold of his paws, and kissing his eyes. I have told all of these
things about Taffy so my readers will appreciate what I have been able
to do with him. It is needless to say that when Little Billee went away,
Taffy was the happiest cat in town. His devotion increased daily to me,
and he lived in my room, only going down to get something to eat.
I think by this time you are very well acquainted with Mr. Taffy, and I
will present Tricksey to you. Of all the canary birds I have ever seen,
Tricksey is the prettiest, daintiest little bird you can possibly
imagine. His colour is light yellow, with a much deeper shade between
his wings, shading into almost an orange. His wings and tail are white,
with just a line of yellow on some of the feathers. His eyes are
unusually large and bright, and his little legs and claws are very pink,
and so slender that they do not look strong enough to support his finely
shaped body. He is really a very superior bird, and sings like an angel.
Tricksey had never been out of his cage when he came to me, but, before
I had had him a week, he came out, perched on my finger, took things
from my finger or mouth, would kiss me, and go all about my room on my
finger, and very soon went all about the house with me. He was very fond
of sweet apple, but I never let him have it inside his cage, but made
him come to me for it. I kept a piece in a little dish on my table, and
he soon found out where it was, and would help himself on the sly. I
also kept on my table, in a little china cup, some hemp seed, which I
gave to Tricksey as a great treat. Every time I would tap on the cup and
make it ring, Tricksey would come out of his cage, down from a
picture-frame, or wherever he was, for a seed.
One day he had had his one hemp seed, and teased for more, but I said,
“No,” and he went flying about the room, having a fine time. Soon he
flew back on the table, hopped over to the cup, gave it two or three
taps to make it ring, then hopped on to the top, reached down and helped
himself to two seeds.
[Illustration: TRICKSEY]
Tricksey is a very vain little bird, and likes nothing better than to go
over on my dressing-table, walk back and forth in front of the mirror,
or sit on my pin-cushion and admire himself.
Tricksey came to me one afternoon, and Taffy knew nothing of his arrival
until the next morning. When he came up-stairs and saw a little yellow
bird in a house of gold, he was like the little girl’s Bunnie, who “was
not a bit afraid, but awfully much surprised,” when she heard
firecrackers for the first time. His eyes were like balls of fire, while
his mouth opened and shut, making a hissing sound, and his tail going at
the rate of a mile a minute. He walked into my room like a wild tiger,
with an air as much as to say, “If this is Little Billee come back
dressed in yellow, die he must,” and sprang at the cage. I took him
firmly by the paws, looked straight into his big, angry eyes, and said
in a soft, firm voice: “Taffy, this is Tricksey, and he is not to be
eaten or hurt any more than my Little Billee who went away.” I let go of
his paws; he walked out of my room and down-stairs without looking back.
In about an hour I looked out into the hall, and there sat my dear old
Taffy on the top step, looking very meek and wishful. I spoke kindly to
him, and asked him to come in and see his new brother, Tricksey. After a
few moments, he came in very slowly and went behind my bed. Soon he came
from under the valance (the cage sat on a chair and I in front of it),
never looked at the cage, jumped into my lap, put his paws about my
neck, and began loving me. I took him to bed with me, and he never moved
until Tricksey began to sing in a most delightful way, then he looked at
him and listened very intently. I talked to him, and “softed his
feathers,” and soon he snuggled down in my arm and went to sleep. When
he got out of bed, he never glanced at the cage, but went directly
down-stairs, and I felt I had made a good beginning. Every one said I
could never teach Taffy not to catch Tricksey, and the reason his
cat-ship did not kill Little Billee was because he was afraid of him and
so carefully watched. I knew there was not a place in the house I could
hang the cage where Taffy could not get at it if he made up his mind to
do so. Of course, for days and weeks I felt anxious, and did not mean to
leave them alone together. I never turned Taffy out of my room. If he
went up to the cage and put up his paw, I would say: “Taffy, you must
_not_ put your paw on the cage,” and, as he always minds, he would take
it right down, sit by the cage, and I would talk to him kindly.
Fortunately, Tricksey was not at all afraid of Taffy.
Taffy always wears a yellow satin collar with bells all around. Often I
would hear him coming up-stairs when I was lying down, and I would keep
very quiet to see what he would do. Sometimes he would come over to the
cage, look at Tricksey pleasantly, then lie down by the fire and go to
sleep; more often he would lie down without even looking at him. But the
moment he heard me talking to Tricksey, he would get up and come to me
to be petted, and I always gave him a great deal. One day when Taffy was
in another room, I let Tricksey out, and tried to be very quiet. I was
sitting on the floor with Tricksey hopping about me. Before I hardly
knew it, Taffy was in my lap, and soon I had Tricksey on my knee eating
seeds. If I took the cage on my lap with Tricksey inside, Taffy would
immediately jump up and crowd in between the cage and me.
Taffy was very much afraid the first time he saw Tricksey take his bath,
and ran under the bed and peeped out from under the valance.
One morning the cage sat on the floor, and Tricksey was ready for his
bath, when Taffy came in and sat close to the cage. Tricksey took a big
drop of water in his bill and threw it into Taffy’s face. Taffy moved
back a little, and looked all about to see where it came from. While he
was looking, Tricksey went into his bath, and splashed the water all
over Taffy’s face in a very roguish way. To say Taffy was surprised is
speaking mildly. He turned to me with an angry cry and went out of the
room. The next morning the same thing happened; but, instead of going
out of the room, he went on the other side, out of reach of the water,
but where he could see all that went on.
After that, he became so interested he did not mind if the water was
splashed all over his face, and would sit as close to the cage as he
could get. While Tricksey was eating his breakfast, he would lie down
close to the cage and go to sleep. As I previously said, I never meant
to leave Taffy in the room with Tricksey, but he was often there hours
before I knew it. When I found him, he was always asleep in front of the
cage or by the fire.
One morning, after the bath, I put the cage up in the window. Taffy did
not seem to like it at all. He looked at me most wishfully, and began
talking cat language, and I knew he was saying: “Please put Tricksey
back on the floor.” I did so, and Taffy began to purr, lay down with his
back close to the cage, stretched out, and went to sleep.
He had been lying that way for an hour when some visitors came. It
seemed too bad to disturb Taffy, so I left him, and thought I would risk
it.
Two hours passed before I went back, and you may imagine my delight when
I found my two boys (so different in colour, size, and disposition) as
happy as two kittens. Tricksey was singing merrily. Taffy had wakened,
changed his position, and looked as if he felt very proud, being left to
take care of his small brother. His eyes were as soft as velvet, and he
spoke to me in a soft, cooing tone. Since then I have never felt there
was any danger in leaving them together. I regret to say Tricksey has a
strong will of his own, and almost as bad a temper as Taffy.
At different times I had three wee baby birds brought in to me, but they
all died. Tricksey was very jealous of them, and when he saw me feeding
them, he would become very angry, beat his wings against his cage, and
beg for me to let him out. One day I put one of the little strangers on
the floor and let Tricksey out. He flew at the waif and tore feathers
out of the top of his head. I took the poor little frightened thing in
my hand. Tricksey flew on my finger and pecked him. I put him in my
other hand, and Tricksey flew at him more angry than ever. Then I put
him on the floor, and Tricksey was so happy he flew on my head, hopped
about my shoulders, and kissed me in the mouth. In the middle of the
performance in walked dignified Mr. Taffy, with a look which plainly
said: “What more are you going to bring into this room?” He sat by my
side looking at the newcomer, and, before I knew what he was going to
do, reached out his paw, and gave him a good slap, which sent him off my
lap on to the floor.
Early in the fall, before I had any fire in my room, I would bring
Tricksey down in the morning and keep him until evening, and for two
weeks Taffy never went near my room during the day, but stayed down
there with Tricksey. The first day I had a fire in my room, I did not
bring Tricksey down as usual. After I gave Taffy his luncheon, I missed
him, but did not go to my room until five o’clock, and there was
faithful Taffy sound asleep close to Tricksey’s cage, and now he stays
in my room all day. He has plainly shown that, if Tricksey stays there,
he stays, too.
I find that animals want to be treated very much like children. The more
intelligent they are, the easier it is to influence them, and the
quicker they are to read you. First give them a great deal of love and
kindness, always be firm, very patient, and above all _never_ deceive
them in the most trivial thing.