DONA MARINA
Dona Marina came to the hospital, not as a patient, but as a destroyer
of patients. Since that time she has been a great deal of care with her
numerous kittens and a very bad burn on her side and head. I
accidentally turned a tea-kettle of boiling water over her. I dried her
as quickly as possible, then covered her with talcum powder, and kept
her shut up in the hospital all day.
She was a great sufferer, and for hours was in perfect agony. Still, I
did not realize for days how badly she was burned until the hair began
to come out. For three months she had a scab as large as my hand.
She bore her sufferings very bravely. When the scab began to loosen, she
would come to me every day and ask me to cut off the loose edges. She
would stand very quietly while I trimmed them with my manicure scissors.
Every one said the sore would not heal, and, if it did, the hair would
never come in, but the scab is all gone, and the hair has come in and
almost covered the bare spots.
I so often hear people say: “I would like so much to keep a cat, but I
cannot on account of my bird,” or “I would enjoy having a bird, but of
course I cannot, because my cat would kill it in less than a wink.” I
used to think the very same way. When a child, I had a number of canary
birds, which went down my neighbours’ cats’ throats if they did not
mind, so I gave up keeping birds, as I liked cats so much better, and I
did not have one for years, until “Little Billee” came to me.
I did such wonderful things with Taffy. I think all that is needed is a
great deal of patience and to understand cat language and have cats
understand you.
Two years ago a neighbour’s black cat was determined to kill my canary
Blondell, and I was just as determined she should not. I fought her for
a year and a half, but it was simply impossible to keep her out of the
house, as our doors and windows were opened nearly as much in winter as
in summer, and she would be in the house hours before I knew it. I was
not allowed by her owner to put bells on her, so as to warn Blondell and
me of her approach, and the first thing I would hear was a crash and the
cage fall on the floor. Often when lying down I would hear Blondell
screech, and open my eyes to see the cat on top of the cage. As the cage
always stood on a low table, it was very easy to reach.
We did everything we could to frighten the cat to keep her away, but I
would not hurt her or let any one else. One day the woman who was
cleaning for me gave her a dreadful beating with a wet floor-cloth, and
said: “Now, I guess you will go home and stay there.” I came out just as
the cat was going and said: “Poor kitty.” She turned and fairly flew to
my side, and from that day to this she has been devoted to me.
When I found she had fully made up her mind to come here and live, and
nothing would keep her away, I said: “I will teach her not to kill my
bird.” My friends all laughed in my face and said: “The idea of your
thinking you can teach an ill-bred cat, who has never had any bringing
up, the same as you taught an intelligent cat like Taffy.”
I soon found the cat was very affectionate, and that she loved me, and
that is the best beginning you can have. I named her Dona Marina, as she
was black enough for a Spanish lady. Her coat was black and shiny and
her head and paws very small. In a few days she knew her name, so I felt
she was quick to learn. From the day I gave the name to her, she has
never been called anything else, and always answers me and will carry on
long conversations with me. If she is up in my room and I go to the foot
of the stairs and say: “Dona Marina,” she answers me. If I say, “Dona
Marina, are you up-stairs?” she answers twice. I always invited her to
come into my room when she came up-stairs, and, if she went after
Blondell, I closed my door, then punished her by slapping her paws and
talking to her, but never sent her out of my room. She soon understood
she could stay there as long as she behaved herself, and spent many
hours without me there. Still I was not quite sure of her, and every one
said: “She will kill Blondell some day.” When I went out of the house, I
sent her down-stairs and closed the door. That went on for many weeks,
when one day I went to my room about four o’clock. Dona Marina had been
asleep on my bed since luncheon with Blondell and no one else. It seemed
a pity to wake her and make her go down, so I thought I would take the
risk, and went out and left her. Several friends said they would not
feel sorry for me at all if, when I went home, I did not even find a
tail feather. I laughed and said I had no fear, as I fully trusted Dona
Marina, but I trembled just the same, and, when I reached home at six
o’clock, I went to the stairs and called in a shaky voice: “Dona Marina,
are you up-stairs?” and when the answer came, “I am here,” I fairly flew
up the stairs, and there, to my great joy, was Blondell happy in her
cage and my little black lady stretched out full length on my bed,
greeting me with loving eyes and a sweet song. Since that day I never
gave her a thought. She sits on the table by the cage and looks at
Blondell, never putting up a paw, and lies down and goes to sleep by the
side of her.
Dona Marina very seldom walks on the floor; she simply flies through the
air. She comes on a run from the kitchen, lands in the middle of the
dining-room table, then jumps into a chair by the back parlour door,
into a chair in the back parlour, into another chair, then on top of the
table. If she is on her way up-stairs, she makes one grand leap, which
lands her in the front parlour by the door going into the hall. She
never pauses, but on she flies up the stairs into my room, over the top
of the bird-cage, on to my work-table, and sits down, as if it were the
only way to enter a room.
She is a very intelligent cat, and I often wish she did not know so
much. Like all my pets, she is spoiled, and does everything she wishes
to. Last spring she had her first kittens, and I, of course, was the
trained nurse, and such a time as I had. As four babies were too many
for me to have up-stairs, two were taken away at once and put in a pail
of water. Then my trouble began. She took on so, and seemed to think I
could bring them back, and would not give me any peace until I fished
them out of the water, dried them on a towel, and brought them into the
parlour. She took them at once up to my dressing-room. She had her bed
in a nice basket, with linen sheets, in an old-fashioned chest. After a
few minutes, I brought them down and she came for them. After taking
them back three times, she found she could not bring them to life, and
gave up. When I had gotten into bed, she came to me, talked, then went
back to her babies. After keeping at me for a half-hour, and I did not
make any move to get up, she came and took right hold of my chin. After
she bit me three times, I thought I had better get up and see what she
wanted. She soon made me understand she wanted the basket taken out and
put on my bed, so no one could get her babies. I did so, putting a
kimono on the foot and covering the basket. She got into the basket, and
there was no more trouble. I did that for two nights, and then she
seemed to think there was no more danger and she stayed in the chest.
One night she insisted upon my getting up at three o’clock. I thought
she must be hungry, and went into my dressing-room and saw that there
was no milk in her dish. I also felt there was a great change in the
weather and saw the ground was covered with snow, so I put down the
windows, then went down-stairs after the milk. When I came back, I found
Dona Marina in the basket with her kittens, looking very happy. I
offered her the milk, and she said: “No, thank you. It was too cold for
my darlings, and all I wanted was the window put down.” I could have
choked her with a good will.
When it was time for her children to learn to get out of the basket, she
lifted them out and put them on the floor, and asked me to take the
basket. One was black as coal, and the other maltese. The black one we
named “Ping,” and the gray one “Pong,” and they were very different in
all their ways.
My trials began when their mother thought they needed something more
than milk. Every one said: “You want to look out for Blondell, now Dona
Marina has her kittens,” but she went outdoors for all of her game, and
the dear baby birds she used to bring in almost broke my heart. She
would bring them to me first, but, if they were not dead, they were
wounded so they soon died.
One day she carried a large fish up to them just as the man brought it
in the paper. When they were four weeks old, she thought they ought to
sleep on the foot of my bed instead of in their basket. I was determined
I would not give in to her, but, after keeping me awake until after two
o’clock one night, I said: “Go bring your babies, and we will all go to
sleep.” After that they slept on the foot of my bed until they were
given to a very nice little girl when they were two months old.
Dona Marina mourned for them for two weeks, and would carry up food in
mouthfuls and look all over for them.
Two months ago Dona Marina presented me with four more babies, which was
a little more than I had bargained for. Two were taken from her before
she hardly had time to count, so she did not make as much fuss as she
did the first time.
A little girl came to see them, and said: “Why don’t you name them after
their mother?” I said: “I do not think it would be nice to call them
both Dona Marina.” She said: “Oh, no; call one Dona and the other
Marina.”
Dona is twice the size of Marina, is black and white, and looks like a
little circus pony. Marina is most beautifully marked. Her head, back,
and tail are black, face black, also her legs, white whiskers, and a
tiny white line between the eyes. Under her chin white about as wide as
your finger, then broadens and goes half down the neck, broadens out
again, narrows at the breast bone, broadens again, and goes all the way
down. She has four white paws, so you see she has a very swell black and
white costume.
Marina is full of mischief, but very affectionate. Dona is much more
quiet and dignified, but is also affectionate, and loves to have me take
him on my shoulder.
They were born in the same basket, and Dona Marina went through the same
performance about taking them out when it was time to have the basket on
the floor, also the same performance about sleeping on the foot of my
bed, and, of course, I had to give in to her.
At the present time Marina is on my lap and Dona on my shoulder. They
have full sway of the house, and what they cannot do is not worth doing.
One day when I came in, I thought there must have been an army of
children in the parlours, by the sight that met my eyes. All the books
from the lower shelf of the bookcase were on the floor. They had gotten
up on the magazine table and thrown all the magazines on the floor. Sofa
pillows were everywhere but where they ought to be. A large corn-cob in
the front parlour, and corn-husks here, there, and everywhere, with
scraps of paper in every direction, and Dona and Marina fast asleep in
the empty scrap-basket, while their mother lay curled up in an
easy-chair.
During the day they go outdoors and all over the house, but when the
house is lighted, they seem to think up-stairs is the place for them.
We have had great fun catching flies. They come and ask me to help them.
I take my handkerchief, and, when I get a fly in it, they come and take
it out, and sometimes there is quite a fight to see which gets it.
I was in hopes to have had many interesting things to tell about Dona
and Marina, but a friend came for them to-day, and I could not say “No”
again, as I had promised them when they were wee babies, but I shall
miss them greatly, and I feel very sad and lonely to-night without my
baby pets.