I was about to address my readers with the usual phrase, that "at the
request of friends" I had collected the scattered memorials of the chief
events of my life, and now presented them to the reading world, in the
hope that some lesson might be learnt from them, which could be useful
to the inexperienced when similarly situated. But I will be more candid,
and say rather, that "to please myself" I have put into a complete form
the recollections in question; not however without the wish that they
may prove of service to Cat, ay, and to Dog, and other kind. There never
was a life spent in this world but that its history could teach a
lesson; for, though every life has peculiarities of its own, and may be
varied in a thousand ways, the wishes, the resolutions of most of us do
not take a wide range, nor does it require a very extensive circle to
limit them all.
I would not however have my readers imagine that vanity alone has
induced me to record my experiences. No; I have had another, and
I think a higher motive. I wished to convey to the intelligence of all
animals capable of understanding the language of Caneville, some portions
of the history of a _real_ Cat; and, by so doing, try to remove from the
minds of many the opinion that she is a creature _ignorant of the finer
feelings, oblivious of gratitude_, incapable of strong attachments,
and so uncertain in her temper as to scratch and bite even, one minute,
the paw she has been licking and fondling the moment before. I wished to
prove that the same natural disposition holds good with our race as with
every other; that some of us are, from our birth, kind, rough, loveable,
cruel, tender-hearted, and ferocious, just as other beasts that wear a
tail or come into the world without one; and that this temperament may
be modified, and even changed, by education and treatment, precisely as
the dispositions of other animals.
It is a cruel wrong done to our race to exclaim, as many do, that "Cats
have no attachments, no tenderness; that there is always a lurking
fierceness in their hearts, which makes them forget, with the first mark
of roughness or ill treatment, a thousand benefits which they may have
formerly received." I deny it wholly. I, a Cat, affirm that, with few
exceptions, there are no animals more loving or more tender. Look at
the care which a respectable married Puss bestows upon her numerous
offspring! Can any mamma more carefully wash or tend her darlings? Will
any show greater willingness to forego her own occupations, in order to
fondle and descend to be the playmate of her little ones? Does any
display a firmer courage to defend them? And if she should give way to
a little expression of feeling when her tail is trodden upon or pulled,
or be betrayed into an angry growl when her territory is invaded, what
then? You would not have her show so little spirit as to receive every
insult unnoticed, or return a quiet "thank you" for the pain, physical
or moral, which has been inflicted on her. How would _you_, dear reader,
act if _your_ tail were wantonly pulled, or if _your_ house were to be
entered by an ugly stranger without invitation?
We most of us laugh at our good friends the Sheep, and indulge in many
a sly joke at their stupidity. "What can be more absurd," we say,
"than that habit of theirs of constantly playing at 'follow my leader,'
and putting themselves into all sorts of disagreeable situations in
consequence?" But are we any better ourselves? Are not _we_ always
following some leader?--always imitating somebody, and running in crowds
hither and thither because so-and-so are running there too? And thus
it is that _opinions_, once uttered by some great animal in authority,
are taken up and repeated by his imitators, and are looked on as the
very essence of wisdom, while they are often, in fact, no other, when
examined, than untrue or mischievously unjust. Such are the pet
sentences I have alluded to, wherein Cats are described: a whole race is
sometimes condemned because a few members of it have proved unworthy;
and a tribe gets a bad name because some animal of influence, a Jackass
perhaps, brays out that "they are _all_ worthless."
It has been often observed, and I therefore do not profess to utter
an original idea by remarking it again, that when our prejudices are
enlisted in favour of or against any object, every circumstance is
turned to its advantage or the reverse. If we have done an animal a
kindness, we are ready to do him another; if we have inflicted on him
any injury, we are not at all indisposed to add a fresh one to it. And
so it has happened that our numerous family, having been by many ill
treated, are constantly exposed to kicks and insult from those same
parties, for no other reason than that they have kicked and insulted
us before. The meekness of our disposition has been distorted into
hypocrisy; our quiet has been called "meditative treachery;" and our
natural and innocent instincts have been styled "the proofs of a
sanguinary temperament." Our every look has been perverted by our
enemies into a moral squint; and our simplest caress and naturally
fondling way have been set down as the strongest marks of a Jesuitical
heart. In fact, in the eyes of many, nothing we can do, no step we can
take, but is considered evidence of our wicked disposition; and we are
not unfrequently loaded with abuse for the very things for which beasts
that have a better name get love and commendation.
How happy it would make me if I thought the perusal of these few pages
would induce any one to pause and reflect before condemning any one
animal! And here I do not refer to my own race alone, but to the world
of beasts at large; whether the Lion, creating a sensation in the class
to which he belongs, or the Ass, laughed at for his stupidity in the
circle to which his position in life assigns him. The same animal would
often be judged differently if differently situated: were the Lion and
the Ass, by some freak of nature, to change places, the stupidity of the
latter would be set down as wit, and his every saying would be
applauded; whilst the Lion, instead of being looked on as the perfection
of nobleness and beauty, would be styled a surly brute, and considered
at the best no better than a bore.
I think I hear some of my readers exclaim, "Who is this old Cat,
forsooth, that she should thus presume to teach us lessons? The 'itch
for scratching' must be very strong upon her that she should insist on
swelling her tale in so outrageous a manner!" I own my fault, and will
bring my musings to a stop.
My wish was to meet my readers with a friendly rub; my desire was to
part from them with a gentle warning. Above all, my wish was to have
them think of me kindly; for, though a Cat, and no longer young,--though
no more possessed of those graces which once distinguished me, when the
eye, as I have been told, felt pleasure in gazing on my form,--my heart
still beats warmly, tenderly, and without envy, and would feel no common
joy if it thought it had not dwelt in this earthly abode in vain.
[Illustration: A JUVENILE PARTY.]