CONCERNING CAT HOSPITALS AND REFUGES
At comparatively frequent intervals we read of some woman, historic or
modern, who has left an annuity (as the Duchess of Richmond, "La Belle
Stewart") for the care of her pet cats; now and then a man provides for
them in his will, as Lord Chesterfield, for instance, who left a
permanent pension for his cats and their descendants. But I find only
one who has endowed a home for them and given it sufficient means to
support the strays and waifs who reach its shelter.
Early in the eighties, Captain Nathan Appleton, of Boston (a brother of
the poet Longfellow's wife, and of Thomas Appleton, the celebrated wit),
returned from a stay in London with a new idea, that of founding some
sort of a refuge, or hospital, for sick or stray cats and dogs. He had
visited Battersea, and been deeply impressed with the need of a shelter
for small and friendless domestic animals.
At Battersea there is an institution similar to the one the Society for
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals in New York have at East 120th Street,
where stray animals may be sent and kept for a few days awaiting the
possible appearance of a claimant or owner; at the end of which time the
animals are placed in the "lethal chamber," where they die instantly and
painlessly by asphyxiation. In Boston, the Society of Prevention of
Cruelty to Animals have no such refuge or pound, but in place of it keep
one or two men whose business it is to go wherever sent and "mercifully
put to death" the superfluous, maimed, or sick animals that shall be
given them.
Captain Appleton's idea, however, was something entirely different from
this. These creatures, he argued, have a right to their lives and the
pursuit of happiness after their own fashion, and he proposed to help
them to enjoy that right. He appealed to a few sympathetic friends and
gave two or three acres of land from his own estate, near "Nonantum
Hill," where the Apostle Eliot preached to the Indians, and where his
iodine springs are located. He had raised a thousand or two dollars and
planned a structure of some kind to shelter stray dogs and cats, when
the good angel that attends our household pets guided him to the lawyer
who had charge of the estates of Miss Ellen M. Gifford, of New Haven,
Ct. "I think I can help you," said the lawyer. But he would say nothing
more at that time. A few weeks later, Captain Appleton was sent for.
Miss Gifford had become deeply interested in the project, and after
making more inquiries, gave the proposed home some twenty-five thousand
dollars, adding to this amount afterward and providing for the
institution in her will. It has already had over one hundred thousand
dollars from Miss Gifford's estates, and it is so well endowed and well
managed that it is self-supporting.
The Ellen M. Gifford Sheltering Home for Animals is situated near the
Brookline edge of the Brighton district in Boston. In fact, the
residential portion of aristocratic Brookline is so fast creeping up to
it that the whole six acres of the institution will doubtless soon be
disposed of at a very handsome profit, while the dogs and cats will
retire to a more remote district to "live on the interest of their
money."
The main building is a small but handsome brick affair, facing on Lake
Street. This is the home of the superintendent, and contains, besides,
the offices of the establishment. Over the office is a tablet with this
inscription, taken from a letter of Miss Gifford's about the time the
home was opened:--
"If only the waifs, the strays, the sick, the abused, would be sure to
get entrance to the home, and anybody could feel at liberty to bring in
a starved or ill-treated animal and have it cared for without pay, my
object would be obtained. March 27, 1884."
The superintendent is a lover of animals as well as a good business
manager, and his work is in line with the sentence just quoted. Any one
wanting a cat or a dog, and who can promise it a good home, may apply
there. But Mr. Perkins does not take the word of a stranger at random.
He investigates their circumstances and character, and never gives away
an animal unless he can be reasonably sure of its going to a good home.
For instance, he once received an application from one man for six cats.
The wholesale element in the order made him slightly suspicious, and he
immediately drove to Boston, where he found that his would-be customer
owned a big granary overrun with mice. He sent the six cats, and two
weeks later went to see how they were getting on, when he found them
living happily in a big grain-loft, fat and contented as the most
devoted Sultan of Egypt could have asked. None but street cats and stray
dogs, homeless waifs, ill-treated and half starved, are received at this
home. Occasionally, some family desiring to get rid of the animal they
have petted for months, perhaps years, will send it over to the
Sheltering Home. But if Mr. Perkins can find where it came from he
promptly returns it, for even this place, capable of comfortably housing
a hundred cats and as many dogs, cannot accommodate all the unfortunates
that are picked up in the streets of Boston. The accommodations, too,
while they are comfortable and even luxurious for the poor creatures
that have hitherto slept on ash-barrels and stone flaggings, are unfit
for household pets that have slept on cushions, soft rugs, and milady's
bed.
There is a dog-house and a cat-house, sufficiently far apart that the
occupants of one need not be disturbed by those of the other. In the
dog-house there are rows of pens on each side of the middle aisle, in
which from one to four or five dogs, according to size, are kept when
indoors. These are of all sorts, colors, dispositions, and sizes,
ranging from pugs to St. Bernards, terriers to mastiffs. There are few
purely bred dogs, although there are many intelligent and really
handsome ones. The dogs are allowed to run in the big yard that opens
out from their house at certain hours of the day; but the cats' yards
are open to them all day and night. All yards and runs are enclosed with
wire netting, and the cat-house has partitions of the same. All around
the sides of the cat-house are shelves or bunks, which are kept supplied
with clean hay, for their beds. Here one may see cats of every color and
assorted sizes, contentedly curled up in their nests, while their
companions sit blinking in the sun, or run out in the yards. Cooked
meat, crackers and milk, and dishes of fresh water are kept where they
can get at them. The cats all look plump and well fed, and, indeed, the
ordinary street cat must feel that his lines have fallen in pleasant
places.
Not so, however, with pet cats who may be housed there. They miss the
companionship of people, and the household belongings to which they have
been accustomed. Sometimes it is really pathetic to see one of these
cast-off pets climb up the wire netting and plainly beg the visitor to
take him away from that strange place, and give him such a home as he
has been used to. In the superintendent's house there is usually a good
cat or two of this sort, as he is apt to test a well-bred cat before
giving him away.
Somewhat similar, and even older than the Ellen Gifford Sheltering Home,
is the Morris Refuge of Philadelphia. This institution, whose motto is
"The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his
works," was first established in May, 1874, by Miss Elizabeth Morris and
other ladies who took an interest in the protection of suffering
animals. It does not limit its tender mercies to cats and dogs, but
cares for every suffering animal. It differs from the Ellen Gifford Home
chiefly in the fact that, while the latter is a _home_ for stray
cats and dogs, the Morris Refuge has for its object the care for and
disposal of suffering animals of all sorts. In a word, it brings relief
to most of these unfortunate creatures by means of a swift and painless
death.
It was first known as the City Refuge, although it was never maintained
by the city. In January, 1889, it was reorganized and incorporated as
the "Morris Refuge for Homeless and Suffering Animals." It is supported
by private contributions, and is under the supervision of Miss Morris
and a corps of kind-hearted ladies of Philadelphia. A wagon is kept at
the home to respond to calls, and visits any residence where suffering
animals may need attention. The agent of the society lives at the refuge
with his family, and receives animals at any time. When notice is
received of an animal hurt or suffering, he sends after it. Chloroform
is invariably taken along, in order that, if expedient, the creature may
be put out of its agony at once. This refuge is at 1242 Lombard Street,
and there is a temporary home where dogs are boarded at 923 South 11th
Street.
In 1895, out of 23,067 animals coming under the care of the association,
19,672 were cats. In 1896, there were 24,037 animals relieved and
disposed of, while the superintendent answered 230 police calls. Good
homes are found for both dogs and cats, but not until the agent is sure
that they will be kindly treated.
In Miss Morris's eighth annual report she says: "Looking back to the
formation of the first society for the prevention of cruelty to animals,
we find since that time a gradual awakening to the duties man owes to
those below him in the scale of animal creation. The titles of those
societies and their objects, as defined by their charters, show that at
first it was considered sufficient to protect animals from cruel
treatment: very few people gave thought to the care of those that were
without homes. Now many are beginning to think of the evil of being
overrun with numbers of homeless creatures, whose sufferings appeal to
the sympathies of the humane, and whose noise and depredations provoke
the cruelty of the hard-hearted: hence the efforts that are being made
in different cities to establish refuges. A request has lately been
received from Montreal asking for our reports, as it is proposed to
found a home for animals in that city, and information is being
collected in relation to such institutions."
Lady Marcus Beresford has succeeded in establishing and endowing a home
for cats in Englefield Green, Windsor Park. She has made a specialty of
Angoras, and her collection is famous. Queen Victoria and her daughters
take a deep interest, not alone in finely bred cats, but in poor and
homeless waifs as well. Her Royal Highness, in fact, took pains to write
the London S.P.C.A. some years ago, saying she would be very glad to
have them do something for the safety and protection of cats, "_which
are so generally misunderstood and grossly ill-treated_." She herself
sets a good example in this respect, and when her courts remove from one
royal residence to another, her cats are taken with her.
There is a movement in Paris, too, to provide for sick and homeless cats
as well as dogs. Two English ladies have founded a hospital near
Asnières, where ailing pets can be tended in illness, or boarded for
about ten cents a day; and very well cared for their pensioners are.
There is also a charity ward where pauper patients are received and
tended carefully, and afterward sold or given away to reliable people.
Oddly, this sort of charity was begun by Mademoiselle Claude Bernard,
the daughter of the great scientist who, it is said, tortured more
living creatures to death than any other. Vivisection became a passion
with him, but Mademoiselle Bernard is atoning for her father's cruelty
by a singular devotion to animals, and none are turned from her gates.
This is the way they do it in Cairo even now, according to Monsieur
Prisse d'Avennes, the distinguished Egyptologist:--
"The Sultan, El Daher Beybars, who reigned in Egypt and Syria toward 658
of the Hegira (1260 A.D.) and is compared by William of Tripoli to Nero
in wickedness, and to Caesar in bravery, had a peculiar affection for
cats. At his death, he left a garden, 'Gheyt-el-Quoltah' (the cats'
orchard), situated near his mosque outside Cairo, for the support of
homeless cats. Subsequently the field was sold and resold several times
by the administrator and purchasers. In consequence of a series of
dilapidations it now produces a nominal rent of fifteen piastres a year,
which with certain other legacies is appropriated to the maintenance of
cats. The Kadi, who is the official administrator of all pious and
charitable bequests, ordains that at the hour of afternoon prayer,
between noon and sunset, a daily distribution of animals' entrails and
refuse meat from the butchers' stalls, chopped up together, shall be
made to the cats of the neighborhood. This takes place in the outer
court of the 'Mehkemeh,' or tribunal, and a curious spectacle may then
be seen. At this hour all the terraces near the Mehkemeh are crowded
with cats: they come jumping from house to house across the narrow Cairo
streets, hurrying for their share: they slide down walls and glide into
the court, where they dispute, with great tenacity and much growling,
the scanty meal so sadly out of proportion to the number of guests. The
old ones clear the food in a moment: the young ones and the newcomers,
too timid to fight for their chance, must content themselves with
licking the ground. Those wanting to get rid of cats take them there and
deposit them. I have seen whole baskets of kittens deposited in the
court, greatly to the annoyance of the neighbors."
There are similar customs in Italy and Switzerland. In Geneva cats prowl
about the streets like dogs at Constantinople. The people charge
themselves with their maintenance, and feed the cats who come to their
doors at the same hour every day for their meals.
In Florence, a cloister near St. Lorenzo's Church serves as a refuge for
cats. It is an ancient and curious institution, but I am unable to find
whether it is maintained by the city or by private charities. There are
specimens of all colors, sizes, and kinds, and any one who wants a cat
has but to go there and ask for it. On the other hand, the owner of a
cat who is unable or unwilling to keep it may take it there, where it is
fed and well treated.
In Rome, they have a commendable system of caring for their cats. At a
certain hour butchers' men drive through the city, with carts well
stocked with cat's meat. They utter a peculiar cry which the cats
recognize, and come hurrying out of the houses for their allowances,
which are paid for by the owners at a certain rate per month.
In Boston, during the summer of 1895, a firm of butchers took
subscriptions from philanthropic citizens, and raised enough to defray
the expenses of feeding the cats on the Back Bay,--where, in spite of
the fact that the citizens are all wealthy and supposedly humane, there
are more starving cats than elsewhere in the city. But the experiment
has not been repeated.
Hospitals for sick animals are no new thing, but a really comfortable
home for cats is an enterprise in which many a woman who now asks
despondently what she can do in this overcrowded world to earn a living,
might find pleasant and profitable.
A most worthy charity is that of the Animal Rescue League in Boston,
which was started by Mrs. Anna Harris Smith in 1899. She put a call in
the newspapers, asking those who were interested in the subject to
attend a meeting and form a league for the protection and care of lost
or deserted pets. The response was immediate and generous. The Animal
Rescue League was formed with several hundred members, and in a short
time the house at 68 Carver Street was rented, and a man and his wife
put in charge. Here are brought both cats and dogs from all parts of
Boston and the suburbs, where they are sure of kind treatment and care.
If they are diseased they are immediately put out of existence by means
of the lethal chamber; otherwise they are kept for a few days in order
that they may be claimed by their owners if lost, or have homes found
for them whenever it is possible. During the first year over two
thousand cats were cared for, and several hundred dogs. This home is
maintained by voluntary contributions and by the annual dues of
subscribers. These are one dollar a year for associate members and five
dollars for active members. It is an excellent charity, and one that may
well be emulated in other cities.
There are several cat asylums and refuges in the Far West, and certainly
a few more such institutions as the Sheltering Home at Brighton, Mass.,
or the Morris Refuge would be a credit to a country. How better than by
applying it to our cats can we demonstrate the truth of Solomon's maxim,
"A merciful man is merciful to his beast"?