his faithful Scottish collie. In the Highlands there are generally two
roads, the high and the low; the low road being the longest and of
course the safest, and the high much shorter, but usually leading
through some ugly bits of country, which are far from safe even by day,
and much less by night. It was a beautiful night, quite clear and
starry, with just the slightest crust of snow on the ground, barely
enough to darken the heather. But such being the case, the student
thought he could easily venture to cross by the hills, and thus save a
mile or two. Early next morning, a woman at a neighbouring farm was
surprised, while baking bannocks, by the entrance of a strange collie.
The collie did not use much ceremony, but simply stole the largest
bannock, and fled. This, of course, was not thought much of. The dog
was hungry, and the morning cold, and he was welcome to the bannock,
although it would have been more satisfactory for both sides had he
asked for it. The same dog returned, however, in a few hours, and his
behaviour was so strange that one of the family was induced to follow
him. The dog led him a long way over the mountains, and at last brought
up at the foot of a precipice, near a stream, where "something dark was
lying." This something dark was no other than the poor student, who had
slipped his foot on the previous night, and tumbled over the rock. He
was at first supposed to be dead, but soon revived, having merely
fractured a thigh, and become insensible from the cold; but the strange
part of the story is to come--the bannock, all untouched, reclined
against the student's cheek, _placed there by the dog_. [At page 83,
volume three, "Annals of Sporting," an instance of collie-dog sagacity
very similar to this is given.]
Not only do cats know sickness in others, but they are acquainted in
some way with the mystery of death. Observe a cat, for instance, that
has played with a mouse until she has killed it. Just see the critical
way she turns it over and over with her foot, and glares into its
glazing eyes. She wants to make sure the wee thing is not shamming;
but, being satisfied, mark her as she coolly stretches herself, or walks
slowly away from her victim, as much as to say: "Well, I've had half an
hour's good fun, anyhow. Might have eaten it as long as it was alive,
though; but I can't bear a dead mouse. So it's just as broad as it's
long."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
TOM, TIMBY, AND TOM BRANDY.
"The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
Gang aft agley,
An' leave us nought but grief and pain
For promised joy."
Burns.
And if the schemes of mice and men often "gang agley," it is not to be
wondered at that the sagacity of the domestic cat is sometimes at fault.
A very large and beautiful cat, belonging to a lady in Dumbarton, was
very much attached to its home--more so, perhaps, in this case, than to
its mistress, for one day, much to pussy's disgust, disreputable-looking
men in aprons--so pussy thought them--came to the house and began to
remove the furniture. Pussy sat on the hearthrug, washing her face with
a spittle and musing. "I've been so happy here," she was thinking; "I
know every mouse's hole in the house, and the places in the garden where
I can hide to catch the sparrows, and the gaps in the hedge through
which I can bolt when that Skye-terrier chases me, and the whitethorn
bush beneath whose scented boughs I meet dear Tom in the moonlight. Oh!
the thoughts of leaving Tom--no, I cannot, will not, leave the old
house. Missus can hang herself if she likes. Happy thought, I'll
hide--hide in the linen drawer, till this cruel war is over, and then
come forth, mistress of all I survey." And so she did; but,
unfortunately for her calculations, the chest of drawers was moved as
well; and when at last she did "come forth," much to her bewilderment
she was in a house which she had never seen before in her life.
The following anecdotes may not be thought uninteresting; they are taken
almost at random from hosts of others in my possession, or, if there has
been any choice in the matter, they have been chosen because the three
cats, whose stories here are told, lived in widely different parts of
the globe, clearly proving that a cat is a cat all the world over.
We'll give the English cat the preference. There is nothing very
wonderful in his history. Tom was born and bred in Gloucestershire; he
was presented to his master and mistress, the former of whom was a
schoolmaster, when quite a little kitten, and soon became a great
favourite with both. Tom, who was a tabby, soon grew in strength and
beauty, until there were few male or female cats in the neighbourhood
who did not own him lord and master. But Tom was so fond of his owners
that he spent but little time either fighting or courting, much to his
credit be it said. About this time, his master and mistress used to
make frequent visits to a neighbouring village. Tom was not permitted
to accompany them; but, whatever time they returned, by night or by day,
wet weather or dry, poor Tom always met them nearly a mile from their
own house.
Tom was remarkably fond of the schoolchildren, and every day, as
regularly as the clock struck twelve, at which hour the school was
released for the forenoon, Tom presented himself all ready for a romp.
The family dinner-hour was one o'clock, and Tom never failed to attend.
There was a knocker on the door, and whenever pussy found the door
closed, he used to _jump up and knock_, just as he had seen strangers
do.
Tom knew the days of the week, for he was never known to set out for
school on Saturdays or Sundays, for the simple reason that he knew the
school was closed.
Another strange trait in Tom's character was his fondness for poultry.
"He would feed with _very young_ chickens, and with the ducks and hens,
never attempting to molest the weakest of them, but would even yield to
them, and frequently leave the choicest bits for them." Tom's life was
a very happy one until his owners removed to Leamington. Here, in the
same house with him, were a parcel of rude, badly-bred children, who
persistently ill-treated the poor cat, till at last Tom was missing; and
it was found he had taken up his abode in a fowl-house among his old
friends. This was rather a down-come for the poor cat, and he must have
felt as wretched as a human being whom, after living for years in
luxury, misfortune had at last condemned to the poor-house. Being
removed back to his owner's house, and the children still continuing
their persecutions, Tom fled to the woods and became a bandit, and no
doubt met with a bandit cat's death, and died in a trap. So we leave
him.
Tom Brandy was an Australian miner's cat. The miners baptised him in
_aguardiente_, and hence his name. He was a beautiful large black cat,
with one white spot on his chest, invaluable as a hunter, and came down
like a whirlwind on every dog he saw. He was a good example of the
travelling cat; he would follow his master every Sunday in Melbourne to
church, hide in a neighbouring garden till the preaching was over, and
then trot home behind him. He would lead like a dog in a string. Tom's
travelling carriage was an old gin case. Into this Tom would jump
whenever he saw preparations made for striking the tent, and lie there
without ever appearing, at times for a whole day, until the new
camping-ground was reached. Yes, a wild life Tom led of it in the
Australian bush. When Tom's master left for "merrie England," Tom
proved himself just as good a ship cat as he had been a miner's puss.
Only, mind you, Tom liked his comforts when he could get them. It was
no business of his if his master and family chose to be intermediate
passengers. He knew better, and attached himself to the cabin,
although, to show he did not forget his owners, he used to pay them a
visit every evening, to see, I suppose, if they had everything they
wanted. On the arrival of the ship at Birkenhead, the purser, after
offering two pounds for Tom in vain, stole Tom Brandy; but Tom was at
his master's house that night, nevertheless.
Tom's future home was Montrose, where he lived for two years happy
enough, after which he mysteriously disappeared, and was not seen again
for nineteen months. Where had he been? What had he been doing? How
had he lived? _N'importe_! Tom Brandy turned up again very thin and
very angry, and wanted to fight everybody save his own master. Tom
lived happy ever after--that is, for three years, when he laid down upon
a shelf and died like a Christian. And the days and years of Tom
Brandy's life were sixteen and over, and he weighed a little under
seventeen pounds.
Timby is also a Tom cat, and lives at Dunbeath Castle, Caithness; a
pretty black-and-white animal, weighing about ten pounds. Timby is the
coachman's cat; and as his master lives in a retired part of the
country, the two are naturally very much attached to each other. Timby
follows his master round the grounds and policies just like a dog. When
little more than a kitten he proved himself a perfect Nimrod among cats,
brought down birds from the highest trees, tore up moles from their
tunnels, and was death upon rats and mice wherever he saw them.
Since he has grown up to years of discretion, Timby has learned to
despise such paltry game as mice or rats. The Highlands of Scotland, as
the reader doubtless knows, are infested with rabbits, and many a poor
farmer is ruined by them; and these Timby makes his special quarry. It
is his habit to stay out all night, and he seldom appears without a
coney in the morning. If his master will accept the rabbit, Timby is
very much pleased. If his master won't, and pushes it away with his
foot, "Oh, very well," says Timby, "I'll have the rabbit; you have that
herring of yours--I question if it will keep another day;" and he trots
off with his prey.
Three years ago his master got a nice retriever dog, and to this dog
Timby was at first exceedingly cruel, but latterly he grew very much
attached to it; and as often as he can spare a rabbit he brings it to
the dog's kennel, and seems pleased to see him devour it.
Like my own cat or cats, Timby will defend his master with his heart's
blood. One day when Mr McKenzie, Timby's master, was trying a new
terrier with a rabbit, Timby, who had followed unperceived, as soon as
he heard the rabbit scream, doubtless came to the conclusion that his
master was in danger, and sprang fiercely on another dog which Mr
McKenzie was holding. The battle was short and bloody, and the poor dog
had to retire very much worsted. Another day, when the coachman and his
cat were lying together on the grass, a friend came up, and was just in
the act of throwing himself on the turf likewise, when Timby flew upon
him and lacerated his face very severely, and it was with some
difficulty his master got him off.
Timby goes regularly to the sea with his master to swim the dogs, but
does not himself take the water. But in coming home a rabbit is often
started. Then away go the dogs, and away goes Timby, and, strange as it
may seem in rabbit-coursing, Timby would gain as many, if not more,
points than the terriers. However, there is no sort of spirit of
rivalry betwixt them, and if the dogs choose to beat a field for
rabbits, Timby stands by to catch them; again, when the dogs prefer to
"lay by," Timby with pleasure goes and beats the field for them.
If Timby knows there is any vermin in a burrow, he has patience enough
to wait till he secures it! and he has been known to lie near a hole
_for nine hours_ in a stormy day, before his patience was rewarded.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
SOME TRAITS OF FELINE CHARACTER.
We all know that almost any dog that has lived a reasonable number of
years, and isn't a kennel dog, but one of the family, as it were,
understands pretty nearly all that is said in his presence, if it at all
concerns him. My Theodore Nero is exceedingly 'cute in this respect.
When I have to go out without taking him along with me, he will lie
listening attentively, with just half an eye open, till he finds out in
what particular direction I mean to go. After I leave home he tries
every trick and wile to get round the servant, and generally succeeds;
so that, on turning a corner of the road, ten to one I find the
identical dog I left asleep in the parlour, coolly waiting for me.
Indeed, I have often to leave my orders about him in bad French, as my
wife doesn't understand good Gaelic. I get to windward of the dog that
way, and, I fear, sometimes to windward of the wife too; the haziness of
my French leaving the one just as wise as the other.
Till very recently, some people wouldn't even admit that a cat could
know its own name; some people get wiser every day, and I, for one,
believe that cats know fully as much of what we say as dogs do. As an
instance of this, I give you the following anecdote, which may be
entitled:
_A Cat with a Conscience_.--A certain Mr Coutts, of Newhills, Aberdeen,
is very fond of both cats and poultry, and studies the tricks and
manners of both. He recently had a hen with a large brood of chickens,
the number of which day after day became lessened by one at least. The
place was always searched, but not the slightest trace of a dead one
could be discovered. The poor cock was blamed, ravens were suspected,
and hawks deemed guilty; but still there was some mystery about it, and
the chicks went on getting fewer and fewer. About this time it was
observed that whenever the subject was brought up, the favourite cat
seemed all at once to grow exceedingly uneasy and restless, and finally
bolted off through the nearest open door. This naturally aroused
suspicion. Pussy was watched, and found one day in the very act of
walking away with a chicken.
I have another anecdote, something similar, of a cat called Polly.
Polly had one failing, although otherwise a virtuous cat, and extremely
honest--she could not resist the temptation of stealing a bit of cheese,
whenever she could do so unperceived. But note the slyness of this
pussy: she could never be prevailed upon to touch cheese, even if
offered to her in the presence of any one of the family, evidently
reasoning thus with herself: "If I pretend I can't eat cheese because it
disagrees with me, they will never blame me for stealing it, and I shall
often find myself locked in the same room--glorious thought!--with a
whole Cheddar."
It is a well-known fact that dogs often take particular dislikes to
certain people. They appear, in many cases, to be much better judges of
character than we ourselves are. I believe this instinct, or whatever
else it is, is not confined to dogs alone, but is equally shared by
other animals. Cats, I know, possess it in a very remarkable degree.
They know by some means, which I will not pretend to understand, those
individuals who have a soft side towards them. Why, for instance, did
that strange cat at Lincoln single me out from dozens of people who were
on the street, and ask me to go to the rescue of her kitten?
Why do cats often pass other people by, and come up to me on the
pavement, requesting me to ring the bell, that they may get in out of
the wet? There are two strange cats who sleep in the sun almost daily
in a corner of my front garden. If any one comes along they bolt at
once, but when I pass up and down, they merely look at me and lie still;
and I never speak to them, unless, perhaps, just a passing word. But,
what is still more strange, Theodore Nero walks up and down past them
without causing them the slightest alarm. Yet, what a tremendous
monster he must appear to them! They just look at him, wonderingly, as
much as to say: "Oh, you great, good-natured-looking brute, however you
can catch mice and sparrows enough to fill your enormous stomach, I
can't tell?"
I know a lady who is very fond of cats, and when out walking or shopping
in town, it is quite a usual thing for her to be accosted by some poor
half-starved waif or stray, and very often she goes into a shop and buys
food for them, for which, no doubt, they are grateful, and for which, no
doubt, she will one day receive her reward from Him who careth even for
the humble sparrows. This lady was passing a house one time where a
poor cat was confined, the usual occupants having gone to the seaside,
and left pussy shut up in the empty house. As soon as she stopped at
the door of the house, the cat's cries were quite pitiable to hear. As
soon as this lady left the door, the cries ceased, only to be renewed
whenever she returned. But pussy did not make the same noises when
others stopped in front of the door.
_A Cat deserting one Home for another_.--A tortoiseshell-and-white cat,
belonging now to a friend of mine, came into his possession in rather a
singular way. The cat was originally the property of a neighbour of my
friend, whose house was on the opposite side of the street, and about
thirty yards off. There she stayed, apparently perfectly contented and
happy, until she became the mother of four kittens. Then, for some
reason or other known only to herself, she determined to shift her
quarters, and one day my friend was astonished to see Kate, as she was
called, march into his house with a kitten in her mouth, which she
deposited in a safe and comfortable corner, and then set off for the
others, which she brought one by one. Remember this, the cat had never
been in my friend's house before! Kate's kittens were taken back again
to her old home, and Kate marched them all over again to the home of her
choice. And this was done every day for a whole week.
"It's no earthly use, you know," Kate seemed to say. "What I says I
means, and what I does I sticks to."
And so my friend had to adopt both Kate and her family, previously
having failed in an attempt to starve her out, for Kate had adopted a
system of house-to-house begging, but always came home in the evening.
This cat for fourteen years used to sit patiently on the arm of her
master's chair until dinner was done and she was helped.
It is exceedingly rude, I know, to doubt a lady's word, but _can you
believe_ what follows? 'A lady assures me that she has such an
inexplicable and innate antipathy to cats, that if she enters a strange
room she can tell at once if there is a cat there, whether she sees it
or not. And if a cat is carried suddenly into a room where she is, she
"faints dead away."
Another lady friend of mine, who is very fond of animals of all sorts,
while living down in Brighton last October, was hastening home one
evening just about dusk, when she suddenly found that she was not alone,
but accompanied by some little black creature, which, immediately she
came under the gas-lamp, she found was a poor little stray kitten. As
this wee puss bounded into the house as soon as the door was opened, of
course she believed it belonged to the house. Going to her bedroom to
dress for dinner, there was little Miss Puss sitting on the bed singing,
and apparently perfectly satisfied with her new quarters, for the lady
soon found it did not belong to the house.
Pussy was treated to a saucerful of milk, and then sent adrift out into
the street, chased out with a broom, in fact, for the housemaid hated
cats. This kitten didn't mean to be put off like this, however. She
stopped out all night, certainly, but quietly came in with the charwoman
at five o'clock in the morning, and came directly to my friend's
bedroom. There is no getting rid of a cat when it once concludes to
board itself upon you, and this little waif soon established herself for
good at Ashburnham House. But here is the strange part of the business.
She seemed to know that my friend Mrs W. was only a visitor here, and
constantly showed great discretion, by sticking close to her apartments
and back-yard. Just once she ventured down to the kitchen, and the old
residential cat bit a piece out of her ear. "If that is how you treat
visitors," said kitty, "I'll stick to my own rooms in future." And so
she did.
It is sometimes rather a difficult thing finding suitable apartments
when you are accompanied with pets. It takes considerable tact, I can
assure you, to convince Mrs 'Arris, or whatever is the name of your
intended landlady, that your Newfoundland is so clean that you never can
see even a hair on the carpet; that your Pomeranian is an angel in
canine form; that your Persian cat wouldn't steal, if surrounded even by
the most tempting viands; that your macaw doesn't scream loud enough to
give all the terrace "an 'eadache;" and that your white rats never
escape and run all over the house. Mrs W. had some difficulty about
her kitten when she went to the lodgings she had taken at Norwood.
"I certainly did expect," her landlady observed, "a lady with birds, and
a mouse, and a very large dog; but a cat I couldn't have, because I've
one of my own."
Mrs W. of course promised all sorts of impossibilities regarding her
pet, and her landlady finally gave in.
But, strange to say, this very house became the kitten's future home,
for the landlady's grandchild struck up a friendship with the wee pussy,
and when the child fell sick, the kitten would hardly ever leave her
little crib, nor would the child bear Miss Brighton, as she called her
feline favourite, out of her sight for a single moment. Who shall say
how far the simple companionship, of this loving and affectionate wee
kitten, might not have tended to the child's restoration to perfect
health?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
LOVE OF CHILDREN AND AFFECTION FOR OWNER.
There is hardly a domestic animal we possess that is not fond, to a
greater or less extent, of children. How carefully a horse will pick
his steps if a child happens to fall amongst his feet! I saw a bull one
day escape, wounded and furious, from a killing-house, and dash madly
along the turnpike road. He knocked down and injured several people,
who could not get quickly enough out of his way; then there stood,
paralysed with fear, and right in the wild brute's path, a child of
tender years, which everyone who saw it gave up for lost; but the bull,
who did not hesitate to attack grown-up people, suddenly veered to one
side, and left this child unhurt!
My large Newfoundland dog is in the habit of careering along the street
with a speed which, considering his size, is quite incompatible with the
safety of the lieges. Policemen, especially, very often find themselves
in the line of his rush, and Nero never hesitates to run clean through
these men, so to speak, leaving them sprawling on the ground with heels
in air; but the other day this dog, on suddenly rounding a corner, found
himself confronted with four little toddling infants, who, hand in hand,
were coming along the pavement. There was no time to slacken speed, and
to proceed was certain death to one or more of the poor children, and
what do you think this noble fellow did? why lifted himself clean off
the pavement, and sprang high and clear over their heads.
The same dog was once in a hotel, when a friend of mine offered him a
biscuit. Master Nero wasn't hungry; he would neither eat the biscuit
from my friend's hand nor from my own, but when the landlord's pretty
little daughter came running in, and threw her arms about his neck, and
caressed him, he hadn't the heart to refuse the biscuit from _her_
hands, and even accepted several from her, although still refusing them
from us.
But the domestic cat is, _par excellence_, the playmate and friend of
childhood. What is it, indeed, that pussy will not bear from the hands
of its little child-mistress? She may pull and lug pussy about any way
she pleases, or walk up and down the garden-walk with it slung over her
shoulder by the tail. If such treatment does hurt the poor cat, she
takes good care not to show it. It is amusing enough sometimes to watch
a little girl making a baby of her favourite pussy. They are wearied
with gambolling together on the flowery lawn, and playing at
hide-and-seek among the shrubbery, and pussy "_must_ be tired," says
little Alice. Pussy enters into the joke at once, and seems positively
dead beat; so the basket is brought, the little night-cap is put on, the
shawl is carefully pinned around its shoulders, and this embryo mamma
puts her feline baby to bed and bids it sleep. There is always two
words, however, with pussy as regards the sleeping part of the contract,
for little Alice never can get her baby to close more than one eye at a
time. Pussy must see what is going on. Anon the baby "must be sick,"
and pussy forthwith appears as if she couldn't possibly survive another
hour. Bread pills are manufactured, and forced over the poor cat's
throat, she barely resisting. Then lullabies, low and sweet, are sung
to her, which pussy enjoys immensely, and presently, joining in the song
herself, goes off to sleep in earnest.