cats, precisely on the same principles as the home for lost and starving
dogs, only with this difference, that there should be no reward offered
for bringing a cat to the home. Remember this, that a stranger or
starving cat will come to anyone who says a kind word to it, so
policemen would have no difficulty in catching them.
The revenue from the imposition of even a small tax would be very large,
and it would not only help to clear the country of a whole army corps of
thieving, prowling, homeless cats, but give to the cats of respectable
people a greater value in the eyes of the law, and a greater chance of
taking their walks abroad without being molested.
We have a law to protect even our wild birds, why not one for the
protection of my friend the harmless, useful cat?
In conclusion, let me assure lovers and owners of cats, that, as the law
stands at present, the only way to keep their favourites alive, and free
from danger, is to be kind to them, feed them well and teach them, as
far as possible, to keep to the house at night.
We think that men who kill, and trap, and injure our cats are
exceedingly cruel. And so they are, and I hope they will in time learn
to be a shade more merciful. At the same time, don't forget that the
temptation to take revenge upon a cat for vines destroyed, beautiful
flowerbeds torn up, favourite rabbits murdered in their hutches, and
valuable pigeons torn and eaten in their dovecots, is a very great
temptation indeed. You see, reader, there are two sides to every
question.
Pray think of the matter.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
PUSSY'S TRICKS AND MANNERS.
When I was a boy, it used to be a positive pain to me to have to enter a
large library and choose a book. I used to wander round and round the
well-filled shelves like a butterfly floating over a clover-field. I
didn't know where to alight. I would fain have begun at the beginning,
and read the lot--but that was impracticable. Hence my difficulty. I
am in a somewhat similar fix now. I have so many original anecdotes of
cat life and customs that I don't know which to tell.
If I had space at command you should have the whole lot, and I would
arrange them into classes according to their character; as it is, I must
be content to present the reader with some account of a few of pussy's
tricks and manners, deduced from these and from my own rather large
experience of cat life.
Every child knows how fond cats are of hunting and catching mice, but no
cat of any respectability would think of confining her attentions to
mice alone. The very presence of a cat about a house will usually
suffice to keep these destructive pests at bay; and if one should pop
out of its hole, it knows, or ought to know, what to expect. But seldom
will a high-bred cat condescend to eat a mouse. She will play with it
as long as hope keeps up its little heart; when that fails it, pussy
turns it over once or twice to see whether it is really dead or only
shamming, and then walks disdainfully away. The next higher game is
rats, but these she seldom cares to eat, only she kills them on the
spot. She knows that rats have teeth and can use them, so she doesn't
romp with them. I have known rats inflict such severe wounds upon a cat
that they ultimately proved fatal.
Cats delight to spend a day in the woods, bird-catching. They rob the
nests, too, when they find any, and cases have occurred of a cat paying
visits to nests day after day until the young were hatched, then eating
them. (I once had a blackbird's nest in the side of a bank at the
roadside--a strange place for a blackbird to build. I often used to see
a polecat close to, and I am convinced it knew of the nest, but it never
robbed it until the young were hatched.)
Nearly all cats who live in the country hunt over the hills and the
woods, and a great plague, too, gamekeepers find them. There is no
animal which a cat may meet in the covers that she is not a match for.
Polecats and weasels have to own her sway, while rabbits and leverets
fall an easy prey to her prowess.
Most cats, who are well treated by their owners, have a habit of
bringing everything home which they catch. I have often seen a cat come
trotting homewards, carrying in its mouth a rabbit well-nigh as big as
herself.
Cats may therefore be called poachers; and it is curious, but true, that
when a poor man owns a cat who poaches, and brings home the quarry, he
usually winks at it.
I have dozens of well-authenticated anecdotes of cats who are very
expert at fishing. I have, myself, watched a cat by the banks of a
stream, until I have seen him dive into the water, and emerge almost
immediately with a large trout in his mouth. Cats who fish, generally
belong to millers, or are bred and reared somewhere near a river. They
not only catch fish of all sorts, but even water-rats; often springing
many feet off the bank after prey of this kind, and even diving under to
secure it. In Scotland cats often attack and destroy large quantities
of salmon in small streams, in the spawning season.
Cats are supposed to have an antipathy to water, and, as a rule, this is
so. They are very cleanly animals, and it has often amused me to watch
a pussy crossing a muddy street. How eagerly she looks out for the dry
spots, how gingerly she picks her steps, and, when she does tread in a
pool, with what an air of supreme disgust she stops and shakes the
offending foot!
Cats swim well, nevertheless. I have seen a cat take the water as
coolly as an Irish spaniel, swim the river, hunt in the woods for some
time, and then swim back again with a bird in her mouth. And, to save
their kittens from drowning, almost any cat will swim a long distance.
I have known a cat whose favourite fish was the eel, and he always
managed to catch one somehow.
Cats are very fanciful at times, and very self-opinionated. If a cat
takes a fancy to a particular house, or part of the house, it is
difficult to dislodge her.
"In the year 1852," a lady writes me, "my mother was living with a
family in the Albany Road, Camberwell, who had a large tabby Tom cat.
This cat had formed a strong attachment to a kitten who belonged to the
lady next door. In 1853, the family removed to the Ashby Road, Lower
Road, Islington, and the cat was _packed in a hamper_, and sent with the
furniture.
"It was kept in confinement the first day and night, and let out the
next morning. Tabby had his feet buttered, to keep him employed, as
they said it was a good thing to keep him busy. The next day he had
disappeared, no one knew whither, though search was made for him
everywhere.
"A few days after, the lady from Camberwell wrote to say that Tabby had
put in an appearance there, and resumed the charge of his kitten. He
was sent back by the carrier to his proper owner, and every means was
tried to induce him to stop; but he returned the second time to the
kitten, and so they let him remain, because they knew he would be well
taken care of. The wonderment of this was: _which bridge did he go over
in passing through busy London_?"
It is really wonderful how a cat can often find its way, long distances
across a country which he never before may have traversed.
"A few days ago," says another correspondent, "a lady who lives in
Newport told me that, at one time, her house was quite overrun with
mice; and, having procured the loan of a cat which was considered a good
mouser, she tied it into a basket, and then placed it in a concealed
part of the pony carriage. On her arrival at the `Cliff' the prisoner
was released; but even the prospect of a delicious feast of mice could
not obliterate its thoughts of `home, sweet home;' and, after about an
hour's stay, it set off, and, ere long, arrived at its former abode--
distant three miles!"
Some months ago, a half-bred Persian tabby, came to my place, and has
since then stuck to it with all the persistency of Edgar Allan Poe's
raven. He is a cat that seems to have nothing to recommend him; if he
would come into the house, and behave like a civilised being, I would
never grudge him his daily dole. But he prefers to live a half-pagan
existence, out among the bushes, and take his nap of a night in the
coal-house; and Bridget says he is an awful thief, and that she can't
leave the kitchen-door open one moment for fear of him. I've often
asked that cat to take his departure, but, as plain as cat can speak,
that cat says "never more."
By way of experiment I have caught him several times--no easy task, I
assure you--and _sent him_, securely packed in a hamper, distances of
three, four, and five miles to friends who have set him free. And he
always came back. His last journey was at Christmas-time--may Heaven
forgive me this sin!--to the house of a parson _whom I did not know_,
and I stuck some pheasants' feathers too just under the lid. I don't
know what the parson thought, but Tom came back next day, not looking a
single bit put out, and--I am willing to sell him to anyone who may have
need of his services.
I know a cat who caught two sparrows at once, and when retreating, a
third sparrow pursued and attacked him. This one pussy also killed,
with his paw. That was funny!
Cats know certain days of the week, such as Sunday for instance, and
they also know certain hours of each day. I don't mean to say they look
at the clock, but, if a favourite master or mistress is in the habit of
coming home every day, say at 4 p.m., there you will often find that
every day at 4 p.m. pussy will trot down the road to meet her and wait
till she comes.
Cats make good husbands, gentle fathers, and the most tender and loving
of mothers. A cat will fight for her kittens, starve or _steal_ for
them. Oh! I daresay you imagine that stealing wouldn't be likely to
lie very heavily on a cat's conscience. Now listen to this--which the
printer will kindly put in italics--_all experience goes to prove that
well-fed, properly cared-for cats, are not thieves, but the reverse_.
Cats have their kittens in queer places, at times. A lady's best Sunday
bonnet, or master's wig, or a set of ermine furs, just suits pussy to a
nicety. My cat once kittened in my cocked hat. It is a positive fact,
madam, and so far from thinking she had done anything to offend me, she
held up one of her brats for me to admire. But the queerest place for a
cat to kitten in, that ever I knew, was a tree. The cat scrambled up
the tree and brought forth her young in the nest of a wood-pigeon! I
didn't hear how the kittens got down again though, but I have every
reason to believe the story. Probably, when the kittens opened their
eyes they commenced playing with their mother's tail, and went
topsy-turvy to the ground. Well, _facilis descensus Averni_, and you
know cats always fall on their feet. I knew a man who kicked his own
cat out of his pigeon loft, three storeys high. He told me it didn't
seem to hurt her a bit, but rather increased her appetite.
Whether cats have nine lives or not, they take a great deal of killing.
I knew a cat that was drowned four times, and came home again as
unconcernedly as if nothing very unusual had happened. However,
drowning in the end seemed to get rather irksome to this pussy, and
after the fourth immersion, he ran away to the woods, and didn't come
back to be drowned any more.
Many cases I know of parties having started off with puss in a bag to
drown her, and having stopped to talk to a friend on the way back found,
on their return, the cat sitting by the fire drying herself! I have
many instances of cats having been thrown from bridges and other high
places, with the intention of killing them, but without fatal effect.
Cats have been buried alive for days and recovered after being dug up.
A cat of my acquaintance was sent to live at a mill. This seemed to
please pussy very much. You see there were plenty of mice in the mill,
and plenty of rats and fish in the mill-lead, so the cat made herself at
home. But in course of time pussy became the mother of two kittens, and
then the longing for her old home came back with a force too powerful to
be resisted. She determined, therefore, to return to her former
residence, and she did so, carrying her kittens one by one. The
distance she had to travel was two miles, and the night she chose was a
dark and stormy one.
There were two cats who dwelt at the self-same house and had kittens at
the self-same time. All the kittens were drowned with the exception of
two, one being left with each mother. And now comes the curious part of
the business. These two mother-cats came to an amicable understanding,
that whenever the one was abroad the other should suckle and attend to
both babies, and this treaty was carried out to the letter.
Cats are not only fond of human beings, but often get greatly attached
to other domestic animals, especially to the family dog. I know at this
moment a cat whose constant companion is a Dandy Dinmont; and a rough
one he is too, for, although he sleeps in pussy's arms every night, he
thinks nothing of pulling her all round the lawn by the tail at any
time, the cat herself seeming to enjoy the fun!
Rabbits and cats often associate together on the most friendly terms,
even accompanying each other in long excursions, the cat on these
occasions electing herself protector of her feebler friend against
predatory dogs and other cats.
A cat belonging to a friend of mine used to be constantly at war with
the dog, until one day, with a blow of her ungloved paw, she blinded the
poor animal in one eye. No mother could have been kinder to her child
than pussy was to this dog, after she saw what she had done. That she
bitterly repented the rash act is evident, for she watched beside him
night and day, until he grew well again; and now, they are the fastest
friends in the world, and the cat is the first to welcome the dog home
when he returns from a walk.
As a proof of how cruel it is to take _all_ a cat's kittens away from
her, I may state that, thus bereaved, a cat will take to nursing even
chickens, or she will suckle puppies, hedgehogs, or rats.
It is a funny thing that many cats can't bear music. Some will run out
of the room if they hear a fiddle played, and others will growl and
attack the musician.
Cats can be easily taught to follow one in a country walk just like a
dog, and on these occasions they come much better to the sound of
whistling than to any other call.
A well-bred cat will always teach its kittens habits of cleanliness, how
to watch for and catch mice, and also how to catch minnows in a shallow
stream.
I have already said that cats, as a rule, when well treated, are not
thieves, but the very reverse. But when a cat does take to thieving for
a livelihood, she becomes quite a swell at it--shows how clever she is.
Cats are considered in some parts of England to be of some value as an
article of diet. I have never to my knowledge eaten cat, so I cannot
give the reader any idea what they taste like.
It is ridiculous to suppose, as some do, that a cat's breath has any
effect upon a baby either for good or for evil. Neither will a cat
bring blood from a child's temple by licking it with its rough tongue.
An ugly old woman isn't necessarily a witch because she keeps a black
cat. Neither is a black cat a devil.
They say that witches sail over the sea in riddles accompanied by their
black cats, and that they have rather a jolly time of it upon the whole,
having plenty to eat, and plenty to drink--flagons of wine, in fact.
Don't you believe it, reader.
Cats are not afraid of snakes; but snakes, even the dreaded cobra, will
invariably give pussy a wide berth.
Cats are fond of fish, absurdly so, and if you offer them even the
gold-fish, they won't feel offended. It is only out of respect for the
owner thereof that they don't devour the canary. They prefer canary
living, with the feathers on. It tickles their palates and makes them
laugh.
Chickens are dainties in a cat's _cuisine_; they also rather like a nice
plump partridge, and won't refuse to suck an egg when occasion offers.
Cats are, as a rule, Good Templars; the proof of which rule is this: I
had a Red Tabby Tom who would eat oatmeal and whisky until he couldn't
stand. The servants knew this failing, and encouraged him in his evil
ways; so that half his time, instead of being as sober as a judge--as
every decent, respectable cat ought--Tom was as drunk as a piper.
It is funny to listen to a cat's concert about two o'clock in the
morning. Of course, if you are rather nervous, and want to go to sleep,
it isn't so funny. (N.B.--If cats were better treated, they would hold
their concerts in daylight in the garden, instead of at midnight on the
tiles. Mind you, there is something in that.)
Altogether, cats are funny things, and the more you study them the
funnier you find them. That's so!
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
THE FIRESIDE FAVOURITE.
The lines of some cats fall in pleasant places. Mine have. I'm the
fireside favourite, I'm the parlour pet. I'm the _beau ideal_, so my
mistress says, of what every decent, respectable, well-trained cat ought
to be--and I looked in the glass and found it so. But pray don't think
that I am vain because I happen to know the usages of polite society,
and the uses and abuses of the looking-glass. No cat, in my opinion,
with any claim to the dignity of lady-puss, would think of washing her
face unless in front of a plate-glass mirror. But I will not soon
forget the day I first knew what a looking-glass meant. I was then only
a cheeky little mite of a kitten, of a highly inquiring turn of mind.
Well, one evening my young mistress was going to a ball, and before she
went she spent about three hours in her dressing-room, doing something,
and then she came down to the parlour, looking more like an angel than
ever I had seen her. Oh, how she was dressed, to be sure! And she had
little bunches of flowers stuck on all over her dress, and I wanted to
play at "mousies" with them; but she wouldn't wait, she just kissed me
and bade me be a good kitten and not run up the curtains, and then off
she went. Yes; I meant to be an awfully good little kitten--but first
and foremost I meant to see the interior of that mysterious room. By
good luck the door was ajar, so in I popped at once, and made direct for
the table. Such a display of beautiful things I had never seen before.
I didn't know what they all meant then, but I do now, for, mind you, I
will soon be twenty years of age. But I got great fun on that table. I
tried the gold rings on my nose, and the earrings on my toes, and I
knocked off the lid of a powder-box, and scattered the crimson contents
all abroad. Then I had a fearful battle with a puff which I unearthed
from another box. During the fight a bottle of ylang-ylang went down.
I didn't care a dump. Crash went a bottle of fragrant floriline next.
I regarded it not. I fought the puff till it took refuge on the floor.
Then I paused, wondering what I should do next, when behold! right in
front of me and looking through a square of glass, and apparently
wondering what _it_ should do next, was the ugliest little wretch of a
kitten ever you saw in your life--a long-nosed, blear-eyed,
pingey-wingey thing. I marched up to it as brave as a button, and it
had the audacity to come and meet me.
"You ugly, deformed little beast," I cried, "what do you want in my
lady's room?"
"The same to you," it seemed to say, "and many of them."
"For two pins," I continued, "I would scratch your nasty little eyes
out--yah--fuss-s!"
"Yah--fuss-s!" replied the foe, lifting its left paw as I lifted my
right.
This was too much. I crept round the corner to give her a cuff. She
wasn't there! I came back, and there she was as brazen as ever. I
tried this game on several times, but couldn't catch her. "Then," says
I, "you'll have it where you stand, and hang the pane of glass!"
I struck straight from the shoulder, and with a will too. Down went the
glass, and I found I had been fighting all the time with my own shadow.
Funny, wasn't it?
When mistress came home there was such a row. But she was sensible, and
didn't beat me. She took me upstairs, and showed me what I had done,
and looked so vexed that I was sorry too. "It is my own fault, though,"
she said; "I ought to have shut the door."
She presented me with a looking-glass soon after this, and it is quite
surprising how my opinion of that strange kitten in the mirror altered
after that. I thought now I had never seen such a lovely thing, and I
was never tired looking at it. No more I had. But first impressions
_are_ so erroneous, you know.
My dear mother is dead and gone years ago--of course, considering my
age, you won't marvel at that; and my young mistress is married long,
long ago, and has a grown family, who are all as kind as kind can be to
old Tom, as they facetiously call me. And so they were to my mother,
who, I may tell you, was only three days in her last illness, and gave
up the ghost on a file of old newspapers (than which nothing makes a
better bed) and is buried under the old pear-tree.
Dear me, how often I have wondered how other poor cats who have neither
kind master nor mistress manage to live. But, the poor creatures, they
are _so_ ignorant--badly-bred, you know. Why, only the other day the
young master brought home a poor little cat, he had found starving in
the street. Well, I never in all my life saw such an ill-mannered, rude
little wretch, for no sooner had it got itself stuffed with the best
fare in the house, than it made a deliberate attempt to steal the
canary. There was gratitude for you! Now, mind, I don't say that _I_
shouldn't like to eat the canary, but I never have taken our own birds--
no--always the neighbours'. I did, just once, fly at our own canary's
cage when I was quite a wee cat, and didn't know any better. And what
do you think my mistress did? Why, she took the bird out of the cage
and popped me in; and there I was, all day long, a prisoner, with
nothing for dinner but seeds and water, and the canary flying about the
room and doing what it liked, even helping itself to my milk. I never
forgot that.
Some cats, you know, are arrant thieves, and I don't wonder at it, the
way they are kicked and cuffed about, put out all night, and never
offered food or water. I would steal myself if I were used like that,
wouldn't you, madam? But I have my two meals a day, regularly; and I
have a nice double saucer, which stands beside my mirror, and one end
contains nice milk and the other clean water, and I don't know which I
like the best. When I am downright thirsty, the water is so nice; but
at times I am hungry and thirsty both, if you can understand me--then I
drink the milk. At times I am allowed to sit on the table when my
mistress is at breakfast, and I often put out my paw, ever so gently,
and help myself to a morsel from her plate; but I wouldn't do it when
she isn't looking. The other day I took a fancy to a nice smelt, and I
just went and told my mistress and led her to the kitchen, and I got
what I wanted at once.
I am never put out at night. I have always the softest and warmest of
beds, and in winter, towards morning, when the fire goes out, I go
upstairs and creep (singing loudly to let her know it is I) into my
mistress's arms.
If I want to go on the tiles any night, I have only to ask. A fellow
does want to go on the tiles now and then, doesn't he? Oh, it is a
jolly thing, is a night on the tiles! One of these days I may give you
my experience of life on the tiles, and then you'll know all about it--
in the meantime, madam, you may try it yourself. Let it be moonlight,
and be cautious, you know, for, as you have only two feet, you will feel
rather awkward at first.