[SeeNote L, Addenda.]
PUSSY AS A MOTHER.
A careful and fond mother is our pussy-cat. In no case is her wisdom and sagacity better exhibited than in the love and care she displays for her offspring. Weeks before the interesting event comes off, pussy has been “upstairs and downstairs and in the lady’s chamber,” looking for the snuggest corner or the cosiest closet in which to bring forth her young. In this matter different cats have different opinions. Some prefer a feather-bed when they can manage it, some a bundle of rags, some an old newspaper or humble straw, while others believe the acme of comfort is to lie inside a lady’s bonnet or a gentleman’s wig. Wherever pussy has chosen to have her kittens, there in that room or closet she prefers to nurse them, and should they and she be removed to another she will persist in carrying her offspring back to the old place, howevercomfortable the new bed may be. This proves that pussy like human beings of the same gender has a will of her own.
I know an instance of a cat, whose kittens were removed by her master from the attic in which they were born, to a snug little berth in the barn. The cottage doors were closed against her, but Mrs. Puss was not to be balked, and next morning found her and her family comfortably re-ensconced in the old quarters: during the night she had smashed the attic sky-light, and carried her kittens through one by one. Pussy gained her point and was happy.
I know a lady whose cat has had a litter ofone kitten. It is her first, and if she had produced ten she could not possibly be prouder of the performance. It is amusing to watch the care and affection she bestows on her “ae, ae bairn.”[2]Her whole heart—I was nearly saying “and soul”—seems bound up in it. She sits and studies it by the hour—no doubt it is its father’s image—dresses it at least a dozentimes a day, and whenever she has occasion to go out, she takes this miserable little object of her love, and rolls it carefully in the sofa tidy, so that it may neither catch cold nor come to harm.
When a cat finds out that there is not proper room or convenience in her owner’s house for the proper rearing of her family, or that there is some chance of molestation or danger from the inmates, she never hesitates to go elsewhere for the event. She generally selects an out-house, or in the summer-time goes to the woods, but she never fails to return to her old abode, as soon as the kittens can take care of themselves.
Mary is an old, old maid,—an old maid from choice so she tells me,—she could have been married if she had liked. “Mony a harum-scarum ne’er-do-weel,” says Mary, “came blethering about me when I was young and bonnie, but I ga’e them a’ their kail thro’ the reek, wi’ their calves’ faces and phrasing mou’s. Na, ne’er a man gave me a sair heart, and what’s mair never shall.”
I don’t suppose they ever will, for eventhe probability of Mary’s having been once young seems mere tradition. Besides, Mary has centered all her earthly affections on her cat, and there is every likelihood that puss will live as long as she herself. The old lady apologises for loving it, on the ground that it is “So clean and clever, sir, and catches mice as easy as wink;” and whenever a dog barks on the street, she runs to see that her pet is safe.
Some months ago this pussy gave evidence that she would soon become a mother. Now as the room in which poor Mary resides is only about twelve feet square, it was very evident there was but small accommodation for a decent cat’s accouchement. The same idea struck both pussy and her kind old mistress at the same time, and while Mary was busy going the round of her neighbours, seeking in vain for an asylum for her favourite, pussy was absent on the same errand, and apparently with more success, for she did not return. Mary was now indeed “a waefu’ woman,” for days and nights went past, and no tidings came of puss. Someevil thing must have happened to her, thought the old lady. Perhaps she was shut up in some lonely outhouse and starving to death; or tumbled down a chimney; cruel boys may have stoned her or drowned her; cruel keepers may have trapped her, or, more likely still, that rieving rascal Rover may have worried her. He was just like the dog to do a deed of the kind, aye, and glory in it; at any rate, she should never see her more. Alack-a-day! and Mary’s tears fell thick and fast on the stocking she was knitting, till she even lost the loops, and couldn’t see to pick them up again. Marvel not, oh reader, at the old maid’s emotion, pussy was her “one ewe lamb,” her all she had in the world to love. And weeks went past, as weeks will, whether one’s in grief or not, and it was well into the middle of the third, and getting near evening, when lonesome Mary, cowering over her little fire, heard a voice which made her start and listen; she heard it again, and with her old heart bobbing for joy, she tottered to the door and admitted—her long lost favourite. Pussy hadno time for congratulations, she had a fine lively kitten in her mouth, which she carefully deposited in Mary’s bed, and made straight for the door again. She was back again in twenty minutes with another, which she gently put beside the first, then she went back for another, then another, then a fifth, and when she dropped the sixth and turned to go out again.
“Lord keep us, Topsy,” said old Mary. “How mony mair is there? Are ye goin’ to board a’ the kits in the country on me?”
But the seventh was the last, and Topsy threw herself down beside the lot, and prepared to sing herself and them to sleep.
It turned out that Mary’s cat had taken up her abode in a farmer’s hay-loft, fully half a mile from her owner’s house; but no one had seen her until the day she carried home her kittens. She had no doubt subsisted all the time on rats and mice, for she was in fine condition when she gladdened the old maid’s heart with her return.
You may often observe that if two she-cats are living together, or in adjoininghouses, one always gets and retains the mastery over the other, until that other happens to be nursing, when she in her turn becomes mistress, and her companion is glad to give her a wide berth.
Cats will go through fire and water to save the life of their kittens, and fight to the bitter end to protect them. A dog will seldom dare to attack a cat while she is nursing her young. My own cat actually imposes the duties of dry nurse on my Newfoundland, “Theodore Nero.” His finely feathered legs make a delightful bed for them. He seems pleased with the trust too, and licks them all over with his tongue. In Muffie’s absence, he lies perfectly still, seemingly afraid to move lest he should hurt them. When they get a little older and more playful, they make tremendous onslaughts on his nose and ears and tail, which the honest fellow bears with the most exemplary patience, for he loves Muffie, although many a wild chase he gives her numerous lovers. He can’t bear “followers.”
The other day a playfellow of his, a large Irish water-spaniel, looked in at the door just to ask if he would come for a romp for an hour, as the sun was shining, the breakers running mountains high on the beach, and any number of little boys to throw in sticks to them. Theodore Nero was nursing. But Muffie went, and I should think that dog felt sorry he had ever turned out of bed at all that morning. The cat rode him at least fifty yards from her own door, battering him unmercifully all the way. Then she came back, and sang to Nero. Poor Coolin staggered down the road, half blinded with blood, and shaking his beautiful ears in a most pitiful manner; but his sorrows were only half over, for not seeing very well where he was running, he stumbled right upon a clucking hen and chickens. And she gave it to him next. If the cat warmed one end of him, she restored the equilibrium, and warmed the other; so true is it that misfortunes seldom come singly.
Cats have been often known to leap gallantly into the water after a drowningkitten, and bring it safely to land. A case occurred only a few days ago. Some lads stole a cat’s only kitten, and after playing with it all day, proposed drowning it. With this intention they went to a mill-dam, and threw it far into the water. But the loving little mother had been waiting and watching not far off, and, stimulated by the drowning cry of her kitten, she bravely swam towards it, and brought it on shore. I know another instance of a cat, that saved the life of a kitten which belonged to another cat. Her own kittens had been drowned a whole week before, but evidently she had not forgotten the loss; and one day, seeing four kittens being drowned in a pool, she plunged in, and seizing the largest brought it to bank, and marched off with it in triumph. She reared it carefully. The children baptized it Moses, very appropriately too; and it is now a fine, large Tom-tabby.
A poor cat some time since nearly lost her life in the Dee, attempting to save the life of her kitten. The river was swollen with recent rains, and the kitten was in the centreof the stream; but, nothing daunted, pussy, like the brave little heroine she was, plunged in, and finally reached it. Here her real danger only began, for the current was very strong, and pussy was whirled rapidly down the river. After struggling for nearly half an hour, she succeeded in landing at a bend of the river nearly a mile below. She had stuck to her poor kitten all the time; butthe little thing was dead.
A family in Fifeshire were about removing to another farm, about four miles distant from the one they then occupied. Part of their household gods was a nice large she-tabby, and being kind-hearted folks, they never thought of leaving her behind; so having found a home with a neighbour for pussy’s one kitten, they took the mother with them to their new residence. Next morning pussy had disappeared, and they were just beginning to put faith in the popular fallacy that cats are more attached to places than persons, when back came pussy, and with her her kitten. That kitten, pussy thought, wasn’t old enough for weaning, andso she had gone back all the way to steal it. She was right.
Owing to the peculiarities of his matrimonial relations, the happy father of a litter of kittens shares none of the responsibility, and has none of the care and trouble of rearing them, because he does not, as a rule, reside in the bosom of his family. When he does live with his wife, however, he is never exempted from family duties. And Tom always shows himself a thoughtful husband and loving father. A male cat of my acquaintance was most exemplary in his attentions on his wife at one of the most interesting and critical periods of her life. Made aware, goodness knows how, of her approaching confinement, he not only selected the closet for the occasion, but even made her bed for her, and stood sentry at the door till the whole affair was over. Every morning for weeks he trotted upstairs, first thing, to see if his wife wanted anything, and to gaze enraptured on his darlings. I am sorry to say, however, that this little woman rather bullied her doating husband. If shehappened to be in good humour when Tom entered, then well and good, she returned his fond cry and chaste salute. If not, her brows fell at once, and she let him have it straight from the shoulder. Poor Tom in the latter case used to mew apologetically, and retire. It was Tom’s duty every morning to bring in a very young rabbit, a bird, or at least a mouse, and it seemed to be an understood thing that he should bring it “all alive ho!” When he brought it dead, she slapped him. Sometimes he brought a herring, then she slapped him. Indeed, she lost no opportunity of slapping him. She slapped him if he looked fond and foolish at her, and she slapped him if he didn’t. One day he was put to nurse the kittens. The kittens commenced an unavailing search for tits among Tom’s fur. As a wet nurse, Tom was a failure. He was slapped, and sent off accordingly. Tom seemed to have business that took him down town every day. Whenever he came back, he was snuffed all over and examined to see whether he had been with lady friends. If he had been, then hewas properly slapped. So there was a good deal of slapping. His wife was fond of him, however, for, once, when he absented himself without leave for a whole day and a night, she made the house ring with her melancholy cries. She half killed him when he did return, nevertheless. Such is conjugal felicity.
Although, as a rule, all the duties of maternity seem to end with the weaning of the kitten, still the motherly affection does not die out; and in cases of sickness in any of her children, pussy at once resumes the cares of nursing, as the following little story will illustrate.
GINGER AND JOSIE.
And Josie was Ginger’s mother. She was a good mother. There had been originally five, but the others were born to sorrow, and were accidentally drowned; so that all mother Josie’s love was centred in her one son Ginger. Ginger, therefore, not only got all the love, but he got all the milk; so he grew up thumpingly and fat. Nothing remarkabletranspired during Ginger’s kittenhood. He neither had the measles, nor, strange to say, the hooping cough; and he played the usual antics with his mother’s tail that all kittens do, and have done, since Noah’s cats’ kittens downwards. When Josie found her milk getting scarce, she weaned her son Ginger; this she accomplished by whacking him, and endeavouring to carve her initials on his nose. No doubt Ginger thought himself absurdly ill-used. We have all thought the same on a similar occasion. But Ginger was amply repaid for the loss of his tits, by the mice which his loving mamma never failed to supply him with daily. So he grew up burly, big, and beautiful; and at the age of one year had become a mighty hunter. Then came six long days and nights wherein Ginger never appeared, and poor mother Josie went about the house mourning unceasingly for her lost son. At the end of that time, a pitiful mewing was heard outside, proceeding from the bottom of the garden, and on walking down, his owners, to their dismay, found poor Ginger, to quote hismistress’s words, “in a most lamentable plight, thin to emaciation, and coiled up on the ground apparently lifeless, his fur, once so glossy and bright, now all bedraggled in blood and mud.” The cruel keepers had been the cause of Ginger’s misfortunes. He had been caught in a trap. For five days, without food or water, had the poor animal languished in a field. On the sixth he had managed to crawl some little way, dragging the trap after him, till he came to a gate. This he managed to get through, but the trap getting entangled, held him fast until some kind Samaritan, seeing his miserable plight, set him free from this impediment. He then crawled home, jumped the wall, and sunk exhausted on the ground, where he now lay. Tenderly was Ginger borne into the house, and laid on the hearth-rug. His leg was broken, swollen, and entirely useless; so it was determined to have recourse to amputation. The extremity was accordingly cut off by the owners, and, although long confined to his mat, pussy lived. Josie was very happy to see her son again, maimedand bruised as he was, and at once set about performing the duties of nurse to him. She seldom or never left him, except to procure food for him; but Ginger had a regular daily supply of dead mice, birds, and other feline dainties, until he was able to get about and cater for himself. Ginger’s accident happened upwards of two years ago. He is still alive and well, and as strong and active on his three legs as other cats are on four. Ginger is a fine, large cat, but has always exhibited the greatest aversion to strangers.
[SeeNote M, Addenda.]
HOME TIES AND AFFECTIONS.
Are cats more attached to places than to persons? I have taken considerable pains to arrive at a correct answer to this question, and not satisfied with my own judgment and experience, as in the case of pussy’s honesty, I “appealed to the country.” I am happy to find that the opinion of all cat-lovers, nearly all cat-breeders, and the large majority of people who keep a cat for utility, is that cats are as a rule more attached to their masters or owners than to their homes. This question then must be considered as set at rest, and a stigma removed from the name and character of our dear little friend the cat. The popular fallacy, that cats are fonder of places than persons, first took its origin in the days, long gone by, when cats were kept for use only, and never as pets; and it only obtains now among people who look upon pussy as amere animated rat-trap, and who starve, neglect, and in every way ill-treat the poor thing.
Pray don’t mistake me, reader, I am not saying that pussy isn’t fond of her home, in fact I am going to prove that she is immensely so; but I most emphatically deny, that she ever allows that fondness, to obscure her love for the hand that feeds and caresses her, or the kind voice of a loving master or mistress.
Six years ago, an intimate friend of mine, who “loveth all things great and small,” went to reside for a time with a family in town. A fine blue tabby was an inmate of the same house.
“That cat,” said the mistress, “belongs to the family that lived here before, it has been five times removed, and always comes back.”
My friend only remained there for six weeks, when he changed his residence for a house he had taken only a few streets off, but when he left, that bonnie blue tabby trotted by his side all the way home, and ithas not returned yet.
But there is no doubt pussy is extremely attached to her home; and nothing, I think, shows her warm-heartedness more, than her willingness to leave that home with a kind owner. A cat has so many home-ties, that we need not wonder at her unwillingness to change her residence. Custom has so endeared her to the old place, that she cannot all at once like the new. She knows every hole and corner of it, knows every mouse-walk, the cupboards, the cosy nooks for a quiet snooze, and the places where she may hide when hiding becomes a necessity, she is acquainted with the manner of egress and ingress, and is familiar with every sound, so that her rest is undisturbed by night, and her finely-strung nervous system not put on the rack by day. Out of doors, too, everything about the old place is familiar, the trees on which the sparrows perch, the field where she often finds an egg, the distant meadow corner where the rabbits play, and the path that leads thereto, which she can traverse unseen and free from danger, either from farmers’ dogs or boys with stones, and aboveall, the dear old trysting place, where she knows she can always meet her lovers in the moonlight. But if she changes her quarters, all this knowledge has to be learned over again. New dangers have to be encountered, fresh troubles, and bother of every description. Her new residence, and everything about and around it, has to be thoroughly surveyed, mentally mapped out, and got by heart before she can feel anything like at home. So that if pussy has not the love of a kind human friend, to counterbalance all her trials, it is no wonder she will do anything or walk any length, to get back to the place where she was so happy. And when she goes back, what does she find?
“A change,Faces and footsteps and all things strange.”
She is treated as a stray cat, and sent adrift every time she dares to put her unhappy nose inside the door. But, nevertheless, she will hang about her old home for days and weeks, until, impelled by the pangs of hunger, she casts aside the mantle of virtue, becomesa thief, and revenges herself on the new inhabitant’s pigeons, rabbits, and chickens.Facilis descensus Averni.Having once robbed a roost, she would rob a church; so she takes to thieving as a means of subsistence. The way of the transgressor is hard: her coat becomes dry and hard, her ribs stick out; she loses all respect for her personal appearance, frequents low neighbourhoods, keeps low company, makes night “hideous with her howling,” and in a general way does everything she can to earn for herself and the whole cat community a bad name; and finally, in a few months—if not sooner by accident—succumbs to disease and dies on a dunghill.
It is with a feeling of deep regret, that even the best-treated cat bids farewell to a place, which has so long been her home. You shall often see poor pussy, after all the furniture and fixings have been packed in the vans, run back and take a walk all round the empty desolate chambers, then return and submit herself to be quietly taken off to her new abode. On arriving there, her very first act will be to make a tour of inspection,through every room and corner of the house; she will then count the members of the family, and if all she loves are present, if she gets a drink of milk, and especially if there be a good fire, she will at once settle down and begin to sing.
Some time ago, a pussy of my acquaintance was condemned to death for taking a slight liberty with the canary—in fact, she ate him. It was certainly very thoughtless of poor puss; however she suffered for it, although not to the extent that was intended. She was confined in a sack with a large stone, and sunk in the adjoining river. Nothing more was seen or heard of pussy—which, under the circumstances, wasn’t considered at all surprising—for a fortnight, when one evening she walked in, and laid herself down before the fire as if nothing had happened. Wherever she had been, the cat had lived well, for she was both plump and sleek. Probably, on escaping from the river, she had thought that a two weeks’ holiday in the woods would both benefit her health, after treatment so rough, and givetime for the evil impression which her crime had induced to wear off. If so, she was right; for she was received with open arms, and freely forgiven, and is still alive and well.
A cat will travel almost incredible distances to regain her home.
I know of a cat that, along with her three kittens, was sent in a hamper a long journey across country, to a mill, where it was intended she should mount guard over the rats. Pussy, however, had no such intention; and next morning, to the great surprise of the inmates, she was found sitting at her own door with one kitten beside her. She disappeared that same evening, and next morning returned with another kitten. In the same manner, next night she brought home the third and last, and so settled quietly down to rear her family. This cat, I think, showed great determination, and a knowledge of country that would have pleased Von Moltke himself.
Dozens of such anecdotes might be given, but I will only trouble the reader with one more. There is a river in Scotland calledthe Spey; that I suppose is no news. You will also know that this river is celebrated for two things—salmon and celerity, it being the most rapid river in the kingdom. Near this river, on one side, is the farm of Dandilieth; and on the other, but four miles distant, stands the dwelling-house of Knockan. Once upon a time, then, the tenants of Dandilieth were removing to Knockan; and after the household furniture was packed on the carts, a search was made for the household cat. She was found in a corner of the empty house, on some straw, faithfully nursing her family of three blind kittens. A bed was made for her in the lap of one of the children; and in due time all arrived safe at Knockan, and pussy and her family were duly installed in the new house. But pussy was not happy. She longed for her old home at Dandilieth; and to think, with her, was to act; and this she did to some purpose, for on the farmer returning next day to his old place for the purpose of conveying home the farm implements, he was astonished to find the cat in her old corner, and the three kittens safebeside her. Now, as the nearest bridge is twenty miles distant, it is quite evident that pussy must have swum the Spey five times in a single night (three times with a kitten in her mouth), to say nothing of the long journeys backwards and forwards between the two farms.
Although of a nature not so demonstrative as that of the dog, still a cat is capable of loving its master or mistress with a love equally strong, if not stronger. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” may certainly be said with regard to pussy.
“Don Juan,” says a lady, “is a beautiful dark tabby, with back almost black, legs ringed like those of a tiger, short ears honourably scarred by various encounters with rats, stoats, etc., which he has succeeded in killing; long tail, also ringed with tabby; rich tabby shirt, around which there are beautiful rings of black and tabby; paws with black pads—a most loving and lovable old cat. Two years ago we left home for a ‘parson’s week,’ during which time the house, pussy included, was in the chargeof servants. The first sound which met us upon opening the garden-gate on our return, was a most pitiful scream from poor Juan, who recognized our voices and came bounding across the garden to greet us. For more than a week he could hardly be persuaded to leave us, but spent his time in purring and rubbing round us, as though to assure himself of our presence.”
“My own cat,” writes a lady correspondent, “although greatly petted by its master, appears quite wretched whenever I go on a visit. After mewing piteously at my door for a day or two, it leaves the house, often remaining away for weeks; but his delight at seeing me, the fond rush towards me, and his song of joy are very pretty.” The same lady gives an account of a venerable old tortoise-shell puss, who goes to sea with its master,—officer in an East Indiaman,—and keeps watch with him by night or day in all weathers. No wonder he is fond of her.
I know an instance of a cat that was very strongly attached to a boy. When this boy was sent to a distant school, pussy, aftermourning for him several days, took to the woods and never returned.
There is surely strong proof of how deeply a cat loves its owner, in the anxiety and sorrow it evinces on seeing that owner in grief or in pain.
I have an instance of a cat that is extremely attached to a little boy. This young gentleman has very great objections to having his nails cut. Whenever this necessary operation is being performed, he sets up a howling which very speedily brings his faithful playmate pussy to his aid. She comes running with all speed, and growling in unmistakable anger. She jumps on his knee, and after giving him one hurried kiss and embrace, as much as to say, “Be of good cheer, I shan’t let them hurt you,” she wheels round and stands on the defensive; and the nurse has to retire and wait for a better opportunity.
Another cat is extremely attached to a little girl, whom she follows about wherever she goes. When the child comes to grief, in some of the various ways incidental to early years, pussy does all she can in her humbleway to pacify and comfort her, rubbing herself round her and caressing her, and saying, “Oh! oh!” in the same fond pitying tone she uses to her kittens.
I was called the other day to see a lady in a hysterical fit; and it was most affecting to witness the grief of her poor cat. Hearing her mistress’s screams, she darted into the room, and at once threw herself on the lady’s breast, licking her neck and hands and face in the most passionate manner, stopping only occasionally to look about and growl fiercely at me, as if I had been the cause of her mistress’s illness.
The following anecdote shows, I think, in a very marked manner, how deeply attached pussy can be to her master, and how forgiving is her nature.
Robert D——, a young man of nineteen, lived in the same house with his mother and sisters. He was by no means an exemplary youth. In fact, if he had had his due, the ravens, according to Solomon, would have made short work with his eyes. He had early taken to habits of dissipation, and wasin the constant custom of bullying his poor mother, for money to continue his debauches. He must have had some little good in him however, for he was fond of his mother’s beautiful black cat. Not so fond, however, as pussy was of him; for, poor thing, she never seemed happy save in his company. One morning he was leaving his mother’s room after an unusually stormy scene, when pussy met him at the top of the stair, running towards him with a fond cry, and singing as she rubbed herself against his leg.
“Curse you!” he cried, and kicked her to the door-mat. The look the poor cat gave him would have softened a less hard heart; in him it only roused the innate devil.
“You’re like the rest,” he shouted; and, seizing the unhappy puss, he dashed her with all his force over the banisters. The poor creature was not killed outright; but was so severely wounded that she died in three hours. Although bleeding all the time, and evidently in great pain, never a cry escaped her, only a low moaning mew. For one moment only she brightened up alittle, when her hard-hearted, but still loved master came in to see her before she expired. She even tried to sing, apparently anxious to show she had forgiven him; and actually died licking his hands.
I know the case of an old gentleman, who was extremely fond of a very pretty cat he had; and pussy loved her master dearly. Indeed, cats seem always particularly partial to the aged. They love to sit beside them at the fireside, and soothe them with their low, murmuring song; for they seem to know by instinct that age is but a second childhood, with only the grave beyond. The gentleman in question died at an advanced age. Every one missed and mourned him, but none so sincerely as pussy. She never sung again, and nothing could induce her to leave his sitting-room. She would sit and gaze for hours at the vacant arm-chair, as if she couldn’t understand why her eyes no longer beheld him she loved. This went on for a fortnight; then one morning poor pussy was found lying stiff and dead on the hearth-rug. She had died of grief.
I may close this chapter with another similar instance of pussy’s affection for a kind master.
He was an old fiddler, who dwelt all alone in a cottage on a moor. He had lived to see friend after friend laid under the sod, and now he had none on earth to care for him. Ah! yes; he had one friend—his cat. This little pet cheered him in many a lonely hour; and when sickness came at last, she never left his bedside. Then he died. She sat like a dazed creature as she saw him lifted and placed in his coffin, and she followed the loved remains to their long home, and saw where they laid him. She never left that churchyard living. For three days she sat on the grave; and it would have made your heart bleed, reader, to have heard her pitiful cries.
“Oh!” she seemed to say to every passerby, “he is here—my master is here with all this load of earth on his breast. Will no one come and help me?”
On a cold sleety morning in November she was found stretched on the grave—in a hole she had scraped—dead.
Has this gentle and affectionate creature met her master? Is there no hereafter for pussy? The sun of her sinless life set in sorrow.
“Alas for love! if this be all,And nought beyond an earth.”
[SeeNote N, Addenda.]
FISHING EXPLOITS.
Cats are, as a rule, averse to water in every shape. If every one of us were as much afraid of getting damp feet, there would be much less coughing in church and theatre. Parsons might preach in peace, and actors rant undisturbed. It would be a bad thing in a business way, however, as far as the medical profession and their friends the undertakers are concerned; for, if the former did not work with additional zeal, many of the latter would starve. Did you ever observe a cat crossing the street on a rainy day? How gingerly she treads, how carefully picks out the driest spots, lifting each fore-paw and shaking it with an air of supreme disgust, and finally, for the last few yards, making a reckless bolt to the front door.
Pussy is a very dainty animal, cleanly inthe extreme, more particularly with regard to her personal appearance; and knowing better than any one that fur once wet is very difficult to dry, she does not care to dabble in the water like a duck or a Newfoundland dog. But let the occasion arise, either in the pursuit of game or in some case of necessity, and she at once throws all her scruples overboard, and goes overboard after them, wetting both feet and fur with a will.
InCassell’s Magazinelately, there is related the story of a cat, that was in the constant habit of diving into the sea, and bringing out live fish. This is told as a great curiosity; but I can assure the reader that such things are by no means rare. I have known of hundreds of such cases; and they are occurring every day.
Joe, a nice she-tabby, was a curious specimen of the feline fish-catcher. Her master was a disciple of Walton’s. With eager and joyful looks, pussy used to watch him taking down the rod and fishing-basket, sit singing beside him while he looked to his tackle, andrub herself against his leg while he prepared the invariable sandwich, as much as to say, “Don’t forget a morsel to your puss; she likewise is going a-fishing.” Then she would trot by his side all the way, as proud as Punch, to the distant streamlet. Anxiously she would watch the skimming fly, squaring her lips and emitting little excited screams of delight, whenever a fish rose to nibble. Then, when a trout was landed, pussy at once threw herself upon it and despatched it. At other times, she would spring into the stream, perhaps up to the neck, and commence fishing on her own account, by feeling with her paws below all the banks, working as hard and as eagerly as any bare-legged school-boy.
A gentleman tells me, that he once possessed a cat that made a regular habit of swimming across the river almost daily, for the purpose of killing birds in a wood on the opposite side.
Gibbey was a fine, large, brindled Tom. He was a noted fisherman and a daring and reckless poacher, so much so that thegamekeepers threatened to kill him, whenever they could catch him. They did not mind, they said, his taking a good clean sea-trout occasionally; but the beast fished in season and out of season. In fact, Gibbey found the spawning time much more convenient than any other. When the salmon came up the shallow streams to spawn in thousands, all waggling under his very nose, and to be had for the mere lifting out, he couldn’t stand that.
“Tam tint his reason a’thegither,”
and played terrible havoc among the poor fishes. It was not so much what he ate that the keepers grudged; but he was in the constant habit of carrying away large fish to hide for future use; and as he generally forgot where he had put them, he still went on hiding more. Sometimes, in taking a walk through the wood, you would find yourself suddenly sprawling on all fours, having trampled on one of Gibbey’s salmon. Or you are doing a little bit of gardening, and come upon a grave, and turn up what at first sight appears a newly-born infant rolled in a rag. Only one of Gibbey’s salmon. What isthis in the horse’s trough? Has the horse conceived? Nay, the poor brute has eaten all his oats, but he could not stomach—one of Gibbey’s salmon. Something has been making its presence felt in your bed-room for days. You dream of drains and typhoid fever, and you sprinkle Rimmell’s toilet vinegar and burn pastiles in vain. Even the immortal Condy fails to lay the dread thing. At last you peep below the bed, and with the tongs pull out—what?—only one of Gibbey’s salmon.
For nine long years this cat managed to evade the law, and escape the itching fingers of the keepers. At last, however, poor Gilbert was trapped and slain.
One day, when out shooting, I met a large white cat. He was coming trotting along the foot-path, and wore about his neck what I took to be a very tasteful thing in cravats. It was of a dark colour, and he held one end of it in his mouth in a meditative sort of way. I was going to ask this cat if he felt afraid of catching cold; but he appeared to shun me, took another direction, and enteredthe door of a small cottage, still wearing the mysterious cravat, and still keeping one end of it thoughtfully in his mouth, so that I felt quite puzzled, and laid down my gun to scratch my head. I hate to be done. Five minutes afterwards I was at the cottage door. A pleasant little woman answered my knock.
“Might I trouble you for a glass of water?”
“Certainly, sir; but would you not come in, and have a drink of nice sweet whey?”
I would. Tom was singing on the hearth, but he had laid aside the wrap—it was nowhere to be seen.
“That’s a fine cat you’ve got,” said I, when I had finished my whey.
“He is, sir; everybody admires our Tom.”
“He has caught cold, I think?”
“Dear me! no, sir.”
“A little sore throat, perhaps?”
“No, no, Tom was never better in his life.”
“Then, my good woman, excuse me if I seem rude; but why—why on earth does he wear a cravat out of doors?”
“A cravat!” cried she. “Our Tom wear a cravat!”
Then the pleasant little woman laughed till her pleasant little sides shook and the tears ran out of her pleasant little eyes; and her laughing was so pleasantly infectious that I was constrained to join her, and we both laughed till roof and rafters rang again. It was pleasant, though I did not know what I was laughing at; only I had a slight inkling that somehow or other I had made a mighty fool of myself. When at last she did get a word out, it was,—
“Oh! sir, you’re anawful gowk.[3]It was aneel.”
An eel, was it! The cravat was an eel! And I was “an awful gowk!” Well, I always guessed I was; but then she said it so pleasantly, and as soon as she said it off she went again. I thought it was time I was going off too; so bidding her good morning, I did, and left her laughing—such a pleasant little woman!
Millers’ cats in the country are, almostwithout exception, fond of taking to the water in pursuit of prey. I know an instance of a cat bred and reared at a flour mill: it was a universal custom with this pussy to watch by the dam-side, where she might have been seen at any time either in winter or summer. She used to run along the edge of the water in full tilt after a trout until it stopped; then, seeming to take aim for a few seconds, she would dive down like an arrow from a bow, and never failed to land the fish. She was also great in catching water-rats, which she seized and killed as eagerly and speedily as any English terrier would.
But not only can cats swim and fish, but they have been known to teach their offspring to do so; and a knowledge of the gentle art has been transmitted in some cat families down to the third and fourth generation.
At the mill of P——, in Aberdeenshire, some years ago, there lived a cat, an excellent swimmer and fisher, and as fond of the water as an Irish spaniel. When fishing,she did not confine herself to any one portion of the stream; and whether deep or shallow it was all one to pussy. The boys, too, of the neighbourhood were not long in finding out, that, by whatever part of the rivulet they saw the miller’s cat watching, there they would find trout in greatest abundance.
This cat not only fished herself, but taught her children to do so too. The way in which she managed this was very amusing, and shows how extremely sagacious feline nature is. When the kittens came of sufficient age, she would entice them down, some fine sunny day to a part of the stream, where the water was very clear and shallow. Here the smaller trout-fry and minnows would be gambolling; and, making a spring, pussy would seize one of these and bring it out alive. After letting it jump about for some little time, to amuse the kittens and attract their undivided attention, she would kill and return it to the stream, jumping after it and playing with it in the water to entice a kitten in. Thus, in course of time, thekittens could all swim and fish, and rivalled even their mother in quickness and daring.
If space permitted, I could give many more instances of pussy’s fishing exploits; but I think I have said sufficient to prove, that they are not so averse to wet their pumps as some people imagine. I have a fine tom-kitten which I intend training to catch fish. The future adventures of this kitten will be related in theAnimal World.
THE ADVENTURES OF BLINKS.
A Tale of a Kitten, in Ten “Mews.”
Dramatis Personæ.