IONE ambition of my life has never been gratified. I have always had a desire to attend church. I have never been able to understand why restless children, who have no understanding of sermons, who are wretched when obliged to keep still, and are only kept quiet by a promise of something nice or a threat of punishment, should be taken to church and the family cat left at home.
ONE ambition of my life has never been gratified. I have always had a desire to attend church. I have never been able to understand why restless children, who have no understanding of sermons, who are wretched when obliged to keep still, and are only kept quiet by a promise of something nice or a threat of punishment, should be taken to church and the family cat left at home.
What if wedosleep all through the service—we have a precedent for it. How often we hear people say, "Mr. So-and-So might as well have remained at home, for he slept all through the sermon," or, "Mrs. So-and-So had to pinch herself to keep awake. She dare not sleep, fearing to crush her new bonnet."
If we can believe all we hear, ministers all have voices "like old cows" or "dying calves." They never speak plain, and deaf people remain at home rather than look like fools when they cannot hear one word. Cats hear all these speeches, and wonder why they cannot go and judge for themselves. I know in our church, with the boy choir singing so lovely, one could not sleep.
When I was young I brooded over this question. I did want to be a Christian cat, and, like most ignorant people, I thought I could not be good unless I went to church. Of course I know better now. I can be just as good at home. Like all young things, I wanted to try my wings and see a little of the world.
Karl and Will were choir boys, and I was very proud of their voices. I did not understand why I could not march in the processional, right behind Karl and Will, even if my voice was not trained to sing.
I thought it all over, and out of a multitude of thoughts came forth an act. Not one of the "Acts of the Apostles." Had it been, I might have been successful.
One Sunday I made up my mind to try my luck. I had a hearty breakfast, washed myself all over, and cleaned my nails, for I had heard that "cleanliness is next to godliness." I did not mean that in my cat vocabulary there should be one such word as "fail."
I hid myself when Karl and Will were ready for church, and after they had left the house I crept out after them. I followed them on the opposite side of the street, without being discovered, when, just as I was feeling sure of the situation, a dog must needs bark and make for me.
Karl and Will turned around, and then my church-going was ended. Before I could run away Will caught me up in his arms and carried me home.
I was very angry over it, and refused to be comforted. I wished I had been a heathen; then they would have taken the trouble to convert me. I tried to find a rat to kill, and crept all around the cellar. But no; rats must not be killed on Sunday. I was very unhappy. Six days of the week I could do very well, but oh my, theseventh!
That day was a poser to me. All the family had gone to church. What could a poor cat do? I could not sleep, and, to cap the climax, a plate of beans and a saucer of milk had been put out for me, in case I wanted something before they returned.
Now I love my beans Saturday night and Sunday morning, but to be expected to make a dinner of them, in place of the nice little lamb kidney that was served up for me every Sunday, was adding insult to injury.
I dragged the beans out on the floor and threw over the milk saucer; then, as I could do no more mischief, off I went in a huff to look out for their return home.
I did feel a little ashamed, for I remembered that Karl could not get a kidney. The man at the store told him they were all sold, adding, "If that cat of yours will not feed on anything but kidneys, he will die of kidney disease." It was not their fault, and I did feel mean.
Every Sunday Karl and Will studied their lesson. They would sit at the table with their books, while I had a hassock in front of them, with my little Bible open on it. Here I would pose for an hour, with my paws folded on the open book, looking from one to the other, for I loved them dearly.
This Sunday I would not look at my book. The boys tried to make me, but were obliged to give it up. I behaved just like a bad boy, running after imaginary balls, jumping over the hassock, sitting on the Bible, till at last Will said: "I will call Aunt Milly. We shall never get our lesson if she does not take Daisy away."
This did not please me. I just picked up my book, and when my mistress came in I was sitting at my hassock, my claws clasped over my Bible (though it was upside down), looking as innocent as possible.
All this naughtiness because I wanted to be a choir boy and walk in the processional with the rest of the boys. I think it would have been better if they had taken me to church.
One thing always gave me great pleasure: I never could tire of cat stories. I think it may be a help to the understanding of cat nature if I give the most interesting ones for people to read.
With the horrors of vivisection and other cruelties practised upon animals, it is time for them to assert themselves. Even a cat's voice may be heard. Children can be taught to respect the rights of animals if their parents will interest themselves in their dumb servants.
My mistress met two very nice ladies one summer while in the country. They were cat-lovers, and gave many nice anecdotes of cats they had known. I will tell you one I particularly liked.
A friend of theirs had a great many cats, and as their number increased she felt the necessity of giving up some of them. She found homes for all but one; and one day, when her friends were visiting her, she asked them if they would take the cat and drop her near some nice house, where they had no doubt she would soon make a home. It was not a very pleasant commission, but they could not very well refuse.
Pussy had evidently heard their conversation, for she tried to hide from them. She was very quiet, never responding to their coaxing, covering her face with her paws in great sorrow. They drove many miles into the country before they could think of parting with her.
At last a large and finely situated farmhouse attracted them by its homelike aspect. It was a low, rambling house painted red, and the barns and outbuildings were in keeping. Everything looked inviting. The large kitchen-garden at the back of the house seemed just the place for cats to enjoy. An opening in the trees gave them a glimpse of a small stream meandering through the country, reflecting the rustic scene in its clear depth.
"Here," they said, "we will leave her. Surely no one in a place like this could turn away from a poor cat."
They coaxed her, and in spite of her clinging to them, put her down very gently. She stood like one dazed. Then she turned and surveyed the house and its surroundings. She looked long at the clear, bright water, as if in deep thought. She then looked up at the sky, and after giving them a reproachful glance, she walked slowly toward the river. Reaching it, she paused one moment, then deliberately walked in. Twice she rose to the surface, then the waters closed over her forever.
They could make no effort to save her. Knowing cats' strong dislike of water, they had no idea she would go near it. It was, they said, a clear case of suicide. Homeless, friendless, and wretched, she preferred death, even in the element a cat usually dreads, to seeking a new home.
The people were very unhappy about it. They said they felt like murderers, and never had believed before that cats could think and suffer. They said that they should ever after do all they could for animals, particularly cats, in atonement for their share, though unintentional, in the death of poor pussy.
It made me appreciate the care I had had all my life, when I heard such sad stories of cats.
Cats are fond of mischief, and I fear I never thought of the sorrow I should cause when I saw a good opportunity for fun.
We made a visit one summer in a family where the old grandfather, from Vermont, was spending a few weeks. He was an original character, and we were entertained by his quaint speeches and his old-fashioned manners. He thought Boston was one of the biggest and wickedest places in the world. I was the only one he seemed to be at home with, though I never could tell why, for I disliked him from the first sight I had of his horrid little eyes, with a real wicked expression, and his flesh looked just like an over-baked apple.
The wonder of all to me was his head, which was the part I could not understand. It was covered by uneven, red-brown hair, with no seam in it, and it looked just like a cocoanut.
He ate so loud I thought some one was choking, and when I walked over to the side of the table and looked in his face, I found he was eating with a big knife so fast it made me wink. This increased my dislike of him, and I refused all his overtures to make friends with me.
He said I was "a proud critter." He guessed lots of time was spent on keeping my fur so nice. And "as to that trinket on my neck, it was too fine for a cat."
One day I solved the mystery of his head-gear. I chanced to peep into his room,—as no place was sacred from my investigation,—and I saw another old man, his head as bare as the bed-post. When he said "Pussy, Pussy," I fled in alarm, but not before I had discovered that it was the same old man minus the top of his head. It was a wonder to me, and I never rested till I found that head-gear. They called it a wig, but I called it a "bird's nest."
Then I made up my mind to investigate it. Soon my opportunity came. All the people had gone to ride, and I was making a tour of the house, when loud breathing convinced me my old man was at home. Bad cat that I was, I just followed the noise, and sure enough, there he lay, flat on his back, his mouth wide open, sound asleep.
Of course I climbed up and looked into his open mouth. Another discovery I made: he had not one tooth in his head! And the wind and spray that covered me, from his open mouth, satisfied me with a brief investigation.
On the floor, by his side, lay the bone of contention, the brown wig I had speculated on so long. I grabbed it, and carrying it into a corner, inspected it thoroughly. Then I clawed it a little, and at last seated myself in it. Something about it acted like a narcotic, and in this uncomfortable bird's nest I fell asleep.
I dreamed that I was sitting under the piazza, when I heard voices. One of them said: "Why should not cat's fur be used for wigs and bangs? Gray hair is so fashionable."
"Oh," replied a young voice, "think of Aunt Sally with a maltese front-piece, and Grandpa and Uncle Jim with tiger-cat wigs!"
"Well," replied the first speaker, "if it were the fashion, we should like it. That great, pampered cat belonging to those two big-feeling old maids would make nice wigs, for his fur is as soft as silk."
"Yes, and that long tail of his," said the young girl, "would make a beautiful tippet, with a squirrel's head on it."
"But," lowering her voice, "if Brother Rob was here I would get him to coax him off, and get his skin. It would make a beautiful rug for my room."
Just then a shout awoke me, and the old man on the lounge also. He fought wildly for his wig. Dazed by my dream, I sat blinking my half-open eyes from one to the other. They were just screaming with laughter at the sight I presented, seated in Grandfather's wig.
Miss Milly took me out rather roughly, I thought, and smoothed it as well as she could. The old man looked on in surprise, muttering, "I knew that durned critter was up to mischief."
After it was combed out and put on right, the old man, conciliated by a good dinner that he loved, invited me to a seat on his knee in token of his forgiveness. I declined the favor with scorn. Sit on a knee covered with corduroy when all my life I had been used to broadcloth?Never!
My dream troubled me very much. I am a superstitious cat, and believe in warnings. So I kept close to my mistress; for in every one that approached I saw an enemy ready to despoil me of my beautiful fur coat. Though I am a good judge of human nature, as silent people are apt to be, I never had that confidence in people, that makes life so pleasant, I had felt before my dream.
When we left for home, Grandfather Tomkins said to Miss Milly: "You had better give that great critter to me. He would like my farm to run about in, and I have taken a liking to him." Then he added, with a sly wink at me, "He can sleep in an old wig I have at home."
I trembled at the thought, and hid in the folds of Miss Milly's dress, as she said, "Daisy is just like a child to us; we could never part with him."
"Well, well," he said; "I believe the critter knows all we say."
I was glad enough to see the last of that place. I preferred one room and no companions but my own friends. These uncongenial people had given me a good lesson.
I was more careful about running away, for when one has a fur garment to protect, suspecting every one of a desire to make wigs, front-pieces, tippets, and fur rugs of it, he has a great care. I only wish I could tell my dream to my friends, but it is a great consolation to write it.
IIHAVE never been particularly fond of poetry; it has always, with a few exceptions, seemed to me to be "wishy-washy."
IHAVE never been particularly fond of poetry; it has always, with a few exceptions, seemed to me to be "wishy-washy."
One day when it was quite dismal and rainy, Miss Eleanor said, "This little poem of Tupper's is a real protest for the future life and immortality of animals."
Of course that great big word was a poser, but after a time spent under the bed and a great deal of stuttering I mastered it. Then she read these lines, and I must quote them because they may influence those who never have any mind of their own, and depend on other people's opinions, to believe that cats have an after life.
"Are these then made in vain?Is man alone, of all the marvels of creative loveBlest with a scintillation of his essence?"To say that God annihilated aughtWere to declare that in an unwise hourHe planned and made somewhat superfluous."
"Are these then made in vain?Is man alone, of all the marvels of creative loveBlest with a scintillation of his essence?
"To say that God annihilated aughtWere to declare that in an unwise hourHe planned and made somewhat superfluous."
And then she read the story of the poor wretch whom no one followed to the grave but his faithful dog, who walked so mournfully behind the hearse.
Yes, I could understand and see it all, and when Miss Milly wiped her eyes, and Miss Eleanor's voice grew tremulous, I had to wink and sneeze several times to conceal from them how deeply I was touched.
And I know all that I care to about funerals. When I hear the roll of carriages, I mount a chair and look out of the window, and feel so sorry for them, remembering how I felt when they carried away our dear one, and left me alone all day, sitting in her easy-chair. And when I see that dreadful vehicle called a hearse, I am thankful that cats do not have to ride in them,—above all, the little white hearse. It does look just like the circus cars that I have seen pass, and the first time I saw it, I looked behind for the elephant, and the other beasts I had always seen in their train.
It makes one a convert to cremation. If I had the question to decide, it would be cremation for man and beast.
I hope women will excuse me for not mentioning them first. We fall into the bad habit of speaking of man only, as if men were the only ones worth a thought, but it is a question no one can answer, "Where would be the men, were there no women?"
I think the heathen custom of burning wives on the funeral pyres of their husbands a good one. It would certainly help dispose of some of the "surplus women" men are so exercised about; for if the widows were all disposed of, there would be a chance for the single ones. And if there were no divorces, no second marriages, then how careful husbands and wives would be of each other, if they knew the survivor would have to do escort duty on that last, long journey, to the one death had marked for its own.
Perhaps all this is too deep for a cat, you think. Well, perhaps it is; but then, cats can't help thinking of all the abuse heaped upon them and the unjust remarks on their habits and ways of living and having their children: and I ask, in the name of slandered cats, why is such judgment passed on them? They are not married, so are not unfaithful, and they are not divorced. While they live with another husband they have all the children that God allows them, and they take care of the little ones till they are of an age to look out for themselves.
Now I hope it will be handed down to posterity that one cat who has himself lived a blameless life has dared to compare the morality of cats with the morality of human beings, who are supposed to be so much more intelligent, and are bound by the laws of the land to be honest and virtuous.
Please don't say, "This cat knows too much," for I will tell you stories, and true ones, too, that will make you believe in the intelligence of our race. I feel sure my cat stories will be appreciated; for in a large company of strangers, where all are sitting around in grim silence, just let some one have the courage to tell a cat story, and the ice is broken at once. This "one touch of nature" makes them all grin. It is the "open sesame"; like a hydra with never ending heads—they spring up. As soon as one is finished, another begins. The heads all have tails (or tales) of cats they have known. One is surprised at the wonderful revelation of how deep a hold the household pet has in the hearts of those who love him.
My mistress had another story from the same lady who told her the last one I related. It was called, "A Confiding Cat." In 1877, says a writer in "Nature," "I was absent from Madras for two months, and left in my quarters three cats, one of which, an English tabby, was a very gentle cat, an affectionate creature. During my absence the quarters were occupied by two young gentlemen who delighted in teasing and frightening the cats. About one week before my return the English cat had kittens, which she carefully concealed behind the bookcase in the library. On the morning of my return I saw the cat and petted her as usual. Then I left the house for about one hour. On returning to dress, I found that the kittens were located in the corner of my dressing room, where previous broods had been deposited and nursed. On questioning the servant as to how they came there, he at once replied, 'Sir, the old cat, taking them one by one in her mouth, brought them in here.' In other words, the mother had carried them one by one in her mouth from the library to my dressing room, where they lay quite exposed."
I do not think I have heard of a more remarkable instance of reasoning and affectionate confidence than this in an animal. I need hardly say it gave me great pleasure. The train of reasoning seemed to be as follows: "Now that my master has returned, there is no risk of the kittens being injured by the two young savages in the house. So I will take them out for my protector to see and admire, and keep them in the corner where all my former children have been nursed in safety."
I think it a lovely story. Some will say, because the cat was an English tabby, "So English, you know!"—in a sarcastic manner; but I say as the old man did, "Nater is nater." And a true mother cat will fight for her own, whatever nation she belongs to. I wish all professional people were like this cat's master.
And I do think our colleges would do better to confer the degree of "B.A." on cats and dogs than on many of the brainless creatures made in the "image of their Maker." There is where the resemblance ceases, "image" is the only indication.
If some of the students would expand their hearts by defending poor abused animals, it would be much more for the benefit of society and for their own development than rowing and kicking as they do. They kick enough between the ages of one and ten to last a lifetime. And I would like to ask one question more, while I am about it: Is there one man, woman, or child who can play ball equal to a cat?
I hope the time will come when doctors will just as soon use the knife on their children as they now do on poor animals so completely in their power. I believe they will have to suffer for every case of cruelty offered up on the altar of that scapegoat called "science." God who made the victim will require atonement.
In my humble opinion, if all the stories told of them are true, it would be no loss to the world or their friends if science could be benefited by the cutting up of a few doctors' and ministers' children. Perhaps by exposing their hearts (while they suffer the agony that poor animals do while under these operations) they might get at the root of wickedness and hardness of heart that seems to be inborn in them; and thus improve the morality of the coming generation. It would be no loss to society to sacrifice a few of them.
I can tell all the professors, and possessors too, that there is no earthly use in using a cat's or dog's heart or liver to decide what causes diseases in human beings. They are no more alike than fire and water. The hearts of human beings are not enlarged by kindness, and are hard from their own wicked natures, while their livers would be well enough if they indulged in proper food and drinks.
A cat's heart is tender and kind and gives love for love; and her liver—well, that is all right; she probably keeps that in good repair by a moderate diet of liver. And if a cat should have disease of the kidneys, why, "a hair of the same dog"—you know the old saying—will cure it, and a good diet of kidney will counteract the disease.
Of course doctors would scorn such a suggestion from a cat; but it might work in the case of their patient as well as in animals—only a doctor who dares order the plebeian diet of liver or kidney would never prosper unless he gave a foreign name to them or smothered them with a title. But just think of it. Do you often hear of the poor laborer with either of these diseases? He has liver instead of turkey, and kidney instead of chickens, and if he is not killed by some modern improvement, he is likely to live forever.
I offer this without the least expectation of a fee. I am no M.D. or D.D. I am "a Daisy"; but my eyes are open, and although I have green around me I am white. So if any one says in a sarcastic manner, "she's a daisy," I shall not be green enough to take it to myself in their sense, but just remember that "it takes a rogue to catch a rogue," and feel happy in my superiority.
While I am moralizing I might as well give my readers the benefit of it. Why are not cats used as barometers? It would certainly save much money, and Blue Hill Observatory would be a good outlook for the weather-wise cat, and she would make an able assistant without a salary. Just observe her movements as the earlier generations did, and there is no doubt the weather notes will be correct.
As early as 1643 an old book was published which says of the cat: "She useth to wash her face with her feet, which she licketh, and moisteneth with her tongue. And it is observed by some, that if she put her feet beyond the crown of her head, in this kind of washing, it is a sign of rain." If a cat scratches the furniture or frisks around more than usual, she is said to be "raising the wind."
Cats are sensitive to air, full of motion and electricity, which seems to put them in good spirits; while a warm lifeless atmosphere makes them languid.
Sailors are as a class very superstitious in regard to cats. Their family, when the father, son, or brother has gone on a voyage, watch the family cat to know about the absent one. If a cat sickens or disappears, it is looked upon as an indication of the illness or death of the absent one. A sailor's family will make a pet and companion of the family cat. The cat that chances to go to sea is just worshipped by all on board the ship and is the real captain.
There is another little story that comes to my mind just now, as illustrating how much a cat notices and remembers. The cat in question was called Ole. Why, or wherefore, I cannot say. Perhaps he was a Norwegian, from the name, or his ancestors may have been Norwegians. He lived in Syracuse, New York, perhaps he was named for that most perfect musician and gentleman, Ole Bull, as people have a craze for naming their children for celebrated people, and they often name their pets for them. There is no doubt that animals do greater credit to their names than pampered children.
The cat called Ole was a great favorite in the family where he belonged. He had his place at the table and was very fond of his master, following his every movement when carving, with great interest. Even though he craved what was being carved, he never made a movement to hasten his dinner. Subsequent events proved he had not watched in vain.
One day the daughter of the family was attracted to the dining room by the loud and peremptory calls of Ole. She opened the door, and there sat Ole in his master's place at the head of the table. The large mat for the meat platter to rest on he had drawn in front of him, and on it lay a large rat.
The satisfaction with which he greeted her was evident, and he purred forth his delight at having provided and served up a game dinner. It proved that he had thought about the etiquette of the table. Having no platter, he had taken the next best thing, the mat, where the platter usually rested.
It is needless to say Ole was more petted then ever, though people, when told the story, would say, "How wonderful!" but behind their backs would say they guessed it was a fish instead of a rat that Ole had caught. But I believe in the rat. A cat detects and despises shams.
A friend of my mistress said that in a country house where she was visiting they had an open fireplace in one of the rooms, and one of those very absurd gas-logs.
The family cat walked in one day, and, going over to the rug, prepared to have a delightful snooze. But she no sooner approached the fireplace than the idea of the sham fire arrested her. She gave one resentful look at her mistress and walked out of the room. She never went into that room again, preferring the reality of the kitchen fire to an elegant sham. There is very little danger that a cat will ever be deceived after she has had the chance to investigate.
If the ravens and birds were half as bright as Pussy, the best gotten-up scarecrow in the field would never cause them one moment of disquiet or the loss of one good meal. She has such quick ears that even the moving of a leaf in the wind or the creak of a window is enough to bring her to her feet ready for an encounter.
IWHAT pleasant memories I have of my early years! How could I be other than a very happy cat, with a home so pleasant, and dear, kind friends? With the boys to play with, and everything to interest me, I have nothing but loving words to say on my own account, and I feel more anxious to try to help the cats who are not appreciated to homes and friends like mine.
WHAT pleasant memories I have of my early years! How could I be other than a very happy cat, with a home so pleasant, and dear, kind friends? With the boys to play with, and everything to interest me, I have nothing but loving words to say on my own account, and I feel more anxious to try to help the cats who are not appreciated to homes and friends like mine.
With all my advantages, I must admit I was at times a great trial to those who loved me. If a boy had behaved as I did, it would have been called the "old Adam" in him. And with me I suppose it was the cat old Adam. I was full of life and fun, and a great hunter of everything that moved, from a leaf that rustled in the breeze to our natural enemy, a mouse.
I was very smart at the business of hunting, and the rats and mice that I destroyed I cannot tell. I wish I had kept an account, but when young I did not know the value of a journal and account book. It would be a real pleasure to me now, when memory is often treacherous.
I was never allowed to worry or torment them, though I had the desire, as every one has, to torment or worry something. Miss Eleanor would put her hand around my throat gently, but it would force open my mouth, making me drop my victim. Then it was at once killed.
One day I chased one under the bed. I knew it had received its death-blow, and I wanted to go in and worry it occasionally. My mistress did not know of it; she was not in the room at the time.
It was just about tea time, and I expected a scene when it should crawl out, as I feared it would. It was behind a box, and I could not move it or get at it with my paws; but I scratched on it with my claws to assure it of my presence and make it tremble. In this way I kept it all the evening, and I did dread their going to bed. I was so sleepy, it made me cross. They went to bed, and I fell asleep with a guilty conscience, for I knew it would be a dreadful fright to them if the mouse should appear.
It must have been the middle of the night when a loud scream awoke me, and they both rushed out of the bedroom, saying, "It is a mouse! It walked over the bed!" Before they lighted the gas I had pounced upon my prey and finished it.
Miss Eleanor took a cloth and pulled the mouse out of my mouth and threw it out of the window. I was real mad with them both, and got up on the table, where I never was allowed to sit, and knocked down a beautiful little basket that Miss Milly kept flosses in. The three parts of the basket separated, and all the little bags and balls rolled about on the floor. I poked them under chairs and in corners, and at last my mistresses were obliged to go to bed, leaving me with my playthings. The moonlight favored me, and I not only chased the bags and balls, but I tried to chase the moonbeams. I caught the playthings, but never the moonbeams, and I wondered why.
The next day they talked seriously to me, but I did not care one bit. I washed my face all the time they were talking, and ran under the bed when they wanted to comb me. I chewed the red bow they had tied on my collar till it was black, and it tasted horrid. They did not scold me, for they were afraid I had poisoned myself with the red dye.
Miss Eleanor found in her book an antidote, and Miss Milly gave me the dose. She had a hard time of it, for I spit out the pellets as fast as she gave them to me. That did provoke her, for I knew how to swallow them as well as a child would know. She took me, and, opening my mouth, she dropped them down my throat and held my mouth till they were down. I coughed and fought to get them up, but it was of no use. When Miss Milly was determined on a thing it just had to be done.
I lived through that scare, and have chewed ribbons of all colors since then without harm except to the ribbon. It was very naughty, I know; but if I got mad, I would chew up my ribbon to provoke them.
Another wickedness to record. Like all young cats, I loved to run away. This was before I was stolen that Christmas time I have already written of. Every day I would go out in the yard and hide, and I now remember with great thankfulness how wonderfully I was spared. Poor cats disappear, leaving no trace behind, and I am fortunate not to have been one of them, and I understand why my mistress was afraid to trust me out of her sight. I would hide on the ledge of the fence in the next yard and then peep over to hear them call me.
They would scrape two knives together to call me in to dinner, when we were visiting or when we had the range of the house. Of course I responded promptly to the call, as cats, like children, are always ready for a square meal. But of late I had discovered their little game. There was no dinner; they scraped knives to get me in. They deceived me at first, but not for long.
Now the back of the houses on our street faced the back of the houses on the next street, with a long alley between. At the windows of the opposite houses there were young men who were interested spectators of this little by-play. Very soon they were not content to be only lookers-on; they wanted to take part, and soon they appeared with knives, and then a fearful scraping was heard, and the cries of "Daisy, Daisy" resounded through the alley.
I never turned my head or let them know that I noticed them, for I was very much ashamed of the sensation I had caused, and I crawled home, crestfallen enough, to meet the reproachful glances of my dear friends. They had not dared to appear on the scene. After that I went home without being called.
I was more provoked because these were the very young men who had thrown bottles, old boots, and bootjacks at the cats that assemble nightly to talk over their trials and give an open-air concert occasionally. Were these young men asleep as they ought to be, not just returning at midnight from some junket, they would be willing to believe in the doctrine of "live and let live."
These cats have no homes, no nice beds, and often they have empty stomachs; and if they console themselves with a social meeting, and end in a musicale, who can blame them? They certainly do not have empty bottles to dispose of after their meetings, as these young people do; and there is no uncertainnoteintheirvoices when they let it swell out on the midnight air. If it reaches a high C, it is not a "high seas over," as the young men's voices often indicate.
Another proof of the superiority of the animal over the human race. A cat may often be sitting on a beer barrel, but thereneverwas a cat known to have the contents of one inside.
There are many shams in the world that cats would scorn to practise. Now I am, perhaps, about to shock some people by airing my opinion on "family worship." I can hear you say, "How irreverent!" Not at all. Just please read the many so-called bright speeches of children in the newspapers, where they hob-nob with their Maker just as if he were a boon companion.
I have heard my mistress quote, "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain." I never have, and it makes me shudder to hear children so flippant with the sacred name. And I will never believe that cats or dogs could be taught (even if they had the gift of speech) to be profane, as the poor parrot is. They have an evil eye, and may not be to blame.
One year we boarded in a real country farmhouse,—at least, the master was a farmer; but the family were trying to find some more genteel name for the business and the place that had so long supported them.
It was a nice, old, rambling house, with quaint little nooks and angles where I could hide. The kitchen was very large and low, and the outbuildings so ample that I often lost myself.
The hay-loft was very bewildering, and after I had once climbed up I felt like the travellers my mistress loved to read of—very proud of my exploits.
They had a great yellow cat called Tabby. Now I did hate yellow, and of all weak names I think "Tabby" the weakest. But oh my! "What's in a name?" Sure enough, she was just the reverse of her name. Although she was not "my style," I could not, in that lonesome place, afford to pass her over.
After a time she became quite friendly with me, though at first she had resented my style, as she called it. She evidently thought I was a cat "Astor or Vanderbilt," with my collar and padlock,—that "bete noir" to all cats that I met. They confounded it with the ropes of pearls and strings of diamonds that society women pawn their souls for; but when I explained to her that it was an inexpensive badge, with the name engraved on it so that my friends could recover me when I got lost,—that it represented their affection instead of their dollars,—she, like a sensible cat, realized at once its use, and admired it, saying it was very becoming to the aristocratic bend of my neck. After this I did think she was a cat with good judgment and exquisite taste.
When she saw how delighted I was with her kittens, she allowed me to play with them all I cared to. They were all colors, and the loveliest little creatures I ever saw—four of them. They looked upon me in the light of a bachelor uncle, and were after me all the time. They grudged me the night separation, for my mistress would not allow me out of her room at night.
I was very clumsy with them at first, as old bachelors naturally are, but soon took them in my arms as deftly as their mother did. I was delighted to have them run after me and kick and bite me. I felt sad at first that I was denied this pleasure, that no little ones of my own would ever play about me. But, when Tabby told me her sad tale, I no longer regretted I had been spared so much sorrow.
She said when she saw them happy and loving to all around, she trembled, for she knew at any moment they might be taken from her. She said she had tried to hide her other kittens in every corner she could find, but it was of no use; they were all sacrificed.
They were delighted to play with my collar and padlock, and they scratched it so badly that my mistress said that if I was going to allow myself to be used by the "Scratch Grabble" family as a plate for their etchings that I had better go without a collar.
Go without my collar! Perish the thought! I would tie a blade of grass around my neck rather than go undecorated. Daisy without a collar! The idea!
The family allowed Tabby to go out and in as she pleased. She had plenty of food, and was treated kindly for her usefulness, for the rats she had killed counted into the hundreds; but petting was beyond their comprehension.
The father of the family was a big, jolly old man. His only fault was his piety. Now do not misunderstand this remark, for I have been brought up to respect true religion, but I do hate bigotry.
The farmer's wife was a large, red-faced woman, and very nervous and fussy. Her husband said, "Marier wanted to be a big bug." This gave the true key to her aim in life. She wanted to be fashionable.
They had only two children. The elaborate headstones in the neighboring cemetery where I had rambled gave the names of several children they had buried. And after I had known them a little while I believed, with Tabby, that the best part of the family were represented by the tomb-stones. They fought with each other continually, and their chief fights were during family worship.
The girl, Bessie, was fourteen years old, very fat, big-eyed, big-lipped, with tousled head; always in one's way, and disagreeable in the extreme.
The boy of twelve, red-headed, freckled, and full of mischief, was much better than his sister. Bob, as he was called, had one marked individuality—that was his appetite. I never saw that boy without his mouth full, and his pockets were a storehouse to draw from.
Their table manners were dreadful. As there were only two other boarders besides ourselves, the family were all at the table, and we had a chance to see them in all their glory. The food was of the best and well cooked; but oh, the way it was eaten!
The breakfasts were enough to make any cat sick; for when the last mouthful was swallowed, a greasy, ragged Bible was produced. As my friends said, though they did not approve of the manner in which it was conducted, they did not think it right to turn away from family prayer, and of course I remained with them and rather enjoyed it.
The daughter was made, by the payment of a weekly sum, to read the Bible. She gabbled off a chapter taken from any part of the book she chanced to open to first.
Bob was making faces and kicking her all the time under the table. Once in a while his father would take him by the ear, but not often. A loud yell of "Lemme alone!" was not a pleasant accompaniment to a Bible reading.
Then the father made a prayer. It certainly was only for his own benefit, for no one could distinguish one word he said. Then the children, after a long wrangle, engaged in a boxing match, the father and mother taking no notice of them unless called upon by one or the other to decide their dispute. It was very embarrassing to all but those concerned, and the boarders very gladly returned to their rooms.
Just as it was getting furious and exciting, my mistress took me away. She said she did not care to have me demoralized; but I was provoked, for I wanted to know who was the victor.
They were very much disgusted with the whole performance. Miss Eleanor said, "Why cannot people read one nice selection for the day, and a short prayer that will comprise all that one need ask for, instead of making such wretched exhibitions as we have just witnessed?" And we all agreed with her.
It seems an insult to one's Maker to gabble over prayers, with one's mouth full of food. It seems much more appropriate to ask a blessing before one sits down to the table than after.
It seemed to me real fun, a family circus; but then, I respected my friends' opinions, and knew that their view of the situation was right. I told Tabby what I thought of it, and she said, "It is a long time since I have attended their family prayers, and I will never listen to them again."
One morning she said: "Bessie and Bob had a fierce battle at prayer time, interrupting their father several times. When he had finished, he cuffed them both, and it ended in a real row. Then the mistress, who never could be just to any one, provoked with her husband for punishing the children, and angry with them herself, turned her wrath on me.
"'It is time Tabby's kittens were disposed of,' she said.
"'Yes,' the children yelled; 'lemme, lemme do it!'
"But the father interposed, saying, 'No cruelty shall be practised in my house.'
"Oh, how frantically I tried to claw open the door and get at my kittens! Not that I could save them, but perhaps they would kill me with them.
"The master took me and shut me into the closet, where I fell down broken-hearted. I mewed and mewed, for I knew I should never see my dear ones again. I could not sleep, my breasts ached from the milk that belonged to the poor little victims, and I spent the most wretched day of my life.
"Early in the afternoon Biddy, the servant, released me. She looked very sorrowful at me, and tried to make me eat some dinner, giving me a nice plateful. I could not swallow, and went out to the barn, though I well knew I should not find my children.
"A feeble mew greeted me, and I found, in place of my five beautiful kittens, only one. They said the prettiest, but they were all lovely to me.
"She was a light gray and bright as a button. She was so glad to see me, but looked surprised, as if she thought I would bring her brothers and sisters with me.
"I lay down exhausted, while she nursed, and I could feel the four little lips (that were now cold and stiff) on my breasts, and I felt too wretched to live.
"I was in a real fever for several days, but she nursed me all she could, and I got better. She was soon bright and happy, frisking about, and grew large and very handsome. I did not take any comfort in her, for I knew she would soon be taken from me, and a hard life begin for her.
"Can you wonder that after that morning's experience I never wanted to hear of family worship? If it does not teach them humanity, what is it good for? And if, as they read, God is so mindful of the sparrows, why don't he remember poor cats? Tell me that, will you?"
I did not answer her, my heart was so sad, and I wished I could speak and ask my mistress that same question. I comforted poor Tabby all I could. I said perhaps God lets these people do these things for an example to others. She scoffed at the idea as she asked, "Why did he make us?" As I could not tell, I answered meekly, "I do not know."
I expected every day these innocent creatures would go. Oh, how I did feel! Rash thoughts of taking them and hiding them in Miss Milly's trunk, filled my mind. I wanted to save them.
"There is no use," Tabby said, "we cannot fight against the mighty. All that I can do is to make all the noise I can in the world. I join all the cats around and speak in all the meetings. 'Anarchists' probably they would call us, but we do not care. We caterwaul and scratch and steal, just as human beings in our situation would take to drink. And I would ask, who is to blame? We did not learn this of animals. We learned it of Bessie and Bob and the good, pious people where we live."
I found I could do no good. Tabby was an eloquent speaker when the wrongs of her race inspired her tongue; and my heart beat, and my claws went out and in as I longed to fight for our down-trodden race. The whole barn would have been a battle-field strewn with the bodies of rats, could I just at this moment have encountered them.
When we left this place, my mistress said: "We will never go to a good quiet place again. We will take our chances with the multitude." I fully indorsed this resolution. This experience had made me a more thoughtful and a sadder cat, for the sorrows of animals preyed upon me. Had not the thought of writing this book entered into my mind, thereby opening the eyes of the thoughtless, and helping expose the wrongs of our race, I could not have existed.
How I hated to leave the dear little kittens, they were so fond of me, and ran after me when my mistress took me in her arms to carry me away. The woman told them that they were all promised to friends. They would have good homes; that was why she had kept them so long.
Miss Eleanor talked to her beautifully about their duties to dumb animals, but I knew it would do her no good.
After we were in the carriage, Miss Milly said she felt very sad to leave such dear little playful creatures, particularly as I had taken such a liking to them. She said she could not bear to think that they would go into new homes and be tormented by bad children.
Miss Eleanor said she had often seen children squeeze kittens, their soft little bones almost crushed, in their strong hands; and if they dare scratch or bite in self-defence, they were called bad-tempered and abused.
"There is nothing we can do to help them," they said, "but speak for them when we can, and always save them from cruel hands when we can do so. It is the duty of every man, woman, and child to speak for the dumb animals who cannot defend themselves."
I did not wonder Tabby was hopeless when Miss Milly said she saw no chance for cats or dogs either. If people who profess to love them are afraid to speak up for them, what is to be done?
Dogs and cats are not always enemies. They can be taught each other's rights, if their owners will take a little trouble. I will give you an illustration in favor of this theory.
A friend of ours owned a little dog named Friskey, and a cat she called Flossy, because she had soft fur, like silk.
They were very fond of each other. Flossy would lie down with her head on Friskey, making a pillow of him.
Their mistress taught him to beg for food; and after watching him awhile, Flossy took her place by his side, assumed just the same position, and begged.
They were very good to each other about sharing their food, furnishing an example children would do well to imitate.
They were both of them fond of candy, and one day their stock had melted away, and only one little sugar ball was left. It was very hard. They had each tried to break it, but finding that impossible, they took turns in sucking it. Friskey would wait patiently till Flossy had sucked it till she was tired, then he would take his turn, while she would rest and watch him with a happy expression on her face, saying plainly, "Is it not nice?" They licked and licked, but it did not seem to grow "beautifully less," and lasted them nearly one week.
They used it as a ball, and would run after it and then refresh themselves with a lick or two and then start again. Their owner said it was the most ludicrous sight she ever witnessed, they were so happy with their ball.
The mistress said one morning Friskey was in great tribulation, hunting for their ball of candy. Flossy hung around her, mewing till she got out her work-basket. Then Flossy made one dive and clawed out from the midst of cottons and silks the beloved ball. Friskey barked and wagged his tail, while Flossy licked it, and then gave it to him. She said the inside of her basket was rather sticky, and she told Flossy she must find some other hiding-place.
At last, that ball was reduced to such a sharp skeleton of its former self that fearing they would choke over it, she took it away and gave them some fresh candy. But she said: "One day, they had a gumdrop, and Friskey could not get it off his teeth, they were buried so deep in it; but Flossy licked and clawed till she got it off. That beat all the other pranks."
Now, how long would two children have kept that ball of candy? I would like to ask. If their teeth had not demolished it the first hour, the family hatchet would have been used, and a free fight have followed, over the fragments.
Friskey would lie down, and his master would put Flossy in his arms just like a child. They were very devoted to each other, though Friskey did not like other cats, and was very jealous of Flossy. He seemed to wish her to have no friend but himself. As she was a social little creature, and a "cat flirt," he had many heart-burnings.
Friskey came to a sad end. He was run over by a fast team and had to be chloroformed. Flossy was very unhappy about him. They said she acted just like a widow, and, probably, like most widows, got another admirer in his place. He was buried down in the garden quite a little distance from the house, and Flossy was often seen sitting on his grave.
The family thought it very pathetic, but there were others, people who like to destroy our best illusions (whom no one likes or cares for their opinions), who suggested an explanation of the interesting fact, by saying that a catmint bed was on each side of Friskey's grave, and Flossy went there for the catmint.
I do, for my part, hate to be disenchanted when I have indulged in a little bit of sentiment. I do not believe any one ever thanks the person who turns the poetry of life into prose.
My solution of the story is, that Flossy had often played with Friskey in that very catmint bed, and she went there to recall pleasant memories. I have a right to my own opinion, and I know I am very strange; but then, it would be a very stupid world if there were no variety.
I had a singular thought the other day, and it will do no harm to tell it, though I do not care one pin whether others agree with me or not. I think my mistress is original, and I know I am like her. My idea is this: I have heard the stories of Adam and Eve and Noah's Ark—indeed, I was brought up on Bible stories.
Now my thought is this: When Adam and Eve left the garden of Eden, there were two of their dumb companions whose hearts were sad for their master and mistress. They said, "We will not let them go alone." And when Adam and Eve left the garden, a dog walked by his master's side, and a cat by the side of the mistress—faithful in their misfortune.