JackJackXIIIJACK
JackJack
Jack
Jack
Jackwas a large black Manx cat that lived on Poplar Avenue, the friend of Betsy Whitefoot, as you will remember. His tail was only about an inch long, and his hind legs were higher than his front ones.
One day when jack’s mistress called at our house he followed her, and, having known him since the death of Betsy, I gave him a hearty welcome.
“Where did you get this beautiful cat?” said mistress, the moment she saw Jack.
“My husband brought him home one bitter cold day last winter,” said Mrs. Vandervere. “He saw some boys chase him through an alley. The poor creature was so thoroughly frightened that for several days he stayed almost constantly behind the cook-stove, refusing to come out. We thought the boys had cut off his tail, but when I came to wash him I discovered that he never had one. When he recovered from his fright we found himto be a very affectionate cat, and now we feel as though we could not do without him. Often when I am sewing he sits on my shoulders, and he used to have a fashion of pulling pins out of my waist with his teeth and drop them on the floor. But one day he pulled out a crooked pin and swallowed it, and by the way he acted we thought Jack would not be with us much longer. A raw egg, however, seemed to do him good, and in a few days he was all right again; but he has never pulled out any more pins.”
Jack and I with Budge and Toddy had been lying in our sunny bay-window, but while his mistress was still talking we two got up and went out into the yard. Jack went straight to Betsy’s grave and sniffed around a while, then he mounted the fence and showed me the shortest cut over to his house, and he also invited me to visit his catnip bed, in which he turned several somersaults. Then he led the way through the cellar window up into the house, and in the library beside the fireplace was his basket, a beautiful willow trimmed with red ribbons, and a soft cushion inside. Jack told me that was his “corner.” After a while we went outdoors again, and he showed me how far he couldjump. It was from the top of the porch railing to the ground; and when I am a full-grown cat I expect to be able to do the same.
He Told Me an Interesting Story“He Told Me an Interesting Story”
“He Told Me an Interesting Story”
“He Told Me an Interesting Story”
After that day Jack came to see me quite often, and he seemed especially to enjoy our beautiful sunny porch, which, with its pads and cushions and baskets, looked very much like Miss Virgie’s playhouse.
Whenever I visited Jack, we used to sit on a garden bench that stood in his yard, and upon which his mistress always left a blanket for Jack’s special comfort.
Jack was a great fellow to talk about old times, and one day when we were enjoying a sun bath on the bench he told me a very interesting story. He said that his ancestors came from an island across the ocean, and that he hoped some day to visit that country.
I described to him my journey last summer on the steamboat, and our visit on the farm, and it made him even more anxious to go.
Continuing his story, Jack said that he was a lineal descendant of the famous cat that made a fortune for Richard Whittington, who was “Thrice Lord Mayor of London.”
At this point I interrupted Jack to have him explain to me the meaning of “ancestor,” and “lineal descendant.” Jack was so friendly with me, I did not mind asking him, and he willingly explained it to me.
He said that the cat that lived with Richard Whittington very many years ago had a son named Tom; Tom had a son named Toby; Toby had a son named Jack, and so they kept on having sons till it finally came down to him, and that made Tom his ancestor, and him a lineal descendant.
Jack then told me of some of his experiences. He said that his ability to catch rats used to be quite as good as that of his early ancestor, but that since he lived in his present home, he had not much practice, there being no rats in the neighborhood, except an occasional one around the ash barrel.
I asked him where he learned the business, and he told me that he used to live in a down-town boarding-house, where he sometimes killed as many as twenty rats in one day. But the cook caught one alive one day, and tied a string around his neck with a little bell attached, and let him go back to his hole; and the ringing of the bell so frightened the other rats that they all went away. SaidJack: “My occupation was gone, and as the boarding-house keeper had no further use for me, she got some boys to chase me away.” And then he added with some bitterness: “That was the way she rewarded me for my services.”
I told Jack that I thought the treatment he received was very cruel. Indeed, I think a dose of chloroform administered to a cat one has no further use for, is much more humane than chasing him away, especially in cold weather. Of course, I didn’t tell Jack so; and indeed I am glad it was not done in his case. But not every cat is so fortunate as to be picked up by a kind-hearted person and taken to a good home.
Continuing our conversation I said to Jack: “Don’t you think your present beautiful home and kind mistress came to you as a reward for your industry in the boarding-house?”
He said he had never thought of it in that light before, but that he believed it must be so, and that he would forgive his former mistress for her unkindness.
At this time Jack’s mistress called him into the house, and I returned to my home, thankful that I had such a genial fellow as Jack for a neighbor.