[ See Note
B , Addenda. ]
PUSSY ON HER NATIVE HEARTH.
“It wouldn’t have surprised me a bit, doctor,” said my
gallant captain to me, on the quarter-deck of the saucy
Pen-gun ,—“It wouldn’t have surprised
me a bit, if they had sent you on board, minus the head. A nice
thing that would have been, with so many hands sick.”
“And rather unconvenient for me,” I added, stroking my
neck.
I had been explaining to the gentleman, that my reason for
not being off the night before, was my finding myself on the desert
side of the gates of Aden after sun-down. A strange motley
cut-throat band I had found myself among, too. Wild Somalis,
half-caste Indian Jews, Bedouin Arabs, and burly Persian merchants,
all armed with sword and spear and shield, and long rifles that,
judging by their build, seemed made to shoot round corners. Strings
of camels lay on the ground; and round each camp-fire squatted
these swarthy sons of the desert, engaged in talking, eating,
smoking, or quarrelling, as the case might be. Unless at Falkirk
tryst, I had never been among such a parcel of rogues in my life. I
myself was armed to the teeth: that is, I had nothing but my tongue
wherewith to defend myself. I could not help a feeling of
insecurity taking possession of me; there seemed to be a screw that
wanted tightening somewhere about my neck. Yet I do not now repent
having spent that night in the desert, as it has afforded me the
opportunity of settling that long-disputed question—the origin of
the domestic cat.
Some have searched Egyptian annals for the origin of their
pet, some Persian, and some assert they can trace its descent from
the days of Noah. I can go a long way beyond that. It is difficult
to get over the flood, though; but I suppose my typical cat
belonged to some one of the McPherson clan. McPhlail was telling
McPherson, that he could trace his genealogy from the days of
Noah.
“And mine,” said the rival clansman, “from nine hundred years
before that.”
“But the flood, you know?” hinted the McPhlail.
“And did you ever hear of a Phairson that hadn’t a boat of
his own?” was the indignant retort.
In the midst of a group of young Arabs, was one that
attracted my special attention. He was an old man who looked, with
his snow-white beard, his turban and robes, as venerable as one of
Doré’s patriarchs. In sonorous tones, in his own noble language, he
was reading from a book in his lap, while one arm was coiled
lovingly round a beautiful long-haired cat. Beside this man I threw
myself down. The fierceness of his first glance, which seemed to
resent my intrusion, melted into a smile as sweet as a woman’s,
when I began to stroke and admire his cat. Just the same story all
the world over,—praise a man’s pet and he’ll do anything for you;
fight for you, or even lend you money. That Arab shared his supper
with me.
“Ah! my son,” he said, “more than my goods, more than my
horse, I love my cat. She comforts me. More than the smoke she
soothes me. Allah is great and good; when our first mother and
father went out into the mighty desert alone, He gave them two
friends to defend and comfort them—the dog and the cat. In the body
of the cat He placed the spirit of a gentle woman; in the dog the
soul of a brave man. It is true, my son; the book hath
it.”
After this I remained for some time speculatively
silent.
The old man’s story may be taken—according to taste—with or
without a grain of salt; but we must admit it is as good a way of
accounting for domestic pussy’s origin as any other.
There really is, moreover, a great deal of the woman’s nature
in the cat. Like a woman, pussy prefers a settled home to leading a
roving life. Like a true woman, she is fond of fireside comforts.
Then she is so gentle in all her ways, so kind, so loving, and so
forgiving. On your return from business, the very look of her
honest face, as she sits purring on the hearth-rug, with the
pleasant adjuncts of a bright fire and hissing tea-urn, tends to
make you forget all the cares of the day. When you are dull and
lonely, how often does her “punky humour,” her mirth-provoking
attitudes and capers banish ennui. And if you are ill, how
carefully she will watch by your bedside and keep you company. How
her low song will lull you, her soft caresses soothe you, giving
you more real consolation from the looks of concern exhibited on
her loving little face, than any language could
convey.
On the other hand, like a woman, she is prying and curious. A
locked cupboard is often a greater source of care and thought to
pussy, than the secret chamber was to the wife of Blue Beard. I’m
sure it is only because she cannot read that she refrains from
opening your letters of a morning, and only because she cannot
speak that she keeps a secret. Like a woman, too, she dearly loves
a gossip, and will have it too, even if it be by night on the
tiles, at the risk of keeping the neighbours awake. Oh! I’m far
from sure that the Arab isn’t right, after all.
Pussy, from the very day she opens her wondering eyes and
stares vacantly around her, becomes an object worthy of study and
observation. Indeed, kittens, even before their eyes are opened,
will know your voice or hand, and spit at a stranger’s. The first
year of pussy’s existence is certainly the happiest. No creature in
the world is so fond of fun and mischief as a kitten. Everything
that moves or is movable, from its mother’s tail to the
table-cloth, must minister to its craze for a romp; but what pen
could describe its intense joy, its pride and self-satisfaction,
when, for the first time it has caught a real live mouse? This is
as much an episode in the life of a kitten, as her first ball is to
a young lady just out. Nor do well-trained and properly-fed cats
ever lose this innate sense of fun, and love of the ridiculous.
They lose their teeth first. I have seen demure old cats, of
respectable matronly aspect,—cats that ought to have known
better,—leave their kittens when only a day old, and gambol round
the room after a cork till tired and giddy.
Cats of the right sort never fail to bring their kittens up
in the way they should go, and soon succeed in teaching them all
they know themselves. They will bring in living mice for them, and
always take more pride in the best warrior-kitten than in the
others. They will also inculcate the doctrine of cleanliness in
their kits, so that the carpet shall never be wet. I have often
been amused at seeing my own cat bringing kitten after kitten to
the sand-box, and showing it how to use it, in action explaining to
them what it was there for. When a little older, she entices them
out to the garden.
Cats can easily be taught to be polite and well-mannered. It
depends upon yourself, whether you allow your favourite to sit
either on your shoulder or on the table at meal-times, or to wait
demurely on the hearth till you have finished. In any case, her
appetite should never get the better of her good
manners.
“We always teach our cats,” writes a lady to me, “to wait
patiently while the family are at their meals, after which they are
served. Although we never keep a dish for them standing in a
corner, as some people do, yet we never had a cat-thief. Our Tom
and Topsy used to sit on a chair beside my brother, near the table,
with only their heads under the level of it. They would peep up
occasionally to see if the meal were nearly over; but on being
reminded that their time had not come, they would immediately close
their eyes and feign to be asleep.
“Poor old Tom knew the time my brother came in from business,
and if five or ten minutes past his time, he would go to the door
and listen, then come back to the fireside showing every symptom of
impatience and anxiety. He knew the footsteps of every member of
the family, and would start up, before the human ear could detect a
sound, and hasten to the door to welcome the comer. He knew the
knock of people who were frequent visitors, and would greet the
knock of a stranger with an angry growl.
“Tom would never eat a mouse until he had shown it to some
member of the family, and been requested to eat it; and although
brought up in a country village, made himself perfectly at home in
Glasgow, although living on the third floor. But poor faithful
fellow, after sticking to us through all the varied changes of
fourteen years, one wintry morning—he had been out all night—when I
drew up the window to call him, he answered me with such a
plaintive voice, that I at once hastened down to see what was the
matter. He was lying helpless and bleeding among the snow, with one
leg broken. He died.”
Cats will often attach themselves to some one member of a
family in preference to all others. They are as a rule more fond of
children than grown-up people, and usually lavish more affection on
a woman than a man. They have particular tastes too, as regards
some portions of the house in which they reside, often selecting
some room or corner of a room which they make their “sanctum
sanctorum.”
Talking of her cats, a lady correspondent says:—“Toby’s
successor was a black and white kitten we called Jenny. Jenny was
considered my father’s cat, as she followed him and no one else.
Our house and that of an aunt were near to each other, and on
Sabbath mornings it was my father’s invariable custom to walk in
the garden, closely followed by Jenny, afterwards going in to visit
his sister before going to church. Jenny enjoyed those visits
amazingly; every one was so fond of her, and she was so much
admired, that she began to pay them visits of her own accord upon
weekdays. I am sorry to say that Jenny eventually abused the
hospitality thus held out to her. For, as time wore on, pussy had,
unknown to us, been making her own private arrangements for an
event of great interest which was to occur before very long. And
this is how it was discovered when it did come off. Some ladies had
been paying my aunt a visit, and the conversation not unnaturally
turned on dress.
“‘Oh! but,’ said my aunt, ‘you must have a sight of my new
velvet bonnet,—so handsome,—one pound fifteen shillings,—and came
from London. I do trust it won’t rain on Sunday. Eliza, go for the
box under the dressing-table in the spare bedroom.’
“Although the door of this room was kept constantly shut, the
window was opened by day to admit the fresh air. It admitted
more,—it admitted Jenny,—and Jenny did not hesitate to avail
herself of the convenience of having her kittens in that
room.
“Eliza had not been gone five minutes, when she returned
screaming,—‘Oh, murther! murther!’ that is all she said. She just
ran back again, screaming the same words, and my aunt and friends
hastened after her. The sight that met their gaze was in no way
alarming: it was only Jenny cosily ensconced in the box—the bonnet
altered in shape to suit circumstances—looking the picture of
innocence and joy as she sung to six blind kittens.
“Summary and condign was the punishment that fell on the
unlucky Jenny. The kittens were ordered to be instantly drowned,—we
managed to save just one,—and pussy sentenced to be executed as
soon as the gardener came in the morning. This sentence was
afterwards commuted to transportation for life from my aunt’s
house; and it was remarkable, that although Jenny took her Sabbath
morning walks as usual with my father, she never entered my aunt’s
dwelling, but waited patiently until my father came out.” Jenny’s
master died.
“Jenny seemed to miss my father greatly. She used to go to
the garden on a Sunday, as usual, but walked up and down
disconsolate and sad; and on her return would take up her old
position outside my aunt’s door, and wait and wait, always thinking
he would surely come. This constant waiting and watching for him
that would come again no more, was the first thing that softened my
aunt’s heart to poor Jenny; and she was freely forgiven for the
destruction of the velvet bonnet, and took up her abode for life
with my aunt, on whom she bestowed all the affection she had
previously lavished on my father.”
Kittens, like the young of most animals—mankind included—are
sometimes rather selfish towards their parents. A large kitten that
I knew, used to be regularly fed with mice which its mother caught
and brought to it from a stack-yard. Instead of appearing grateful,
he used to seize the mouse and, running growling to a corner,
devour the whole of it. His mother must have thought this rather
unfair, for after standing it three or four times, she brought in
the mouse, and slapped him if he dared to touch it until she had
eaten her share—the hind quarters; then he had to be content with
the rest.
I knew of a cat that, in order to avoid the punishment which
she thought she merited on committing an offence, adopted the
curious expedient of having two homes. Her failing was fish. If
there had been no fish in the world, she would have been a strictly
honest cat. She warred against the temptation, but it was of no
use; the spirit was willing but the flesh weak, and the smell of
fish not to be resisted. As long as she could steal without being
found out, it was all right, things went on smoothly; but whenever
she was caught tripping, she bade good-bye for a time to that home,
and took up her quarters at the other, distant about half a mile.
Here she would reside for a month or more, as the case might be,
until the theft of another haddock or whiting caused her to return
to the other house. And so on; this cat kept up the habit of
fluctuating backwards and forwards, between her two homes, as long
as she lived. She was never thrashed, and, I think, did not deserve
to be.
It is a common thing for a she-cat, if her kittens are all
drowned, to take to suckling a former kitten—even a grown-up son
has sometimes to resume the office and duties of baby to a bereaved
mother, and is in general no ways loath to do so. There is a horrid
cat in a village in Yorkshire, who, every time his mother has
kittens, steals them, taking them one by one to the cellar, and
eating them. When there are no more to eat, filial piety constrains
him to suckle his dam, until she deems it fit that he should be
weaned. He has been weaned already four times, to my
knowledge.
If a kitten has been given away, and for some reason or other
returns again to its mother’s home, the first thing that mother
does is to give him a sound hiding, afterwards she receives him
into favour, and gives him her tail to play with by way of
solatium . Mothers will sometimes
correct their very young kittens; for instance, if it squeals when
she wants to get away for a short time, two or three smart pats
with a mittened paw generally make it go fast asleep.
The cat’s love of fun is perhaps one of the most endearing
traits in her character. Who has not laughed to see the antics
performed by some pet cat, whom its mistress wished to bring into
the house for the night. Pussy has been walking with her mistress
in the garden; but the night is fair and moonlit, and she hasn’t
the slightest intention of coming in, for at least half-an-hour
yet. So round the walks she flies, romping and rollicking, with
tail in the air, and eyes crimson and green with the mischief that
is in them; always popping out when least expected, and sometimes
brushing the lady’s very skirts. Now she walks demurely up to her
mistress, as if soliciting capture, and just as she is being picked
up,—“Ah! you thought you had me, did you?” and off she scampers to
the other end of the garden. Anon, she is up a tree, and grinning
like an elf from the topmost branches; and no amount of pet names,
blarney, or coaxing will entice her down or into the house until,
as they say in the north, her ain de’il bids her. Pussy’s fondness
for frolic has led to strange results sometimes, as the following
will testify:—
In an old-fashioned house, in an old-fashioned parish, in the
county of Aberdeenshire, there lived, not many years ago, a farmer
of the name of D——. His family consisted of his wife, two
marriageable daughters, and a beautiful tabby cat. This cat was
well fed and cared for, and being so, was an excellent mouser.
Indeed, it was averred by the farmer that no rat would live within
a mile of her. The house stood by itself some distance off the
road, but, though surrounded by lofty pine-trees, it had by no
means the appearance of a place, which a ghost of average intellect
and any claim to respectability would select, as the scene of its
midnight peregrinations. Besides, there was no story attached to
the house. No one had ever been murdered there, so far as was
known. No old miser had ever resided within its walls; and though
several members of the family had died in the old box-bed, they had
all passed away in the most legitimate manner. Old granny was the
only one at all likely to come back; but what could she have
forgotten? The old lady was sensible to the last, and behaved like
a brick. She told them candidly she was “wearin’ awa’;” sat up in
bed and in a sadly quavering voice sang the Old Hundred; then
handed over the key of the tea-caddy, where she kept her “trifle
siller,” with the remark that they would find among the rest two
old pennies, which she had kept especially to be placed in her eyes
when her “candle went out.”
In spite of this, however, the honest farmer and his family
were all awakened one night by hearing the parlour bell rung, and
rung too with great force. They couldn’t all have been dreaming.
Besides, while they were yet doubting and deliberating, lo! the
bell rung a second time. John and his wife shook in their shoes.
That is merely a figure of speech; for, properly speaking, they
hadn’t even their stockings on. The marriageable daughters would
have fainted, but they had only read of fainting in books, and had
no idea how it was done. It must be allowed matters were alarming
enough. Who or what dreadful thing was thus urgently demanding an
interview at that untimely hour of night, in that lone house among
the pine-trees. The bell rang a third time; and, urged by the
entreaties of his wife to be brave for once and go—she did not say
come—and see, John at last reached down his old brown Bess—it had
been loaded for five years—and with a candle in his other hand, his
wife holding on by the skirts of his night-dress, and the
marriageable daughters bringing up the rear, prepared to march upon
the parlour.
In Indian file, and all in white, they might have been
mistaken for a party of priests going to celebrate midnight mass.
No ghost could have withstood the sight of that procession. It must
have burst out laughing, unless, indeed, a very
grave ghost. When at last they reached
the parlour, neither sight nor sound rewarded them for their
heroism. Everything was in its usual place, and nothing was
disturbed. A search all over the house proved too that the doors
were all locked, the windows fastened, and no one either up the
chimney or under the beds. So the mystery was put down to
super-human agency, or, as the good wife termed it, “something no
canny;” and they all went trembling back to bed, and lay awake in
great fear till the cock crew.
For nearly a fortnight after this, almost every night, and
sometimes even by day, the same strange disturbances occurred, and
all efforts to solve the mystery were fruitless. So it got rumoured
abroad that the house was haunted. All the usual remedies were had
recourse to for the purpose of exorcism, but in vain. The parson
came twice to pray in the room. He might as well have stopped at
home. Equally unsuccessful were the services of an old lady, whom
her enemies called a witch, her friends “the wisest woman in the
parish.” Things began to look serious. The goodwife was getting
thin, her daughters hysterical, and John himself began to lose
caste among the neighbours. It was openly hinted, that some deed of
blood must have been committed by him, in that same house and room.
Nor could his thirty years of married life and unblemished
reputation save him. He had been too
quiet, people said, and too
regular in his attendance at church; besides, he had a down
look about him, and, on the whole, hanging was too good for him.
Some averred that strange sights and sounds were seen and heard by
people who had occasion to pass that house at night, among other
things a light gliding about in the copse-wood. No, they would not
believe it was only John locking up the stable; and the devil
himself, in the shape of a fox, was seen at early morning coming
directly from the house. Of course the devil had a fine fat hen
over his shoulders, but that had nothing to do with the matter.
Poor John! it had come to this, that he had serious thoughts of
giving up his farm and going to America, when a rollicking young
student in the neighbourhood, who did not believe in spirits—except
ardent—proposed to the farmer that they should “wake the
ghost.”
“Wake the ghost!” said the farmer, “ye little ken, lad. He’s
wide enough awake already.”
“Wake him,” repeated the student; “sit up at night, you know,
and wait till he comes.”
John turned pale.
“I’ll sit with you,” continued the young man. “If he’s a
civil ghost, we can hear what he has got to say; for
‘The darkest nicht I fear nae deil,
Warlock, nor witch in Gowrie.’”
Very reluctantly John consented; but he did consent; and that
night the two met in the haunted chamber alone, just before the old
clock on the stair told the hour of midnight.
“What have you got under your arm?” inquired the
student.
“The ha’ Bible,” replied John, in a sepulchral voice; “is
that a Bible you’ve brought?”
“No, it’s whisky,” said the student, “about the only spirit
you are likely to see to-night; and there won’t be the ghost of
that left by cock-crow.”
So they waited and watched, John reading, the student smoking
steadily and drinking periodically. One o’clock came, and two
o’clock, and the candle was burning low in the socket, when
suddenly, “Hist!” said the student, and “Hush!” said John. They
could distinctly hear footsteps about them in the room, but no one
visible. They were really frightened now. Then something rushed
past them, and the bell rang, and there, lo, and behold! from the
rope dangled John’s decent tabby cat.
“And the Lord’s name be praised,” said John piously, closing
the book.
“Such ghosts as these,” said the student, “are best exorcised
with a broom-handle; but, see! this explains.” He held up the rope,
to the end of which—country fashion—was attached a
hare’s foot !
[ See Note
C , Addenda. ]
PUSSY’S LOVE OF CHILDREN.
The cat is more than any other creature the pet of our early
years. Almost the first animal we notice, when we are old enough to
notice anything, is pussy, with her beautiful markings, her
well-pleased, homely face, sleek and shining fur, and soft paws,
which she never ungloves in the presence of childhood. Children and
cats, especially young ones, have so very much in common. Both are
innocent, sinless, and easily pleased, and both are full of fun and
frolic. Children will often play with a kitten until they kill the
poor thing. In the country, pussy’s place may easily be supplied by
some other toy; but to a poor little gutter-child the loss is
simply irreparable, and she will nurse her dead kitten in the mud
for a week. The way children use poor patient pussy is at times
anything but commendable; and while deprecating the conduct of
parents in allowing them to treat the cat so, we cannot but admire
pussy’s extreme forbearance and uncomplaining good nature, under
what must be considered very trying circumstances. It is nothing to
see Miss Puss or Master Tom dressed up in a shawl and neatly
fitting cap, and lugged about as a doll, carried by the tail over
the child’s shoulder, or worn as a comforter round his neck. Yet
pussy seems to know that there is no harm meant, and that the
children really love her dearly; so she never attempts to scratch,
far less to bite. All experience goes to prove, too, that it is
generally the child that uses her the worst, to whom pussy is most
attached.
The ‘dead playmate’ is a picture you will often see in real
life. I saw one not a month ago. A pretty little child, with round,
wondering eyes, swollen with recent tears, sitting in the corner of
a field in the summer sunshine. On her lap lay—among a handful of
daisies and corn-poppies—a wee dead kitten: life had but lately
left it. When I spoke to her, her grief burst out
afresh.
“O sir, my pussy’s deadëd, my pretty pussy’s
deadëd!”
There would be no more games of romps in the garden, no more
scampering together through the green fields after the butterfly,
no more making pussy a doll. She would go lonely to bed to-night
and cry herself asleep, for pretty pussy was “deadëd.”
In the adjacent street to where I now live, is a fine large
red-tabby Tom. He is a famous mouser, a noted hunter, and a
gentleman every inch. He was faithful in love and dauntless in war.
When I tried to stroke him, he gave me a look and a growl of such
unmistakable meaning, that I mechanically put my hands in my
pockets and whistled. He makes no friends with strangers. Yet Tom
has a little mistress, not much over three years old, whom he
dearly loves, and from whom he is seldom absent. He lies down on
his side, and allows little Alice to lift him, although she can
hardly totter along with her burden, which she carries as often by
the tail as any way else. She sleeps beside him on the hearth-rug,
Tom winding his arms lovingly around her neck, and little Alice
declares that pussy “carries his kisses on his nose.”
Wee Elsie S——, though only six years old, has completely
tamed—as far as she herself is concerned—what might almost be
called a wild cat, it having been bred and brought up in the woods.
This cat has only two good qualities, namely, his great skill in
vermin-killing, and his fondness for little Elsie. Neither the
child’s father, mother, nor the servants, dare put a finger on this
wild brindled Tom; but as soon as Elsie comes down in the morning,
and puss is let in, with a fond cry he rushes towards her, singing
and caressing her with evident satisfaction. He then does duty as a
doll all day, or follows the child wherever she goes, and sleeps
with her when she sleeps.
“In our nursery,” writes a lady correspondent, “there was
always a cat, which was the favourite companion of the children,
submitting to many indignities which a dog would scarcely have
endured with so much patience. One handsome tabby cat, named by us
children Roland the Brave, used to hold his place in front of the
nursery fire, with the utmost patience and good-humour, in spite of
kettles boiling over on him, nursery-maids treading on his paws and
tail, and children teasing him in every possible way.”
“The tom-cat which I have at present,” says another, “keeps
my children company in their walks, and is indeed more careful of
them than the maid, who sometimes has forgotten her duty so far as
to leave the perambulator to look after itself, while she is
talking and laughing with a tall man in red. But Tom is not so
thoughtless, and sticks close by the children, showing signs of
anger when any one approaches. He seems, moreover, imbued with the
idea, that the every-day food of that domestic quadruped, the dog,
is babies, and, if any one is foolish enough to come snuffing round
the perambulator, Tom mounts him at once, and proceeds forthwith to
sharpen his claws in his hide. On one occasion when my family were
absent for a few days, Tom was so disconsolate that he refused to
take his food. To show his love for the children, I made the remark
to Tom, in presence of some friends, that baby was in the cradle;
the cat jumped up and went directly towards it, and examined it,
then returned mewing most mournfully because of the
disappointment.”
Pussy’s love for babies is always very noticeable. In fact,
with very little training, she may be taught, if not to nurse, at
least to mind, the baby. I know a cat which, as soon as the child
is placed in its little cot, lays itself gently down at its back;
and this is not for sake of warmth and comfort, as some may allege,
but from pure love of baby. For pussy lies perfectly still as long
as the child sleeps; but whenever she awakes, even before she
cries, the cat jumps down and runs to tell her mistress, runs back
to the cradle, and, with her forefeet on the edge, looks
alternately at baby and its mother, mewing entreatingly until the
child is lifted. Contented now, it throws itself at the mother’s
feet, and goes quietly off to sleep. Another cat I know of, that
goes regularly to the harvest-field, with its mistress and a young
child. The cat remains with the child all day, guarding him and
amusing him by playing at hide-and-seek with him, until evening,
when the mother, who has only visited her child two or three times
during the day, returns, generally to find baby and puss asleep in
each other’s arms.
Cats too not only mourn the absence of their little master or
mistress, but will try to follow them if they can.
“A certain party of my acquaintance,” says a lady, “had a
large cat called Tabby, who was a great favourite with all the
family. Tabby seemed to reciprocate the attachment of the different
members, but its fondness for the youngest daughter was something
wonderful. It would follow her about wherever she went, and if she
ever left home for a short time, poor pussy seemed quite wretched
until her return. At one time the child went to reside for two
months, with some friends many miles distant. You may fancy her
surprise and delight when one morning, after she had been about a
week in her new residence, in marches her dear friend and companion
Mistress Tabby, and nothing could induce her to leave again. Pussy
took up her abode with the girl, stuck by her all the time, and at
the end of the visit faithfully accompanied her back to their
home.”
A woman, whom I know, has a tom-cat, which watches constantly
by the baby’s cradle, when its mistress is absent. One day, when
hanging up some clothes in the garden, she became suddenly aware of
an awful row going on in the room she had just left. She entered,
just in time to see Tom riding a large shepherd’s collie round the
room, and back again, and finally out at the door. Tom was a most
cruel jockey, sparing neither bit(e) nor spur, as the howls of the
unhappy collie fully testified. That dog hasn’t been seen in the
immediate vicinity since.
The cat, mentioned in the following anecdote, was surely
worthy of the Humane Society’s bronze medallion, as much as any
Newfoundland ever was.
A certain lady’s little son was ill of scarlet fever. The
period of inflammation and danger was just over, but the poor child
was unable to sit or stand. Through all his illness, he had been
carefully watched by a faithful tom-cat, who seldom ever left his
bedside by night or by day; for Tom dearly loved the little fellow,
who, though now so still and quiet, used to lark and roll with him
on the parlour floor. But since his little master’s illness, Tom
had never been known to make the slightest attempt at fun. One day,
the child was taken by its mother from bed, and laid on the cool
sofa by way of change; and when he had fallen asleep she gently
left the room, Tom being on guard as usual. She had not been gone
many minutes, and was engaged in some household duties, when Tom
entered, squirrel-tailed and mewing most piteously, looking up into
her face, and then running to the door, plainly entreating his
mistress to hurry along with him. It was well she did so. Poor Tom
ran before her to the room in which she had left her boy, when she
found that, in attempting to get up, the child had fallen on the
floor along with the rugs in such a position, that death from
suffocation would have inevitably followed, but for the timely aid
summoned by this noble tom-cat.
I think I have said enough to prove how fond pussy is of
children, and how forbearing towards them; and surely this trait in
her character should endear her to us all. But I do thoroughly
deprecate pussy’s being made a plaything of, whether she be cat or
kitten. It is exceedingly cruel of parents to allow it, and is
taking an unfair advantage of the cat’s good-nature and sense. The
way she is lugged about, and tormented by some children, is very
prejudicial to her health and appearance. It often does her
grievous bodily harm, injures her heart and lungs, and stops her
growth, even if it does not induce paralysis and consequent death.
Let your children love pussy, pussy loves your children; only
kindly point out to them the essential difference between a
play thing and a play
mate .
[ See Note
D , Addenda. ]
PUSSY “POLL.”
The following sketch of cat-life is contributed by one who
loves “all things both great and small.” We give it
in extenso .
Even supposing it to be endowed with the nine lives ascribed
to the race, was it at all probable that I would be successful in
rearing to mature cathood that dripping little wretch?
Such was the question, which not without doubt, I asked
myself while attempting to dry a kitten, some two weeks old, which
I had just saved from death in a neighbouring horsepond. Arrived at
home, I put in practice as many of the Royal Humane Society’s rules
for the treatment of the apparently drowned, as I found applicable
to the case in hand, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing my
charge, comfortably sleeping in a bed prepared in an old cap, by
the fireside. Not less successful were my efforts at nursing, and
in a few weeks, Poll, for so I named my pet, had grown to be the
daintiest thing possible; the very impersonation of mischief and
fun, without thought or care, from morn till night, except that
of—
“Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only kittens can.”
Time passed on, however, and with years, or rather months,
came troubles, one of the first causes of which to puss was a
mirror. To her it was a mystery which cost many hours of deep
thought and serious study; but never could she understand why the
cat which was always visible in front could neither be seen, felt,
nor heard, behind the glass.
Numerous experiments were made to solve the puzzle; but the
most common one was for Poll to seat herself in front of the mirror
and critically examine her vis-à-vis
. The thing seeming so real, she next would give the glass a
pat with her paw, and run round to the back; but nothing being
found there, one paw was then put in front and the other kept
behind. She would then peep round into the glass, and still seeing
puss there, would renew her efforts to catch her. This was repeated
almost daily for some time; but at last puss seemed to have
resolved that the mystery should remain one no longer, so struck at
her opponent with full force, and of course seemed to receive a
blow in return. In an instant Poll sprang to her feet and assumed a
position of defiance; but her foe, nothing loath for the fray, was
equally ready. A moment’s pause, and puss hurled herself on her
foe. There was a crash. A cat rushed wildly out of the door, and I
proceeded to gather fragments of a mirror from off the
floor.
At meal-times, puss regularly seated herself on my shoulder,
and waited patiently for what she considered her due proportion;
but if I seemed to neglect her, she gently reminded me of her
presence by patting my cheek with her paw. If that was not
sufficient, the paw was pressed on my cheek, the claws slowly
protruded, and my face drawn round towards her. Success invariably
attended this manœuvre; and after receiving her share, she thanked
me by rubbing her head against my cheek, and licking my
face.
In due course a young family of kittens appeared; but of
course they all, save one, met the fate from which I had saved
their mother. With the family came family cares. Soon the kitten
was old enough to begin to receive its education, and then mice at
any time, varied occasionally with a rat or two were to be found
lying about the floor. As the kitten got older, and was able to be
left for longer periods alone, Poll extended her hunting
excursions: one morning she brought home four or five young
partridges, and the following day one of the parent birds. The next
great hunt produced as many young rabbits, and although to such
games I had no great objection to offer; yet, when frogs, toads, or
lizards were the produce of a day’s sport, as was sometimes the
case, I did protest.
On one occasion, while the kitten was playing out of doors,
it was pursued by a dog belonging to a neighbour, but escaped
through a hole in a wall close by. Poll, who at some distance had
seen the whole affair, at once darted to her kitten’s side, and did
her best to quiet its fears, telling it, doubtless, that she would
take an early opportunity of teaching that dog better manners. The
opportunity was not long wanting. Next day the dog again passing,
was noticed by puss, who ran and hid behind a corner, near which he
would come, and there waited his approach. Just as he turned she
sprung on his head, and with teeth and claws took hold so firm that
he in vain endeavoured to shake her off. Going to his assistance, I
with considerable difficulty disengaged puss, but not before his
head was badly torn.
But although thus ready to do battle when occasion required,
puss knew also how to evade a foe when so inclined.
Always treating the game-laws with that respect of which they
are worthy, puss was of course never disturbed in her rambles by
gamekeepers; and so ’twas quite an accident when, being in the
middle of a field, she was chased by a dog belonging to one.
Possibly on that particular morning she may have remembered that
“discretion is the better part of valour;” and so, when she saw the
dog coming, she made for the cliffs, by which on one side the field
was bounded. But the dog was swift, and ere half the distance was
passed he was upon her. Just, however, as he was about to seize
her, she sprang on one side and stopped, the dog rushing forward
some half dozen yards. While he was stopping and turning, she
darted past, and thus continued to elude him till the cliffs were
reached.
While Poll and I were taking a walk one evening, a curious
incident occurred. A rook flying overhead seemed struck with some
peculiarity about puss; for suddenly checking himself in his
flight, he circled once or twice round us both, and apparently
satisfied with the survey, darted away to the opposite side of the
field, where a large flock of rooks were feeding. He took not time
to alight, but gave several peculiar caws, in a tone which seemed
to me expressive of great excitement. What his communication was, I
know not; but it seemed perfectly intelligible to the other rooks,
which instantly took wing, and, following him as their leader, bore
down on puss, who by this time had mounted on the top of a fence,
and was quietly taking a survey of the surrounding scenery. At
first I expected to see them attempt to carry her off bodily; but
if such was their intention, none of them had sufficient courage to
begin the attack. Sometimes, indeed, one bolder than the rest would
make a near approach; but, as on these occasions puss endeavoured
to make a capture, they preferred keeping at a safe distance. For
fully five minutes they thus continued to circle around, filling
the air with a perfect Babel of sound, and then, as suddenly
departed as they had come.
This was almost the last adventure of note which we two had
together. Shortly after, having to remove to a distant part of the
country, where I could not take my darling with me, it became
necessary either to leave her with some acquaintance or destroy
her. With increasing years, her temper, never good towards
strangers, did not improve, and being afraid that if I left her
behind me she might be subjected to bad treatment, I determined to
adopt the course which seemed the lesser of two evils. On the day
of my departure, we paid a last visit to the ocean.
“A splash, a plunge, and all was o’er,—
The billows rolled on as they rolled before;”
and puss, my most pleasant companion and faithful friend, had
met the fate from which I saved her so many years before. “
Sic est vita. ”
