My Name is Meow

PUSSY MEOW:

The Autobiography of a Cat

BY
S. LOUISE PATTESON

With an Introduction by
SARAH K. BOLTON

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO
103-105 SOUTH FIFTEENTH STREET

Copyright, 1901
By George W. Jacobs & Co.

To “Guy”

Preface

In the fall of 1895, while the National Convention of the S. P. C. A. was in session in Cleveland, a group of people stood in the assembly room one day discussing “Black Beauty” and “Beautiful Joe.” One expressed the hope that as the horse and the dog had now secured a public hearing, some one would be willing to undertake the same for the cat. That same evening “Pussy Meow” began writing her story. Its only object is to breathe out the joys, the sorrows and the longings of a misunderstood and much maligned fellow-creature, and to secure for her the consideration which humanity owes to the dumb.

Cleveland, O., 1901.

Contents

Illustrations

Introduction

I have read with great interest this true story of “Pussy Meow,” written by one, who, in the midst of a very busy life, finds time to be a devoted friend to the speechless, and to study their nature and habits. The life of the author has been full of noble deeds for animals, and I am glad of an opportunity to say how much I wish all women would do likewise.

The book abounds in practical suggestions about the care, the food, the comfort, and the needs of the animal world, blended so pleasantly with the story that both young people and adults will find it charming and helpful. The picture of the happy home of mother and child, where cats sleep in the sun, or kittens frolic and make merry with their human friends, will linger in one’s mind long after the book is closed. Now one’s heart is touched by the pathetic death of a homeless creature, and again one laughs at the winsome and intelligent acts of our dumb companions.

After reading the book, some will remember to make their pets happy on Christmas day, rather than spend all for personal enjoyment. Some, it is hoped, when going into the country for the summer, or for a vacation, will take their cats with them, as did the writer of “Pussy Meow,” and not let them starve alone at home; or, on returning to the city, leave them on ocean beaches, or deserted mountain-tops, to die of hunger and cold.

Cats have had a varied history. In Egypt, in early times, they were loved and worshiped. At death they were embalmed, and given a costly funeral. Cambyses, the son of Cyrus the Great, when he conquered Egypt, placed a number of cats and dogs at the head of his army, and the Egyptians unwilling to kill the creatures they loved, would not defend themselves, and became an easy prey. The present Shah of Persia, it is said, has fifty petted cats, each cared for by an attendant, and these accompany him in his travels.

Cats have been loved by noted persons through the centuries. Mahomet cut off the sleeve of his robe rather than awaken the pet cat who slept upon it. Petrarch loved his cat and had it embalmed at death. Montaigne could do his best writing only when his left hand fondled his cat.

The love of sailors and soldiers for their pets is well known. In the dreadful explosion of the Maine before Havana, two of the three cats belonging to the sailors, perished, but Tom, thirteen years old, beloved by all the seamen, was saved. He was asleep three decks down, or nearly thirty feet below the upper deck. In the agony of dying men, probably nobody thought of Tom. In the morning he was discovered crying piteously, on that part of the wreck which remained above the water. Commodore Wainwright hastened to take him off in a boat to the Fern, where he was warmly welcomed.

Nothing attracted me more on the great battle-ship Indiana, battered in the war with Spain, than a basket containing a cat and five kittens, whom the sailors were shielding from the sun with a piece of canvas, and talking to them in terms of endearment.

“Take care of my cat!” were the last words of Dr. Stark, a British surgeon killed by a shell at Ladysmith, in the war with the Boers. The animal had been his constant companion.

“The cat,” as Harrison Weir says, “is not only a very useful animal about the house and premises, but is also ornamental. It is lithe and beautiful in form, and graceful in action.”

Another well-known English writer says, “There is no animal in existence more sensitive and capable of attachment than the domestic cat, or any of her progeny.”

Cats have often saved life; also houses from burning. At Geneva, N. Y., a child of three attempted to take a rattlesnake. A pet Maltese cat killed it, and saved the child. A similar thing happened in Pennsylvania.

A woman in New York City took into her house a stray and hungry cat. A year later by the explosion of a lamp, the house was set on fire. The cries of the cat aroused the owner, and thus all the inmates of the tenement house were saved.

On the Pacific Coast, the steamer Wildwood went to the bottom of the bay. There was but one man asleep on board at the time of sinking. The boat’s cat scratched the face of the sleeper, who threw her away from him. Again she scratched his face, and cried so vigorously that the man was aroused, climbed the mast, and was rescued.

Cats are often devoted to animals, as well as to persons. My own pet cat, Maltese and white, was the loving friend of my great St. Bernard dog, Bernie. When the mate of the Maltese died, the cat came to the dog, apparently for sympathy. For a year they walked together, shared their bed, and were like human friends. The dog died when six years old, and the lonely cat soon followed, and was buried beside Bernie.

We seem to be coming into a nobler civilization. Queen Victoria said at the Jubilee meeting of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals: “No civilization is complete which does not include the dumb and defenseless of God’s creatures within the sphere of charity and mercy.”

We are growing kinder to animals; homes are being provided for the homeless. There are homes for cats in Dublin, in London, and other English cities, as well as some in Egypt and India. The Gifford Sheltering Home for Animals, in Boston, is doing great good; also the Frances Power Cobbe Refuge in Indianapolis, Indiana. We are teaching our children to be kind to every living creature. May this story of “Pussy Meow” help forward the good work.

Sarah K. Bolton.

Pussy Meow

I
EARLY RECOLLECTIONS

I am a little pussy cat, and my name is Meow.

When I was a very small kitty, I lived with my mother and two other kittens in a nice green yard. My mother was a purple Maltese, and she used to tell us with great pride how, as a kitten, she was brought here by her mistress from old Virginia. Her name was Malta, and her children were Nora, Fluffie and Trix.

I was Fluffie.

And we had such a dear little mistress.

Her full name was Annebelle Virginia Lowery, but they called her “Virgie” for short. She had beautiful golden curls, and eyes the color of the sky when the sun shines. Her cheeks were like two little rosy cushions.

Every morning a “bus,” filled with pretty children, called to take Miss Virgie to the kindergarten, and sometimes she would take Miriam and Mildred with her. I used to wish she would take me too.

In the garden Miss Virgie had a little playhouse, in a sunny corner of which was our basket and rug, and here also lived Miriam and Mildred. On pleasant afternoons the nurse would bring Miriam and Mildred out under a big shade-tree where there was a bench and a table; and here Miss Virgie sometimes “served tea” in dainty blue china, while we kittens would frolic among the bushes and learn to climb trees. But poor Miriam and Mildred could not have any such fun as we did; they just remained seated on the bench all the time; you see they were only dollies.

My mother could climb clear up to the tops of the tallest trees, and she was allowed to go wherever she pleased, because she was so wise.

Sometimes she would be gone away a long time, and upon her return would bring a mouse or a sparrow for us, and teach us how to play with it. But our favorite plaything was her long bushy tail, of which she seemed to be very proud, and which she would twist and toss and sway before our eyes in the most tantalizing fashion. Of course, we would all take our turn at trying to catch it, but the minute we thought we had a good hold, the first thing we knew the tail would be over on the other side; and then by the time we got over there, it would be back where it was before. Many times, when, after long chasing, I finally caught hold of the elusive member, and while holding on to it with all my might, I could feel it slipping and sliding through my claws, and before I knew it had gone from me, I would see her proudly waving it in the air again.

One morning, when my mother had gone away as usual, I saw some children at play on the sidewalk, and I thought how nice it would be to be with them. It was very naughty for me to think of such a thing, because we had been told never to go outside the yard; and as neither Trix nor Nora would go with me, I went alone.

As soon as I reached the sidewalk, a big black dog came across the street and barked at me. I started to run back through the gate, but it had closed, and I hadn’t time to look for a hole to crawl through. So I ran down the sidewalk, trembling with fright.

When I had run a long way, I went into a yard, but the people there didn’t like cats; a boy was sent to chase me through the gate, and I continued my wearisome journey. How I did wish that somebody would take me up, or show me the way home; but nobody seemed to care what became of me. Finally, being so very tired, I crawled in under a fence, and seeing no one around, I lay down in the corner and went to sleep.

I do not know how long I lay there. When I awoke the moon was shining, and I continued my journey down the sidewalk, hoping to find my yard. But when after a long walk I didn’t find it, not knowing what else to do, I sat down by a tree and began to cry.

To make me still more wretched and unhappy, two boys came along, and one of them started to pelt me with stones. He was the same boy that had chased me out of his yard that very morning. I suppose he would have killed me had not a kind lady come along just at that moment. I was trying to hide behind the tree so the stones would not hit me, but as soon as the lady saw me, she called one of the boys by name. “Teddy, dear,” said she, “I am surprised to see that you will allow such a heartless thing as this to happen in your presence. Think how your mother would feel if she knew of it.”

The lady then stooped down and talked very kindly to me, and I answered her; and when she got up to go, I followed, and cried after her so loudly that she finally picked me up and took me with her. Oh, how glad I was to get away from that dreadful boy and his stones! I kissed the gloves on the hands that held me to show my thankfulness.

My lady friend had walked but a short distance when she stopped at a little house and rang the bell; but the house was dark, and it was a long time before any one opened the door. At last a lady came out, and my friend said, “Isn’t this one of your kittens?”

“Yes,” said the lady, without even looking at me, “they run away every little while.”

Then she took me out of my friend’s hands and carried me to the kitchen, and put me in a basket that had a nice soft pad in it, and some other cats. But they did not notice me, and very soon I fell asleep and forgot the day’s troubles.

II
BUDGE AND TODDY

The next morning I was still in the basket when I heard some one say: “Do look, here is a new kitten, a tiger! it must be the one I took in last night, thinking it was mine.” The voice was the same that I had heard at the door the evening before.

For a moment I feared that I should lose my nice new home; but when I saw the lady’s round, good-natured face, I knew that she could not find it in her heart to turn away a helpless little creature like me, even if she had taken me in by mistake.

After petting the other kittens a while, the lady took me up and looked into my eyes, and said I had a good face. Then a big boy came out and she put me into his arms. I trembled when he took me, for I had learned to be afraid of boys. But this boy handled me very gently, and after looking me all over carefully and pressing me fondly to his cheek, he said, “Why, mamma, this is a beautiful kitty! Won’t you let her stay?” Then he put me very tenderly back into the basket.

“She looks so much like our old Meow,” said the lady, “I think we will keep her.” You can imagine that this made me very happy.

They named me “Meow,” and the other two cats were “Budge” and “Toddy.” They were Maltese.

For a time Budge and Toddy acted anything but friendly toward me, but as they were bigger than I, I just kept very quiet, while they stood by the edge of the basket, humping their backs, bristling their tails and grinning at me to their hearts’ content. Pretty soon mistress came out with our breakfast, and they ran to meet her; but I remained in the basket until invited to join them. I was glad mistress stayed while we ate, for Budge gave an angry growl every now and then, and Toddy tried his best to crowd me out of the dish. But the breakfast tasted good just the same, because a day’s fasting had made me very hungry.

I saw at once that Budge and Toddy were very well-bred cats, for they washed themselves as soon as they had finished the meal, just as my dear mother had taught me to do. But being in a new place, and amid strange surroundings, somehow I forgot myself for a time, and while Budge and Toddy washed I just sat and watched them. When Toddy had finished, to my great surprise he came over and started to wash me too. I suppose he thought I hadn’t been properly taught because I sat and watched him instead of washing myself. But I soon showed him that he was mistaken, and I have ever since strictly observed the rule of washing after meals.

They say folks wash before meals, and that only cats wait until afterward. The reason for this is, as I have heard, that once a cat had caught a nice fat mouse, and was just going to make a dinner of her, when Mousie said: “Shame on you, to eat without first washing yourself.” So the cat stopped to wash; and while she did so, Mousie ran back into her hole.

When Budge and Toddy saw that I had really come amongst them to stay they wanted to know where I had come from, and I very gladly told them. As I talked about my proud and beautiful Virginia mother, and my sweet little mistress, Miss Virgie, and her playhouse, they kept moving closer and closer to me; and when I finished, Toddy said he hoped I would stay, and that he and Budge would do all they could to make it pleasant for me. They both begged me to forgive them for their spiteful conduct in the early morning; from that time on they acted very kindly toward me, and I was permitted to join them in their play.

I soon found that they had many cozy corners all around the yard, as well as in the house, and one of our favorite places was under the porch, where we used to go for safety. You may wonder what I mean by “safety,” when we have such a kind mistress and such a good home. I will tell you.

Mistress and the boy are away all day, and very often during those days when we were small, helpless kittens, a certain little boy would come into our yard and annoy us. He had no one to play with, and I suppose he wanted to play with us, but he didn’t know how. How I did wish that the “bus” would come and take him to the kindergarten.

Whenever he came in, if we saw him in time, we would run as fast as we could and crawl in between the latticework under the porch, and hide in there till he had gone.

As time went by the fur on my back and sides became worn very short, because I had such hard work to squeeze through. You see I grew bigger every day, and the hole didn’t.

One day our little tormentor tied a string around Toddy’s neck, fastened it to his velocipede, and then rode up and down the sidewalk, as fast as he could. And there is no telling how long he would have kept it up if a kind neighbor across the street had not come over and taken Toddy away from him.

When mistress came home that evening, they told her about Eddie’s cruelty, and as she had warned him already many times to let her kittens alone, she said she would report the case to the “Humane Agent.”

I never learned what the gentleman did, but from that day Eddie did not trouble us for a long time, and we think that next to mistress and the boy, the Humane Agent is our best friend.

But alas for poor Budge and Toddy! A few moons after I came to my new home Toddy disappeared, and we all felt very badly about it. The next day Budge went away, I suppose to look for Toddy, and he never came back. Then for several days mistress and the boy had such sad faces that it made me very unhappy. They asked the milkman and the grocer and the letter-carrier to look out for the two kittens, but we never heard anything more of them, and I was without any companions for quite a while.

As for me I rather enjoyed being alone, because mistress and the boy paid more attention to me than they had ever done before. At meal-time I was allowed to sit on a chair beside mistress, and at night I slept at the foot of her bed.

But the days seemed very long, until I became acquainted with our neighbor’s dog, Dennis, a large handsome fellow with brown curly hair and beautiful brown eyes. Although Dennis had more good things at home than any one dog could eat, for he was always burying something in his yard, yet he came to our house daily for the little titbits that mistress would give to him. But having had one unpleasant experience with a dog I kept at a distance from Dennis; till one day he proved himself a real friend. Two saucy little curs came into my yard and chased me up a tree, when Dennis, with one bound, jumped at them and drove them away, and after that he and I were the best of friends.

III
MY REASONS FOR WRITING THIS STORY

When mistress and the boy are at home, he generally reads aloud to her and at such times I usually sit on his lap or by his side. About the time Budge and Toddy went away he read a story which was written by “Black Beauty,” a horse. I thought it was rather peculiar that a horse should write a story. But Black Beauty told people how to take care of horses, how to provide for their comfort and how to sympathize with them, in doing which he set the whole world to thinking for a time about nothing but horses, and in that way did them a very good turn.

By the way, the boy’s name is Guy. His eyes are just like Miss Virgie’s, and he has beautiful flaxen hair.

Guy

Before I knew Guy, I supposed all boys were rude and cruel, but I feel sure now that I was mistaken. One of Guy’s dearest friends is Teddy, who was with the boy that threw stones at me on that sad day when I was a homeless cat. Teddy came to see Guy quite often, but he always treated me very kindly. I really think it a pity that he should ever have been with that cruel boy.

My Friend Dennis

After Guy had finished reading the story of Black Beauty, he read one written by a dog, “Beautiful Joe.” I saw his picture in the book, but I did not think him half as beautiful as my friend Dennis that visits me every day. But Joe had a beautiful spirit, and that counts far more than a beautiful body. Who could read of the cruel blows and kicks and all the other insults which he suffered so patiently at the hands and feet of old Jenkins, without feeling in his inmost soul that henceforth he would defend and protect all helpless and harmless creatures? In this way Joe conferred a lasting benefit upon his fellow-dogs, and even I, who am only a cat, with no natural fondness for dogs, must say that I learned many things from Joe that made me have more respect for dogs. I also became filled with a desire to be as good and useful a cat as Joe was a dog, and it was during those long, lonesome days when I was without any companions that the thought came to me about writing this story. May be you think a cat does not even have thoughts. How dreadful! Well, I thought if dogs and horses can write stories, why can’t I? And so I concluded to try.

I had often heard mistress read stories about cats, cat shows and cat clubs, but it was always about Persian cats and Angoras, and I made up my mind that my story should be about tigers and Maltese and black cats, because they are considered to be of so very little importance. I have known of many a poor, sick cat just treated as a nuisance, and compelled to stay outdoors; whereas then, if ever, she needs a warm, comfortable place, and nourishing food.

And when a cat has kittens, she is usually put into the barn, or the basement, if tolerated in the house at all. Now very few kittens will learn orderly habits when raised in a place where they can do as they please; and when such a kitten is taken into a home it causes no end of trouble. In many cases it is abused and made very miserable, not for any fault of its own, but because it has not been properly trained. This is one reason why there are so many poor tramp cats. Another reason is, that some people will let a cat raise five or six kittens without paying any attention to her needs as to food or shelter, and the poor things somehow live, or rather, they exist. Then when nobody wants them, as is always the case with kittens raised in this way, they are given to the milkman or to some farmer to be “strayed” out in the country, where no other fate awaits them but slow starvation. In a case like this, five cents’ worth of chloroform administered to the kittens at the time of birth, leaving only one alive for the mother cat, would have saved them from the terrible tortures of starvation.

Then too some people who are very kind-hearted themselves, have cruel servants who look upon a pet in the household as an added burden, and who will utterly neglect, if not positively abuse them. Right here I am reminded of an incident told to mistress by a young lady who called one evening. She was doing some writing for a minister, and she said that almost daily her feelings were wrought up at sight of an old black cat, gaunt looking, half-starved, and with a broken leg, hobbling around in the yard. “To-day,” said she, “I had some milk left over from my lunch, and I asked the cook for the cat’s dish.”

“Cat’s dish! the cat ain’t got no dish, throw it on the walk,” was the reply. “Why,” continued the lady, “I saw enough table scraps thrown into the garbage can each day to make a feast for that poor cat, and not one of the good people ever gave her a thought.”

Speaking of ministers reminds me of a gentleman that called on mistress one evening, and as I happened to be lying on the library table, they fell to talking about me, and about cats and dogs generally.

“It’s all right,” said the gentleman, “for people that can afford it, to have pets. But in my experience in visiting among all classes of people, somehow wherever I find a big family of half-fed and neglected children there are sure to be in the same home one or more cats or dogs, and sometimes both; and of course, the food that is given to them ought by rights to go to the children. But the worst of it is, these people seem to think as much of their cats and dogs as they do of their children.”

“That is an unintended compliment,” said mistress, “which proves the softening and humanizing effect of these pets upon those with whom they associate. And certainly, this more than makes up for the few little extra morsels that they require for their maintenance.”

Now I have told you some of the things I would like to bring to the notice of ladies and children especially. Oh, if with this story I start all the world to think for awhile about cats—Maltese and tigers and black cats, that are so much exposed to suffering because within the reach of everybody, I shall feel that I have done some real good. And even if I do not write as good a story as did Black Beauty, or Beautiful Joe, you will at least know that I tried to do what I could to help my fellow-cats. And who knows but some cats, older and wiser than myself, may be encouraged by my effort to do more?

IV
A PLEASANT OUTING

When the time came for mistress and Guy to take their summer outing, they did not desert me or leave me to the mercies of our neighbors, as has been the fate of many a poor cat. No; they very thoughtfully made the necessary provision to take me with them.

When they were ready to start, they put me in a nice big bag, which Guy suspended over his shoulder. It was a bag that mistress brought from Switzerland, and I have heard her say it is such a one as the women there carry to market when they go to buy provisions. It had large holes between the stitches so I could look through, and see what was going on.

First we took a long ride on a street car and Guy held me on his lap. But never having been on a car, I was dreadfully afraid of the noise. Guy held me real close to his breast and talked kindly to me, but by the time I got over being afraid, we were at the end of our ride.

When we alighted from the street car, we boarded a big steamboat on which we rode all day. Mistress allowed me to walk around a little, and I saw the beautiful water and the bright sunshine, and some birds. How birds could live on the water greatly puzzled me.

There were many people on the boat, and some children played with me and gave me cake and popcorn. I thought they must have cats at home, for they knew just what cats like.

But while the children were very polite to me, some of the older people were just the reverse. For instance, there was a woman who poked her umbrella into my side, saying: “There is a cat; what a nuisance!”

Mistress said to her very kindly: “It is my kitty.”

Then the woman asked mistress a good many questions about me: why she didn’t leave me at home; how she could be bothered with a cat when traveling; or, was it a new “fad.”

Mistress told her there was no one at home, and that she thought it cruel to desert a faithful domestic animal. Furthermore, she said, I had been no trouble to her so far, and that this was not the first time she had had a cat for a traveling companion.

Then the woman became more polite to me, and said I had a beautiful coat and a pleasing face.

After a while a big girl came over to where I lay. She came so quickly it frightened me, and I got up and started to run from her, but she grabbed me by the tail and pulled me back.

Of course, I cried out, not so much from pain, as because of the insolence of such treatment.

“What’s the matter, Tabby?” said she.

I said “Me-ow” just as loud as I could.

Mistress told her I was not used to being pulled around by my tail. Then the girl stroked my back and smoothed my fur, and I was no longer afraid. I think she did not mean to frighten me, only she didn’t know the proper way to call a cat.

Mistress told her how I stayed at home alone every day when she was gone, and never ran away, and how I behaved so nicely on the cars. I am sure the girl will be a better friend to cats hereafter.

I had never before been in such a large crowd as there was on that boat, and I could not help noticing what a difference there is in people. Some in passing by would look at me sneeringly, and even point their fingers; some would take no notice of me at all; others would smile, and still others would bend over and give me a gentle stroke. But the children—bless their dear hearts—they all had good words for me, and some gave me something even better.

As the sun was going down we arrived at a place where the boat stopped and everybody got off. Guy put me into my nice bag, and the next thing I knew we were in a large room in a great big strange house that they called a hotel. Guy got me a saucer of milk for my supper, and I slept all night on mistress’ bed.

The next morning we started out right after breakfast and took a long ride in a carriage. I noticed after we had ridden a while that it was a very long distance between houses. Finally we stopped at a nice white cottage with green blinds, standing in a yard that was so long I could not see the next house. They called it a farm.

The weather being terribly hot, the long ride in the carriage had made me very ill; I could hardly get my breath, and I was dizzy. I lay in the orchard under an apple tree, and mistress sat beside me, wondering what to do. Finally she poured some castor oil down my throat, which tasted very unpleasant; but in a few hours I was all right again, and after that I had a delightful time.

There were two big cats on the farm; one white and the other yellow; and as they had no name, only “Kitty,” mistress named the white one “Blanche” and the yellow one “Goldie.”

They did not like me at first; in fact they acted just like Budge and Toddy did when I came to live with my mistress. But the next morning mistress took us all in her lap and petted us for a long time; then she gave us some nice warm milk in a big saucer, and we ate breakfast together; and after that Blanche and Goldie were more friendly towards me. But we did not see much of each other, for they spent most of their time out in the field. Their “corner” was a big market-basket on the kitchen porch; but I did not have to share it with them, because I always slept on my mistress’ bed.

This reminds me of a wicked slander on cats that I have heard, namely, that it is not safe for people to sleep in the same room with them for fear they will suck their breath and cause them to suffocate. The only foundation for this is that cats love warmth. When sleeping in a cold room they will seek out the warmest place they can find, and if that happens to be near a person’s face, they are apt to go there; not because they want to suck the breath, but simply because they love the warmth that emanates with the breath.

An old gentleman lived on the farm whom Guy called grandpa, and an old lady whom he called grandma, whose portraits I had often seen in mistress’ room. Grandpa was abed most of the time, and was visited every day by a man they called “Doctor.” It was he who told mistress to give me castor oil.

One day mistress took me into grandpa’s room and said, “Father, this is Meow the Second.” Although grandpa was too ill to say much to me, still I knew from the kind look on his face, and from his gentle touch, that he was a friend of cats. “I’m very glad to see Meow, but don’t hurt Watch’s feelings,” was all he was able to say, and pretty soon mistress took me out.

Watch was a big shepherd dog that had lived on the farm for many years. He wanted to be in grandpa’s room all the time. When he was admitted he would lie down alongside the bed, and look straight at grandpa all the while, till he was ordered out, and then he just went as far as the door and lay down. There he would stay all day, and unless his food was brought to him, he would go hungry.

Watch never did me any harm, but he wasn’t as friendly with me as Dennis. He barked at all strangers, but never hurt anybody.

In front of the house was a very large maple tree under which mistress stretched her hammock, and there in the cool shade we spent many happy days; but Guy spent most of his time at the neighbors helping the boys do their chores.

V
SOME EXPERIENCES ON THE FARM

I had never seen any chickens until I visited grandpa’s farm, so one day shortly after our arrival I went into the chicken-coop to make them a visit.

A hen was sitting on a lot of eggs, and I had no intention of disturbing her. But when she saw me she began a terrible cackling, and flew away. Then I went up and sat on the eggs myself; but in a few minutes the big rooster came to the coop, followed by nearly all the other roosters and the hens, and such a cackling and crowing I never heard in all my life. It seemed as if every one of the seventy fowl in the barnyard would cry themselves hoarse. I concluded that I was not a welcome visitor, so I left the nest and jumped out of the window. I thought it best not to go through the door with all those cacklers in wait for me.

The stable was empty, because Elsa the cow, and Kate the horse, were out in the pasture. Elsa had large brown eyes and a beautiful brown coat with a white star on her forehead, and she was very gentle. Guy generally rubbed her back and sides and shooed off the flies while grandma milked her, and we cats were always on hand at milking time. Just as soon as grandma had finished she would always pour some milk into our saucer, and it tasted just about like our city milkman’s cream. (Once when Guy came home from school he filled my saucer out of the cream pail, and that’s how I know what city cream tastes like.)

Elsa had once been the queen of a large milk-herd, and she seemed very proud of her old Swiss cow-bell which always hung at her neck, suspended from a leather strap. Whenever it was time to bring her in from the pasture, grandma or Guy would take a little bucket containing salt, and stand up on the fence and show it to Elsa. Then as soon as she saw it she would come right along; and, of course, she was always given some salt as soon as she reached the barnyard.

It was Kate that brought us out from the steamboat landing on that dreadfully hot summer day. There was no real hard work for her to do on the farm. But she had served grandpa so well during the years of her strength, that, although no longer needed, still she was allowed to remain and enjoy the rest and quiet. All the neighbors seemed to know and respect her, and whenever any of them passed by, she would go up to the fence and whinney, in response to their greeting. Elsa was her constant companion in the pasture, and their lot was indeed a happy one.

Another animal on the farm was Billy, the pig, though I am sorry to say his place was so uninviting I did not care to visit him very often. But really, poor Billy was not to blame; his “pen” was so small, and there was no way for him to get out when he wanted to; how could he keep it clean and tidy?

Why he was singled out to be treated as a prisoner, when all the other animals on the farm were free to roam at will, was more than I could understand, unless it was because grandpa was too ill to attend to him. As I used to see Billy stare through the cracks in the walls of the narrow gloomy prison that shut him away from the great, beautiful world, and as I listened to his ceaseless grunting, I could not help but pity him. Although I did not understand his language, I felt sure that he must be complaining of his unhappy lot.

“How I wish that somebody would write a book for Billy,” said mistress to Guy one day, as they were passing his place, “so that people would be made to think how unjustly he is being treated.”

“Yes,” said Guy, “it’s just as easy to have pigs in clover as in a pen. Have I never told you about the excellent arrangement Uncle Ellison has on his farm?”

“No, you did not; what is it?” said mistress, eagerly.

“Well,” said Guy, “his pig yard is quite a good sized enclosure, extending at the rear into a little grove where the pigs can lie in the cool shade when it is hot. Adjoining this is a similar enclosure, and every year the pigs are changed from one field to the other, and the one last used by the pigs is plowed up and sown to clover. In this way they have a clean, wholesome and comfortable place all the time.”

“This explains why Uncle Ellison gets a higher price for his hogs than any farmer around there,” said mistress. “If grandpa were well, I would tell him about it; but perhaps you could make Billy just a little happier by spading up the ground inside of his pen.”

“Yes,” said Guy; “and perhaps the neighbor’s boys will help me.”

So the next day the boys locked Billy into the corn-crib while they turned the ground in his pen with spades and freshened it; the trough was scalded and scrubbed, and left in the sun to dry. When Billy was led back to his pen, he grunted his thankfulness to his friends the best he knew how. As for me, I concluded to put Uncle Ellison’s plan into my story; for who knows but some of the boys who read it may be farmers some day, and will want to try it?

While we were at grandpa’s one of his neighbors’ hogs was taken sick, and the man brought six little white pigs up to grandpa’s because he wished to separate them from their mother, for fear they too might catch the disease. I never saw anything prettier than those little pigs, and they were just as clean as so many kittens. The man put them into an old pen not far from Billy’s, and there they squealed and grunted to their hearts’ content, and stuck their noses through every little crack in the pen. I noticed that some of the boards were loose so that they could wiggle them up and down, and each one tried to make them wiggle a little more than the others had done before him. One day at dinner-time, when I was in my usual place on the window-sill, suddenly I saw a white streak shooting through the orchard and out into the road, and just then Guy jumped up and said: “There go the pigs.”

They had succeeded in loosening one of the boards and making their escape, and the last I saw of them they were running down the road to their mother as fast as they could, leaving a big cloud of dust behind them.

This set me to thinking on pigs in general, and I concluded that they are by nature intelligent and clean, and like the rest of us, all they want is a chance.

VI
HOME AGAIN

One morning very early mistress packed up her things and Guy’s, and Kate was hitched up to the carriage and brought up to the side of the house. Everybody was very sad; and I couldn’t understand what it all meant, till I saw mistress and Guy bid grandpa good-bye. Grandpa was still lying in bed, with Watch by his side, and they were all crying.

Blanche and Goldie were just ready to go out into the field, but they stopped to bid me good-bye, and said they were sorry to have me go now that they had got acquainted with me; and they hoped that another summer I would visit them again.

I was put into my bag as usual; and Guy took me with him into the carriage. Kate took us to the boat landing; and in a short time we were afloat on the beautiful blue water.

The boat was crowded with people, and it was very warm. I was tired and wanted to sleep, so mistress took me into her stateroom, where I lay on the bed and had a nice rest. Soon after I awoke we reached a place where we alighted and took dinner at a large hotel. Guy carried the bag in which I was, suspended over his shoulder by a leather strap, and when he was seated at the table he slipped the bag over my head and fed me on his lap. You must remember that at that time I was still a kitten, about half grown.

After dinner we sat on the lawn in front of the hotel, and I was allowed to run around at will till it was time to return to the boat. I was listening to the music of the band, when I espied on the piazza a poodle dog. As soon as he saw me, he came down the steps and I, thinking to exchange greetings with him, walked over to meet him. I don’t know whether he objected to the curve in my back, or the jug handle shape of my tail, but evidently Mr. Poodle was not in the habit of meeting lady cats. Instead of responding to my greeting in a gentlemanly manner, he bent low on his forelegs and barked at me.

At this I showed him the color of my teeth, and the length of my claws, and he immediately retreated, his tail drawn tightly between his legs.

“What next?” you say. Well, I chased some grasshoppers, and caught a fly or two, and by that time we had to return to the boat to resume our journey.

At the hotel mistress met some friends, who were going on the same boat, and welcome ones they were, for they were the first people we had met on our entire journey that did not “exclaim” at seeing a cat in the party.

The one I liked best of all was Miss Wallace, a very lovely young lady, who held me on her lap nearly all the time. I was very thankful to her, for it was better than being out where I would get my tail pulled and umbrellas poked into my side. Miss Wallace told us about her kitty at home, Nellie, of purest white; and she said she was just homesick to see her, because she had been away over a week.

“I suppose, of course, you left her in somebody’s care,” said mistress.

“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Wallace, “I would not think of such a thing as leaving her uncared for.”

I was not at all surprised to hear Miss Wallace’s answer, for I knew the moment I saw her gentle face and soft brown eyes, that she had a tender and sympathetic heart. I think I must have taken a nap on her lap, for it seemed in a very little while the boat stopped at the landing whence I had started on my first trip a few weeks before.

The street cars took us quickly to the little brown house on Poplar Avenue, which is dearer to me than any farm, hotel, or floating palace that I have ever seen. Dennis received us with a joyous bark, and with that merry wag of his tail which speaks such volumes of happiness. My cushion, my pad, and the dear sunny porch were more precious to me than ever before. Only one thing worried me! I had grown too big for the hole through which I used to crawl in under the porch, and wondered where I would go for safety in case of danger. But I soon found that Dennis was all the “safety” I needed, for he stayed with me nearly all the time; and whenever any bad boys or dogs came into our yard he promptly chased them out with that powerful bark of his. And I found him to be a very useful as well as agreeable companion.

There is a beautiful song which I have often heard, that there is no place like home, but I never really understood the meaning of those words until I had been away from my home and my friend.

So you see I was doubly thankful, first because mistress took me with her on her vacation, and second because I had such a happy home-coming.

VII
NEW COMPANIONS

One morning soon after we returned from the farm Guy brought into the house, dripping wet, a little Maltese kitty, which he said he found crying in a vacant lot on his way to school. My heart went out to the poor little thing, shivering with cold and frightened, and coming from no one knew where.

Mistress rubbed the kitty’s coat dry with a towel, and smoothed it all out with a coarse comb. Then she fixed her a nice warm bed in a little basket, and in a short time she dozed off into a nap. As I sat looking at the little stranger I was reminded of the time when I was taken into this dear home in just about as sorry a plight, and I made up my mind to give her a better welcome than I had received from Budge and Toddy.

Her nap over, the little kitty looked as plump and bright as anything, and mistress named her “Beauty.” She was a talkative little creature, and before the day was over had told me her whole history. Said she, “My home is in a grocery store, where I have been living with my mother and three other kittens in a barrel. This morning our master gave me to a boy to take home to his sister. But he squeezed me so hard, I scratched him, and then he threw me out on the wet grass and walked away.”

“How cruel,” said I, “but don’t think that all boys are like him, for I know some that are just as kind as anybody.”

“Then I tried to go back and find my mother,” said Beauty, “and I went up to the door of a place that looked like my home, but as I stood there crying, a man came out and picked me up very harshly, and threw me out onto the sidewalk. It seemed as if all the world were against me, and I tried to crawl away to a place where no one would find me, when a boy came along who picked me up very tenderly, and it was he who brought me here.”

I told Beauty of my own experience as a homeless cat and bade her be thankful that she had fallen into such good hands.

During the evening we played together by the beautiful moonlight, but all at once I missed her, and when mistress called us in for the night I was the only one to respond. I have no doubt that Beauty went to look for her mother.

After Budge and Toddy left, mistress tied a pretty colored ribbon around my neck, with the street and number, 127 Poplar Avenue, plainly written on it in black ink. She had also tied one around Beauty’s neck, and for this reason she expected that Beauty would be returned. But we looked for her in vain.

One evening when mistress and Guy were talking about Beauty, mistress said: “I presume she has found a home; I only hope it is a good one.”

“I don’t think it is,” said Guy. “Anybody that would steal a cat would not treat her well after he got her.” And I think he was right, for it was just as bad as stealing, to keep a cat that had the street and number written on his necktie. How foolish Beauty was to leave such a good home.

Not many days after Beauty’s departure, a little girl brought us a light colored tiger kitty, which she said she had found in front of a vacant house, cold and hungry, and she brought her to us because she thought it was our little Beauty.

Mistress petted the little thing, and praised the little girl for being so kind and thoughtful in trying to find its home. She asked the little girl to take it to her own home and keep it, but she said her mother would not permit her to have a kitty because they lived in a flat, or she would be only too glad to keep it. So then, rather than have the little thing turned out without a home, mistress allowed it to remain, and she named it “Beauty” after the last one.

On the following morning one of our neighbors, having seen two strange kittens in the yard within so short a time, said to mistress: “What are you keeping over there, a cat refuge, or a hospital?”

“Why both,” said mistress. “I wouldn’t turn a stray cat away, much less a sick one.”

The lady said no more.

The little stranger seemed so thankful for a nice warm basket (I shared mine with her) she hardly left it the entire day, except to go to her meals. She would lap a whole saucer full of milk, and ask for more, and mistress fed her till she had all she wanted. I tried to find out where she had lived, but she seemed to feel so grieved at the way she had been treated, that it was fully three days before she finally consented to talk about it. Then she told me that the folks all left the house and all the things were loaded on a wagon and taken away. Said she, “I waited day after day on the doorsteps hoping they would come back. All I had to eat was what I could find in the ash pile, and nights I crawled into an old stovepipe.”

This was so much worse than anything I had ever experienced, or even heard of, I hadn’t a word to say in reply.

But evidently the cold and hunger that she had suffered had had their effect on little Beauty. Although she had the best of care, still a few days later she was taken so very ill one night that it caused her to groan most pitifully; and in the morning when Guy came down, her lifeless form lay on the floor, cold and stiff.

Mistress very tenderly wrapped the little dead body in some soft white tissue paper, and put it in a box, and Guy buried it in the rear of the yard, marking the spot with a stake on which he printed:

“Sacred to the Memory of Beauty.”

Then mistress planted some mignonette and pansies on the spot, and Guy fenced it in with pieces of arched wire, so that it made a nice little flower-bed.

After it was all over I heard mistress say to Guy: “Aren’t you glad we have been kind to this little creature during the few days of her life that she was with us?”

“I was just thinking how sorry I would be if I hadn’t been kind to her,” said Guy. “Yesterday when she whined so I was tempted to put her out, but I am glad now I didn’t; I guess she was sick then.”

“Yes,” said mistress, “when animals act ill-natured or fretful, it is generally because they are not well; and instead of being impatient with them, we ought to be all the more tender, and see whether we cannot find out the cause of their trouble, and relieve them.”

For several days after Beauty’s death I was again without a companion, but I wasn’t so lonesome as at first when Budge and Toddy went way, because I had Dennis; and besides, it was still lovely summer weather. I used to sit on the window-ledge and watch for the school-children to come by; and when I saw them, it made me very happy, for I knew then that I would soon see my friend Guy. As soon as he came into the yard I’d jump down and go into the house with him, and generally he would give me some of his bread and milk. Then he would practice a while on his violin, and I dearly loved to listen to the music. Sometimes he would mow the lawn and water it. He always had everything very nice for mistress when she came home. If only he could have stayed at home all day, Dennis and I couldn’t have wished for a dearer companion.

VIII
BUDGE AND TODDY THE SECOND

About a month after the death of Beauty, a little girl came one day with four tiny kittens in a basket, some tigers and some Maltese, and I heard her beg mistress to adopt one of them.

Mistress said at first that she did not care for any more cats. But the little girl was so persistent, and the kittens in the basket looked so bright and pretty, mistress was persuaded to take a closer look at them; and as I saw her take them up and fondle them, I felt pretty sure what the result would be.

“I will take two,” said she, “for if I should take but one away from her companions and from her mother, it would get lonely and homesick; besides, a little girl who tries to get good homes for helpless kitties ought to be encouraged.”

This made the little girl very happy, for she knew her kittens would have a good home with mistress; and she went away with only two remaining in the basket.

My new companions were named Budge and Toddy, after the two that had left us. I became friendly with them at once, for I had learned by this time that mistress was a good judge of cats, and that I was perfectly safe in associating freely with those of her choice. The only unpleasant thing about Budge and Toddy was, they had fleas, and, of course, I was visited by some of them; but after a few baths with Spratt’s soap we got quite rid of them. I will tell you how it was done, for mistress seemed to know just the right way.

First she made a nice warm suds, and saturated our necks thoroughly with it. She called this the “dead line” because the fleas could not crawl into our eyes, but had to stay back and be drowned. Then she rubbed the suds into the skin all over our bodies, and used a coarse comb so as to have it penetrate the fur clear to the skin, carefully shielding our eyes. Guy always assisted by holding us while she did the washing. He would hold the front legs in one hand and the hind legs in the other, which gave mistress complete control of the body as it lay in the suds, and Guy would turn it as she directed.

After we were thoroughly washed, mistress rinsed us off in plenty of clean warm water, wiped us dry with a Turkish towel, and gave us a good combing. Then we lay on our cushions in a sunny spot of the room, and in winter time she put the cushion near the register. When dry, she set us on a big newspaper, and gave us a thorough brushing, and it was surprising how the dead fleas would drop out. Then she folded the paper and burned it. After three such baths the troublesome little things completely disappeared.

Budge is a Maltese, very short and fat, with shaggy coat, short bushy tail, and a white “breastpin.”

Toddy is long and slender, with a smooth, soft coat and a long tail. He is a tiger cat like myself. He is livelier and more mischievous than Budge, and in a tussle generally comes out ahead.

Many times I have seen Budge quietly sitting on his cushion, perhaps watching a fly, or purring contentedly to himself, not suspecting any harm or danger, when Toddy, stealthily aiming from a distance, would jump upon him so suddenly as to almost take his breath away. Then they would roll over the floor, first one on top, then the other, biting, kicking and mauling each other, until the peaceful room was turned into a veritable arena. One round was scarcely finished before another was started. By turns they would hump their backs, turn down their ears, bristle their tails, or sway them swiftly to and fro, all the while eyeing each other with most defiant expression. At last the pent-up tempest breaks forth, but the battle proves too fierce for Budge and after several more rounds he seeks refuge on a chair only to find himself further pursued. The chair has a cane seat, and Toddy makes a fresh attack from beneath.

At last when it is all over, Toddy meekly kisses his victim, and says: “Never mind, Budge, you know I was only in fun.”

One morning when we were up in mistress’ room, she made a deep dent in our cushion and put Budge into it. He was then still very small, and it looked as if he was sitting in a little cave with only his head outside.

Pretty soon Toddy came along, and when he saw Budge in so snug a place, he walked all around him viewing him from every side. It was a rather cool morning, and he wanted to get in there too. But seeing there was not enough room by the side of Budge he got in front of him and began caressing him and washing his face and neck. Budge liked this so well that he moved closer and closer to Toddy, and in so doing got partly out of his cave.

This was just what Toddy wanted. When by means of his cunning scheme, he had tempted Budge out far enough, he put his paw behind him, and with a masterly shove, ousted him from the coveted place, and backed into it himself.

I have always thought that Budge laid this trick of Toddy’s up in a corner of his little heart; for, although he seemed to take it good-naturedly at the time, yet he lay in wait when Toddy came down the stairs. But it seemed as though Toddy was expecting something of the kind, for the moment Budge advanced toward him, Toddy jumped up in the air, and Budge shot through under him as though darting through an arch, so swiftly that he ran pell-mell into a basin of water which was being used to clean the floor.

“The charge of the Light Brigade,” said Guy, coming down the stairs behind Toddy.

“No, it’s the Battle of Waterloo,” replied mistress.

With such playful companions as these, you can imagine what delightful times I have had.

IX
A HAPPY HOME

Every morning after breakfast mistress reads in a book called the “Bible,” and when she closes it, they both kneel down in the bay window while she talks to the chair. Sometimes when the sun shines so nice and warm upon her back, I just jump up there and have a nice purr, which always makes Guy laugh.

Some of the stories they have read in the Bible were about men and women and children and goats and sheep and cattle. I have listened breathlessly many times for something about cats, but so far not one has been mentioned. But perhaps those things all happened before there were any cats. One time the story was about an old man who died leaving six daughters[1] and they were afraid that because they had no big brothers they would not get their share. So they went to Moses, their captain, and asked him about it, and he said that they should have their share just the same as if they were sons, instead of daughters. After the story was finished mistress asked Guy, as she usually did, what that meant, and what he had learned from it. He studied for quite a while before he answered her, then he said, “Well, I guess that means women’s rights.”

Another time they were reading about a very great king who sat on a throne, and a queen from another country who had heard about his wonderful wisdom came to ask him a very hard question to see whether what she had heard was true.[2]

“What was the question she asked?” said Guy, after the reading was finished.

“I don’t know,” said mistress; “the Bible does not tell us what it was.”

“I think I know what it was,” said he. “She asked him ‘who made God?’”

After they have spent a half hour or so in this way, they lock up the house and go away; but they always leave a nice lunch for us, and a dish of fresh water.

I know of many poor cats that never get a drop of water at home. They have to go and hunt for it in ditches and puddles, and then are blamed for not keeping a clean, soft, fluffy coat. Anybody ought to know that we can’t be expending moisture through our tongue, washing and scrubbing our coats, unless we can drink water whenever we want it. Some people think it answers the purpose just as well if they give us milk, and dear knows it’s true enough of the milk that some cats get. But we would prefer to have our milk straight, and our water likewise.

Our principal food is fresh boiled meat, mashed potatoes, and milk, and in summer-time we also get sweet peas, asparagus, beans and corn. Once a week we get salmon mixed with bread crumbs or mashed potatoes.

Once I came very near getting into trouble through my fondness for canned beans. I saw a can on the ash pile, and in trying to get what beans were left in the bottom I got my nose in too far. Imagine my shame, when I could not get it out again, and was obliged to go about with a tin can for a muzzle till Guy came home and took it off.

In pleasant weather our food is left on the kitchen porch, which, with our pads and cushions looks like a little summer parlor. There we stay in the bright sunshine, or we play in the grass, climb the fences, play hide-and-seek and roll in our catnip bed.

In cold weather a window is left open into the basement so we can go down to the nice warm furnace room, where we have a great big clothes-basket lined with a clean soft pad. Mistress knows that cats, like other creatures, want a bed long enough so they can stretch themselves out full length when they feel like it.

Of course, we sometimes sleep in other places beside our basket. For awhile an old cap of Guy’s lay on the basement floor, and I used to cuddle up in it to take my nap, because it just fitted me. One day I was just nicely settled in it when Toddy came and lay on top of me, and no sooner had we got ourselves nicely fixed for a nap than Budge came crawling over both of us, trying to get on top of Toddy. But Toddy’s body was too round and his coat too smooth and slippery for Budge to get a good hold, and after sliding off several times he finally went and took his nap in an old sprinkling can.

After supper we have the greatest frolic of the day in the library. In his kittenhood Toddy was a great athlete, and whenever a certain chair with a very high back happened to be near enough, he would climb to the top of it and mount the high bookcase, from which he would look down at the rest of us with a very victorious air.

One evening Budge watched him from mistress’ lap, his little breast swelling with ambition to do likewise. The moment Toddy alighted, Budge mounted the high-back chair, and craned his neck toward the desired spot. But he evidently thought it too great a risk; for he gave mistress a very pleading look which had the desired effect; she moved the chair closer, and Budge scrambled up its back, whence, with a bold leap, he easily spanned the space to the bookcase.

On the top shelf are the pictures of some of our friends. Miss Willard received his most respectful attention, I suppose because she was the mistress of the wonderful “Tootsie” we have all heard about. Tender, lingering glances were also bestowed upon our little friends Don and Winifred. But the beautiful and charming Mrs. Cleveland received his fondest admiration. So proudly did he sway his bushy tail when standing in her presence that several persons of less distinction were sent reeling to the floor. Then, having been associated for a little while in his life with great people he sought his humble lodging behind the cook-stove and took a nap.

One of my favorite places used to be on top of the wash-stand in the bathroom. One day after Guy had finished washing he left the water running just a little tiny stream into the wash-bowl. I thought it was a string, and in trying to catch it I fell, and in an instant I was flat on my back in the bottom of the bowl. I struggled to get on my feet again, but it was of no use; the side of the bowl was so smooth, there was nothing that I could get hold of to pull myself up on, and Guy just stood there laughing, and calling everybody in the house to come and see the plight I was in. At last when he had had all the fun he wanted at my expense, he pulled me out, and I have steered clear of wash-bowls ever since.

One of our dearest sports during those mirthful days was playing hide-and-seek behind the portières, and chasing each other from one room into the other. But the race was usually of short duration, for first thing we knew we were all in a heap in the middle of the floor, and we were generally in the midst of our frolic when the horrid bedtime came and we had to go to our basket. Sometimes we hid behind the bookcases so that Guy couldn’t get us. But I know this wasn’t nice, and I feel ashamed even now for ever having done it.

X
OUR HAPPIEST DAYS

On Saturdays mistress comes home earlier than usual. Then we get our coats brushed, and wiped off with a damp cloth, and we put on the finishing touches with that dexterous little scrubbing brush which every cat carries between his jaws. Then mistress changes the covers of our cushions and gives us clean pads.

I always purr when mistress brushes me, to let her know that I like it; and Budge likes it so well, he keeps turning himself so the brush will strike him at every point. I believe the brushing and the good food we get make us have such soft and glossy coats, and such fine bushy tails.

One day after Budge had been thoroughly groomed he concluded that he would go on an exploring tour, and, being so nice and clean, he was permitted to go wherever he pleased.

First he went on mistress’ desk, and pretended to read a letter from grandpa; then he played a tune on the piano. But nothing seemed to satisfy him till he mounted the book shelves, his favorite resting-place, and finding a nice shiny piece of paper there he proceeded to lie upon it and purr himself to sleep. But something was evidently wrong about that shiny paper. He arose to go elsewhere but the paper went with him. You see, it was a sheet of fly-paper, and the fluttering noise it made so frightened poor Budge that he ran from one room to another in his frantic efforts to get rid of it.

As quickly as mistress was able to get hold of the poor creature, she pulled the paper off, but with it came also a portion of Budge’s coat. This was such a brand new experience for Budge, he concluded to go to a quiet place to think it over; and finding an old grape basket in the yard he crawled in and fell asleep.

“He Crawled in and Fell Asleep”

Speaking of Budge’s favorite resting-place on the book shelf reminds me of a story I have heard mistress tell about “Röteli” a red tiger cat away over in Switzerland that was fond of taking his naps in the oven. One day the oven door was shut without the cat being noticed, and a fire made in the stove, for the housekeeper wanted to cook dinner. She heard some dreadful, agonizing cries, but as she could not see the cat around anywhere, and being busy with her work, she paid no further attention. The roast was soon prepared, and as the housekeeper opened the oven door to put it in, behold there was poor Röteli lying almost lifeless with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Immediately the housekeeper knew just what to do: she sprinkled Röteli with cold water and dropped water on his tongue till he revived, and with the good care he received, regained his health and lived many years more. I hope that all housekeepers who have cats will take warning, and always look into the oven before they close it.

Sunday I like best of all, because then mistress and Guy are at home all day, except a little while in the morning. The first thing on Sunday morning each of us gets a fresh ribbon tied around his neck and, of course, then we make ourselves very clean. Mistress ties the ribbon very carefully, so that it does not pull our hair, and she cuts the loops. The reason for this is, as I heard her tell Guy, that once a cat was jumping across a fence, when a loop of her ribbon was caught in one of the pickets; and the poor cat hung there and miserably strangled to death, before any one came to her rescue.

On pleasant Sunday afternoons Guy brings the porch rug and cushions out in the yard, and then we have what we look forward to during the whole week, a long visit from our mistress.

Sometimes mistress takes us for a walk, and I never shall forget one pleasant moonlight evening when we went out with mistress and another lady. It was on a street that had no houses on it, only tall grass and catnip, and we were playing a game of hide-and-go-seek, when suddenly mistress called us to her and picked up Toddy and me. She tried to get Budge, too, but he was a little stubborn; instead of coming to her, he ran to the middle of the street, where a gentleman was riding, accompanied by a big dog. In an instant the air was full of howls, hisses, growls and fur, and Budge and the dog were all mixed up in a cloud of dust. I wanted to go too, but mistress held me so tightly I could not get away.

The gentleman alighted from his wheel and called “Hector,” but the poor dog could not get away just then. When he finally became disentangled he drew his tail very tightly between his legs and ran away as fast as he could, still howling piteously.

Mistress was evidently pleased with Budge for his courage in so fearlessly attacking a dog much bigger than himself, but she was also sorry for the poor vanquished dog, and said so to his master. But the gentleman said that the dog merely retired because he was too noble to attack an animal smaller than himself, and not at all because he considered himself vanquished.

But however that may be, I’m afraid it wasn’t very nice for Budge to engage in such a skirmish on a Sunday.

XI
BETSY WHITEFOOT

Some time after Beauty’s death, one day an old gray cat with white toes came on our back porch, and helped herself to a drink of water. She had a distressed and hungry look, and I am sure she had not had a bath or a brushing in a long time, for her coat was very rough and soiled.

Budge and Toddy were afraid of her, and ran back of the ash bin; but I stayed to see what mistress would do.

I noticed that in spots the hair on the cat’s body was entirely gone; the flesh was covered with bleeding sores, and her tail had scarcely any hair on it.

Guy called us cats together and sent us into the kitchen, but we could look through the screen door and see what was going on. He gave the poor creature a big saucer of fresh warm milk, which she lapped up very greedily, asking for more till she had finished three saucers full.

When mistress came home she looked at the cat, but did not touch her. She gave Guy some money and a bottle and sent him to the drug store for some medicine.

The poor cat was so tired she did not even wash after eating, but lay right down on the old door-mat. I think she had walked a long while before she found a place where she was allowed to rest. Before Guy returned from the store she was fast asleep.

Mistress poured some of the medicine on a small cotton pad, and placed it by the cat’s nose. Then she quickly covered her up with a tub, and Guy sat on top of it.

The cat whined and struggled for a few seconds, then gradually her breathing became heavier, but in less than a minute she was perfectly quiet. She had gone to her long and peaceful sleep, and I have no doubt that if she ever sees mistress in that beautiful place they tell about, where there are no homeless and hungry creatures, she will thank her for the kind act which ended her wretched existence.

The tub was not removed till the following morning, when Guy improvised a little casket for the body and buried it by the side of Beauty, marking the spot with a stake on which he wrote:

“Sacred to the Memory of the Unknown Dead,”

and mistress planted some heliotrope upon it.

Meanwhile one of our neighbors was sitting on her kitchen porch in full view of the whole proceeding, and I expected every minute that she would say something sarcastic about a “cat funeral” or a “cat hospital,” as she had done before. She was busily plying the needle on her beautiful fancy work. As soon as mistress had finished planting the flowers, the lady came to the fence and said:

“I should think you would have your cats wear black ribbons when they are attending a funeral;” and without waiting for a reply, she held up her fancy work and asked mistress how she liked it. It was a doily stamped with a group of kittens playing ring-around the rosies, and several of the figures had already been worked in beautiful colored silk.

“It must be pleasant, no doubt,” said mistress, “to work beautiful figures of happy creatures upon canvas; but I prefer to give joy and happiness to the living. And as for the emblem you speak of, to my mind flowers symbolize the transition of life far more fitly than do the time-worn weeds of mourning.”

The lady made no answer to this at all, and mistress went into the house, leaving her alone with her fancy work.

Before we were allowed to go on the porch again, it was thoroughly scrubbed with boiling water; the tub was scalded, and the old mat was burned.

On the following day a neighboring cat, whom I have since learned to know as Jack, came into our yard, and I noticed that he persistently sniffed around the little fresh mound.

“What is in there?” said he, after he had visited it for the third time.

I told him about the sad occurrence of the day before.

“Was it a gray cat with white toes?”

I told him it was.

“Poor Betsy Whitefoot,” said Jack, in tones of real anguish. “I have shared my meals with her ever since the Mortons went to their summer house in the country. A better mouser never lived than Betsy, and how they could so cruelly desert her is more than I can understand.”

I could plainly see that Jack was filled with wrath and bitterness toward the people who had caused his friend so much sorrow, and I suggested to him that we go up in one of the poplar trees where we could talk over the matter quietly, and without attracting attention.

Jack readily assented, and when we had found a nice comfortable place he went on telling me more about the Mortons.

“Last winter,” said he, “during that dreadfully cold spell some kittens came to Betsy, and they made her stay in the cold shed without even a box or basket, and all that she could find to lay the kittens on was some straw in a corner of the floor. Of course the poor little things all got dreadfully sore eyes; two became completely blind; and one by one they drooped and died, till even Betsy herself told me she was thankful they were out of their misery, and that she hoped she would never have any more. And by the way, there goes Will Morton now,” said Jack, pointing down to the sidewalk. “Take a good look at him, and always avoid him if he comes your way.”

It was unnecessary for Jack to administer the caution, for the lad was no stranger to me; indeed he was the very boy who pelted me with stones on that hapless day when I strayed away from my mother. I never forgot him, for from time to time I would see him pass our house, usually puffing away at a cigarette, and accompanied by rough looking hard-faced boys.

Jack could not restrain himself from telling all that was in his heart about the dreadful Mortons. Said he: “Last winter Will went on a journey with his uncle, and he promised faithfully to write to his mother twice a week. But during four weeks he never wrote her even a postal card. And many a Sunday when his mother thinks he is in Sunday-school, I have seen him out in the alley with his companions, smoking and listening to rude stories. It all goes to show that he has as little respect for her feelings as she has for those of her cat.”

I was strongly tempted to tell Jack my own experience with Will Morton, but I felt that he had enough of heaviness on his mind, and I tried my best to think of something pleasant. I told him how kindly mistress had received Betsy, and how gently she put her to sleep, and it seemed to lessen somewhat the grief which he felt for his departed friend.

“I am thankful,” said he, “that there are some people in this world who realize that even a poor sick cat has some rights, and I hope that the day is not far off when every town and city will have a place where dumb animals that are deserted or lost or sick, can be taken in for protection and care.”

I told him that I hoped so too, for I knew that only a short time ago, mistress had had an experience which made us all feel the need of such a place. I heard her tell Guy of a poor sick and homeless pug dog she saw on the street, and how she stopped to put a court-plaster over a raw spot on his ear. Of course, the dog felt that she was his friend, and he followed her to her office. But she had no place to keep him, so she sent word to the Dog Hospital about it. She might have called the Humane Agent to come and shoot the dog, but she thought he was a nice animal and worth saving.

Well, the hospital man came and examined the dog, said he was old and sick, not worth trying to save, and that the only thing he could do for him was to chloroform him and take him to the glue factory. Mistress told him to do that; but she had to pay him two dollars before he would do another thing for the dog. A hospital of that kind is all right for an animal whose master is able to pay; it does not as a rule help poor homeless creatures. My idea of a hospital is one where any animal, no matter how poor or sick or unsightly, is welcomed, and either nursed back to health or put out of its misery. I have heard that in some large cities kind-hearted people have founded such asylums. But we must hope and pray that good people may be found in every town and city, willing to devote a portion of their means to the relief of suffering animals.

XII
SUNSHINE AND SHADOW

One pleasant Saturday afternoon I was awakened from my nap by a sound as of rustling foliage, and the room seemed to be suddenly filled with the odor of fresh violets. I opened my eyes and saw a very stately-looking lady, dressed in a beautiful silk gown and a hat that was covered with gaily colored birds, all having their wings spread as if about to fly away. She was seated in the high-back chair, and I quickly climbed up on it from the rear, and was just ready to spring upon the birds, when she gave a dreadful scream and ran out onto the porch.

At this, mistress came rushing down-stairs, and the lady told her with frantic gestures and loud exclamations what a dreadfully rude thing I had done to her. Mistress led her back into the parlor, and got her quieted as well as she could, but presently Budge and Toddy, who had been napping in the bay-window seat, also came into the parlor.

“Are all of these cats yours?” said the lady, with apparent astonishment. “I should think they would be a dreadful nuisance.”

I could see that mistress was annoyed by the remark, but she answered her very gently, and said: “It depends on your treatment of cats, Mrs. Cotton, whether they will be a nuisance or a pleasure. I have always found them a pleasure, and besides, I have a special purpose in keeping pets.”

“A purpose in keeping cats!” exclaimed the lady; “do tell me what it is.”

“It is to teach my boy to be tender and humane toward all animals; and as we cannot afford expensive pets like dogs and horses, we are satisfied with cats.”

“You are the first person I ever heard speak of a purpose in keeping cats,” said Mrs. Cotton. “I always supposed that people had cats because they just happened to come to them.”

“That is not the case with these cats,” replied mistress. “We formerly lived in a flat where we could not keep pets, and that is one of the reasons why I went to housekeeping.”

“But do you not find it very expensive to keep house for just you two?”

“We do,” said mistress, “but it is the money that is wisely expended, after all, that brings the largest returns. To many people, no doubt, our modern flats are a great boon, affording comfort and safety that they could not possibly secure elsewhere. But to my mind, the landlord who banishes children from his flat is a public benefactor, however selfish may be his motives. A child should have a home in the truest sense of that precious word, a home with lawn and garden, with room for pets and tools and playthings, affording him ample opportunity to give wholesome expression to his feelings. It is the life lived day by day in the home that moulds and fashions a child’s character, rather than any training he receives in school. Spend your money right now in forming correct ideas, and encouraging expression of them, rather than save it by ignoble economy, only to be spent later in the vain attempt to reform a character perverted and dwarfed through narrow and contracted living.”

“I have never before had my thoughts turned to this subject,” said Mrs. Cotton, looking very earnestly into mistress’ face, “but I believe what you say is true. I am so thankful my children are still young, that I may profit by your excellent ideas. And as for cats, I never before thought they were good for anything, having been brought up to think of them as uncanny creatures, something to be abhorred and dreaded. But as my little boy has written Santa Claus to bring him a kitty for a Christmas gift, I suppose I will have to give up my prejudice.”

“It is the superstition of a by-gone age,” said mistress; “but a happier day is coming, when the cat will be given her rightful place as a household pet; and through gentle treatment her nature will become still more refined and ennobled. Notwithstanding all that has been said about their selfish disposition, my cats have at times shown great consideration for each other. For instance, once I gave them their milk in a narrow dish, where only one could lap at a time, and to my great surprise they took turns. On another occasion I had prepared a plate of meat for them, arranging each cat’s portion by itself. Budge and Meow were not present, so Toddy ate his portion and left theirs untouched.”

“That is certainly remarkable,” said Mrs. Cotton. “I shall no longer object to having one in our house. But I fear we shall no sooner have become attached to her before she will leave us. My neighbor has had three very pretty kittens given her during the last six months, and not one stayed longer than a week.”

“Where does she keep them?”

“Oh, they stay around the yard, and when it’s cold they crawl under the barn, or if they get a chance they go up in the haymow.”

“No wonder,” said mistress. “A cat, with her domestic instincts, in order to become attached to a place, must have a cozy, comfortable corner somewhere in the house that she can call her very own. It may be nothing more than a basket with a pad or a cushion in it, but it must be permanently located in a retired corner of a comfortable room. A cat thus provided will become attached to her own peculiar furniture, and even should the family remove to another place, if she is carefully transferred to the new home, and her corner is at once fitted up in a quiet room where she can be kept indoors for a few days, she will not go away.

“And while we are talking on this subject, I trust you will pardon me if I mention something that may seem very trivial to you, but which I consider of great importance. A cat should have a name, because it adds to her dignity, and commands respect for her. Moreover it enhances her commercial value to be thus individualized, and lifted above the general mass of her kind.”

“I am very glad to know all these things,” said Mrs. Cotton. “You certainly have interested me in this subject as I never have been before in all my life.”

Before Mrs. Cotton went away that afternoon she actually came over to the window-sill and gave Budge several gentle strokes. I suppose she chose Budge because he is the smallest.

“How docile and confiding,” said she; “they seem to know no fear at all; and such soft and glossy coats I never saw before.”

“Their confiding and docile nature is due to kind treatment,” said mistress, “and the soft and glossy coats are the result of good food, plenty of fresh water and clean pads.”

As Mrs. Cotton took her departure, it seemed as though her face wore a far more kindly expression than it did when she came in.

Of course, I was delighted to hear all these good things, and especially that we cats are useful, and serving our dear mistress such a good purpose. May the time be near at hand when the sunshine of love and good-will shall chase away every shadow of hatred and cruelty!

Jack

XIII
JACK

Jack was 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 him to 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.”