Chapter II: Foreword (1)

As soon as a little tot in lisping accents can pronounce words sufficiently well to form sentences, it often becomes a proud mother’s ambition to teach her nursery rhymes; and baby is called on to surprise her fond papa, or maybe her doting grandparents, with a display of her wonderful elocutionary talent. But when the darling entertains a number of her mama’s dearest friends in the drawing-room, or, better still, when she makes her début at the Sunday-school social, and receives plaudits for her little recitation delivered in bird-like tones, it is then that the mother’s heart reaches its zenith of happiness. “Tootsy Wootsy” has been arranged and posed especially for children from three to six years of age.

POINTS.—Before the child recites, place a small stool or chair a little to right of center of platform. On left side there should be a small table or stand; a little way from this, lying on floor with cover off, should be kitten’s basket with a tiny nursing-bottle filled with milk. Care should be taken not to have these articles arranged in set manner, but rather with play-room or nursery effect. The younger the kitten, the easier handled by a child.

LESSON-TALK ON “TOOTSY WOOTSY.”

_“See, Tootsy Wootsy he’s m’ tat,
An’ her as tunnin’ as tan be.”_

PICTURE I.—Advance on platform carrying pet kitten in arms
in regular childish fashion; pause, throw weight of body
evenly upon both feet; face expressing joy and pride; and
in pleasing tones explain who “Tootsy Wootsy” is and how
“tunnin’.”

_“She am ner bigger den m’ han’,
An’s dot der bites’ eyes oo’ see.”_

“I spec’s some day ’at she’ll dit
Der firstes’, bestes’ tind oo’ prize.”]

“She puts her ’ittle velvet paws
Wite up ter me ser dem I’ll shake.”]

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Smile, hold kitten out in front of you
for admiration of audience; seat yourself on floor, wind
one arm and hand around kitten, while holding up other arm
with fingers of hand extended, as though to illustrate what
you think is correct size of her tail; facial expression
brightens as head is slightly bowed, when gazing at beauty
of kitten’s eyes.

_“All fluffy wuffy be’s her toat,
An’ say, her face, it’s orsel wise.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Still seated, run one hand over and
through kitten’s fur; hold kitten up a little and rub
your cheek against its soft body; glancing alternately at
kitten, then at her friends. Words requiring emphasis are
“fluffy,” “wuffy,” “toat” and “it’s orsel wise.”

_“I spec’s some day ’at she’ll dit
Der firstes’, bestes’ tind oo’ prize.”_

PICTURE II.—Still seated, hug kitten closely to breast, and
show by look that you have no doubt of kitten’s receiving
“firstes’, bestes’ tind oo’ prize.” Words that are emphatic
are “some day,” “she,” and the entire second line.

_“She puts her ’ittle velvet paws
Wite up ter me ser dem I’ll shake.”_

PICTURE III.—Put right arm around kitten; both hands clasp
kitten’s paws; while you glance up obliquely with earnest
tone and recite the lines. Special emphasis on “wite up ter
me” as though it were something unusual for a kitten to do
such a thing.

_“An’ ef she be’s fas’ ersleep,
I nezzer ties fer her ter wake.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Serious tone and expression of face and
eyes; prolong “des fas’ ersleep;” accompany “I nezzer ties”
with movement of head from right to left to make more
emphatic.

_“I ’dopt her fer m’ ownes’ tat,
An’ dot fer her der nices’ house.”_

PICTURE IV.—Rise, advance to where basket is lying; place
kitten in it; put basket with contents on stand; bow head,
resting it lightly on kitten; hands clasp sides of basket;
face expressing happiness.

_“Where she do stay w’en nite am tum
Ser still an’ twiet as er mouse.”_

PICTURE V.—Place cover of basket over kitten, leaving head
exposed to view; then sit in chair, feet crossed, and hold
kitten in basket, for audience to gaze at. Show dignified
tone and manner when reciting; tone softens and voice grows
lighter on “still an’ twiet as er mouse.”

_“She ain’t ner tommon tind o’ tat,
She am Andora, yes she be.”_

PICTURE VI.—Remove cover from basket, which still contains
kitten; place cover to one side. Clasp with left hand
kitten’s collar in the back. Cling with right hand to edge
of stand, feet in natural childish position; body slightly
inclined in sort of protecting manner over loved treasure,
and with look and tone of disdain and strongest emphasis
say that your kitten “ain’t ner tommon tind o’ tat;” give
its breed, laying special stress on “Andora,” and “yes, she
be;” decided nod of head in affirmative on last three words.

_“An’ w’en I smooth her back an’ tail,
Her winks, an’ purrs, an’ p’ays wiv me.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Continue dignified tone through first
line; expression softens on second line; suggestion of
smile. Emphasize “winks,” “purrs,” “p’ays wiv me.”

_“An’ nen I buy (now doan yo’ laff)
Er sing ner uzzer titten’s dot.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Take kitten from basket; resume your seat
in chair; face should glow with pride and pleasure when
thinking what you have for your kitten; for a moment the
thought comes that when your friends learn what it is, they
will make sport of you. With pathetic face beg them not to
“laff.” Again assuming bright facial expression and giving
marked stress to the words, assure them that it is—“Er sing
ner uzzer titten’s dot,” and describe it as

_“Er nussin’-bottle, wiv er mouf
F’um w’ich she dinks her milk w’en hot.”_

PICTURE VII.—Bend forward, clasp kitten with left hand, and
proceed to give kitten milk from bottle that you take from
basket.

_“Oh! she do be ser very nice,
I hopes she nezzer wuns erway.”_

PICTURE VIII.—Rise, place cat in basket on stand, keep side
of your body toward audience; continue to offer kitten milk
as you recite the lines. Emphasize “very nice,” “nezzer,”
and “wuns erway.”

_“Fer ef she do, I tannot tell
W’at I ’oud do, or sink, or say.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Your fear of losing kitten should be
expressed very vividly. Place nursing-bottle in basket.
Lovingly take kitten out of basket. Put right hand to your
eye as if to check a tear; left arm and hand encircle
kitten; general appearance of childish sorrow.

_“May be, I mite dess tazy dit,
Ef f’um m’ titten I did part;”_

PICTURE IX.—In your great fondness for the kitten, you fear
that you may lose it after all. Sit in chair, place cat
on stand, holding its collar tightly with left hand. To
illustrate still more clearly how you would mourn, should
such a catastrophe befall you, when reciting how she “mite
tazy dit,” place right hand on your face and give deep sigh
and expression of intense suffering.

_“So, Tootsy, darlin’! Oo’ stay here,
Fer ef yer don’, yo’ bwake m’ heart.”_

DESCRIPTIVE POSE.—Take kitten, hug it closely, and in above
lines beg it not to leave you. Strong emphasis on “yo’
bwake mi’ heart.” Then, carrying kitten under right arm,
and basket containing nursing-bottle in left hand, smile
sadly to audience and leave platform.

HOMELIEST CAT AT THE SHOW.

ROSALIE M. JONES.

“Hi! Hit her again! She’s ugly enough to stop a clock.”

“You let her ’lone,” screamed a small voice from the top story of a towering rear tenement, but alas, it fell far short of the depths, way, way, below where the cruel boys were tormenting the poor kitty.

Then the active little figure belonging to the voice hurriedly left the window above and racing down stairs, three steps at a jump, burst violently into their midst, caught their trembling little victim to her breast, and with no weapons but a flushed face and two big tearful eyes, turned defiantly to brave the cowards.

“Say, fellers, catch on ter de young defender.”

“Yer wanter send her ter de cat show, see. She’ll git a prize, I don’t tink.”

With a look of contempt which stung even the most hardened of them, Maysie turned away with her suffering burden and re-entered the house.

“For goodness sake! What’s that you’ve got now?” asked a tired looking woman, as she saw her small daughter come panting into the kitchen, clutching something by the legs.

“Jus’ a kitty.”

“Well, I never did! Why, Marg’ret Williams, are you crazy? I never saw such a homely creature in all my born days: it’ll bring us bad luck, sure, with that wicked green eye and that mean yeller one—ugh! You just take it straight back to the gutter you fished it out of.”

At this Maysie began to cry; sobbing out the story of its ill treatment.

“Oh, well, I reckon we’ll keep her till she’s cured up, anyway.”

So Maysie kept her cat, and pity blossomed so quickly into love that she was perfectly blind to its ugliness and fondly fancied it the dearest, sweetest and loveliest kitty in all the world.

On the next Sunday, Mrs. Williams read out from her great big newspaper: “A National Cat Show at Madison Square.”

“What’s a National Cat Show?” asked Maysie, who was sitting playing with Rags, as she called her foundling.

“Why it’s—it’s a show of cats, I suppose, and it’s to be held next Wednesday in Madison Square Garden.”

“Oh, yes, that must be where that bad boy in the street told me to send Rags, but I thought, o’ course, he was just foolin’; he said, maybe I’d get a prize for her. Do you—— do you think I might, mother?”

Mrs. Williams hid a smile behind her newspaper, as she read of the gorgeous Angora, Maltese, Persian and other rare and beautiful cats that were to be exhibited by the richest and most fashionable ladies in New York, but she only answered: “I shouldn’t wonder.”

This was enough. In the course of ten seconds, Maysie had decided in her own mind that she would take Rags to the show, and that there was not the slightest use of worrying her poor, tired mother about it beforehand and spoiling the delightful “s’prise.”

Early Wednesday morning Mrs. Williams started for her day’s work. Maysie, when left alone, fairly raced the breakfast dishes around her dishpan, over the towel and up again on the shelf. Then she slipped into a nice little fresh calico dress, tied a new red ribbon around Rags’s neck in a fantastic bow, which, however, would slide around under her chewed-off ear, then cramming her into the market-basket, she set off with a light heart.

She was too early to be admitted, and so had to stand and wait near the side door marked “Entrance for Cats.”

At last a carriage drove up to the great front door of the building and a lady descended from it, followed by a maid in a white cap, carrying a basket. She was such a pretty lady and so beautifully dressed, that Maysie liked her on the spot, and thought that it would only be kind to inform her that she was not at the right entrance for cats and must wait at the side door with her.

The lady smiled when she told her, and she said: “Oh, thank you, you’re very good; I see you have a cat, too! Is it to be in the show?”

“Oh, yes, don’t you think she’ll get a prize?”

“Pro—probably,” said the lady, turning away for an instant and shaking so strangely that Maysie thought she was cold.

“Had’nt I better ask the other lady to bring you a shawl or sumpin’ out of your carriage?”

“No, thank you, I’m quite well. Suppose we go into the show together?”

“Why, we can’t, can we. It ain’t open yet, is it?”

“Not to every one, but I am one of the patronesses, and I fancy they will let us in.” And sure enough they did.

“Here is a little girl who has a cat she would like to exhibit,” said the lady to a gentle-looking man inside, who seemed to be managing everything. “I know it’s rather late to enter it, but—” and she whispered something which made him smile and look almost as queerly at Maysie as the lady had done.

However, he gave Rags a nice cage, with soft straw in it, and a little medal with a number on it to hang around her neck by a scarlet ribbon.

“Now, you had better go up stairs and wait,” he said; “they won’t be on for an hour yet, and the judges cannot award the prizes until then.”

Maysie did not understand very clearly what he meant, but she was a trustful little soul, and so left Rags with him and climbed the stairs to a little waiting-room above.

After awhile the lady joined her saying, “Come, we can go in now.”

Pale with excitement, Maysie accepted the hand held out to her, and grasping it tightly, entered the great exhibition. Oh, wasn’t it beautiful! All lit up with ’lectric light! Row after row of cages crossed the floor, in each one of which blinked and stretched and softly purred a lovely, lovely kitty.

They kept getting more and more wonderful and beautiful as Maysie and the lady went on and on, but in her royal little soul, Rags’s mistress would not admit that any one of them was prettier or sweeter, or half as clever as Rags.

No, not even that grandest, showiest Angora, lying upon a rose-colored velvet cushion with exquisite pink roses in cut-glass bowls around her, and a tiny canary bird singing away blissfully in the same cage.

“You know, Rags ain’t never seen a bird, lessen it’s a sparrer, and she ain’t never smelt a flower in all her life, so wouldn’t you think they’d give her a prize jus’ to keep her from feelin’ bad?”

“Yes, I would indeed. There are the judges and they are coming from the other side of the room. Now, we will go over there and look for Rags, and if they have given her a prize, it will be written upon a card and hung on her cage, where we can see it in an instant.”

“Oh, my, do you suppose everybody what’s got a cat here feels like I do now?”

“I hardly think so much so, dear.”

At last they stood before Rags’s cage. Maysie put both hands over her eyes and peeped fearfully through her fingers.

“Oh! Oh! I believe I see a card.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What’s on it? Oh! What is on it?”

“P-r-i-z-e, prize!” read the lady.

“Ten dollars prize for the ug—for Rags.”

“My,” said Maysie, and she burst into tears of pure joy.

The lady kissed her warmly, dried her eyes and placed the bowl of roses right under Rags’s funny little nose.

Then the great, severe looking judges came up and congratulated her, and counted out into her two little hands all the heap of money that was the prize.

“And now,” said the lady, “I will drive you home.”

So she did, and didn’t all the children in the neighborhood run off to see who was getting out of the fine carriage that stopped before the tenement, and weren’t they surprised to find it was just Maysie? And didn’t Mrs. Williams laugh and cry and scold and pet her all at once when she heard the great news?

“Dear, dear, what a jewel Rags is.”

“Yes,” said her mother, “who’d have thought she’d have brought us such good luck by her very homeliness?”

“Homely? Why, mother, you forget, she’s got a prize.”

“So I did,” said Mrs. Williams, “so I did, of course.”

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN CAT AND DOG.

ELIZABETH I. CASSIN.

Cats see their prey, and catch it by creeping slyly up to it. Dogs smell their prey, and catch it by running it down. Cats must therefore have good eyes and be able to move very softly, while dogs must have strong scent and be able to go fast and far.

WHY CATS WASH AFTER EATING.

EVA J. BEEDE.

You may have noticed, little friends,
That cats don’t wash their faces
Before they eat, as children do,
In all good Christian places.

Well, years ago, a famous cat,
The pangs of hunger feeling,
Had chanced to catch a fine young mouse
Who said, as he ceased squealing,

“All genteel folks their faces wash
Before they think of eating!”
And, wishing to be thought well-bred,
Puss heeded his entreating.

But when she raised her paw to wash
Chance for escape affording,
The sly young mouse said his good-bye,
Without respect to wording.

A feline council met that day,
And passed, in solemn meeting,
A law forbidding any cat
To wash till _after_ eating.

* * * * *

A kitten looked up with a sanctified grin,
Singing “Birdie, nice birdie, sweet birdie.”
When the robin descended she gobbled him in,
Singing “Birdie, nice birdie, sweet birdie.”

THE CATS’ TEA PARTY.

_Action Poem._

[1]Four little pussy-cats, invited out to tea,
Cried: “Mother, let us go. Oh, do! [2]for good we’ll surely be,
[3]We’ll wear our bibs and hold [4]our things as you have shown us how—
Spoons in right paws, cups as well, and [5]make a pretty bow;
We’ll always say ‘Yes, if you please,’ and ‘Only half of that.’”
“Then go, my darling children,” said the happy Mother Cat.

[6]The four little pussy-cats went out that night to tea,
[7]Their heads were smooth and glossy, their tails were swinging free;
They held their things as they had learned, and tried to be polite;—
[8]With snowy bibs beneath their chins they were a pretty sight.
But, alas for manners beautiful, [9]and coats as soft as silk!
The moment that the little kits were asked to take some milk,

[10]They dropped their spoons, forgot to bow, and—oh,
what do you think?
They put their noses in the cups and all began to drink!
Yes, every naughty little kit set up a _miou_ for more,
Then knocked the tea-cups over, [11]and scampered through the door.

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Stand erect, hands by side.]

[Footnote 2: Fold arms and look very imploringly.]

[Footnote 3: Place pinafores to imitate bibs by raising the bottom and placing it around neck.]

[Footnote 4: Place fingers as if to lift a cup to mouth.]

[Footnote 5: Make a bow.]

[Footnote 6: Let children take hold of hands as if to go out.]

[Footnote 7: Smooth hair.]

[Footnote 8: Point to chins.]

[Footnote 9: Point to coats or pinafores.]

[Footnote 10: Look very sorrowful.]

[Footnote 11: Raise hands and throw them both forward toward door.]

A CAT’S BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION.

MRS. GERTRUDE MANLY JONES.

A kitty named Pollie—just over the way—
Gave a party last week on her second birthday.
It was—so I’ve heard—quite a stylish affair,
For the cat elite of the village was there.
For a week the party was meowed about,
After the neat invitations were out;
“What shall I wear?” was a question oft asked,
And for some little time the kitties harassed;
At last they decided, without a demur,
That because of cool weather, they’d all dress in fur.
In the meanwhile, Pollie was burdened with care
To get up a fine supper, and nice bill of fare.
There were grasshopper croquets and truffles to make;
A lot of fat lizards to stuff and to bake;
There were mice, to be fricasseed, parboiled and stewed,
And strong catnip bouillon, and punch to be brewed—
Oh, my! Was there ever before a gray cat
Who had such a weight on her shoulders as that?
But at last the eventful evening came ’round,
And everything was quite in readiness found.
In the old kitchen garden the table was set,
And a funnier table you never saw yet;
The tea cups were egg shells; and turnip green plates
Were loaded with savory messes and baits;
A large rutabaga was hollowed out clean,
And made quite an excellent bouillon tureen;
The table was trimmed up with beet leaves and mint,
And festoons of parsley were used without stint.
As the clock struck midnight, the guests all poured in,
And you never did hear such a horrible din!
The old cornstalk fiddles set up a full blast,
And partners for quadrilles were taken up fast.
How the feet and the tails did fly in the air!
How the sparks glinted off from the soft glossy hair!
Some cats promenaded; others, played the coquette,
While a pair on the fencetop struck up a duet;
The ball had now reached its dizziest height,
When from a near cottage, there flashed a bright light;
A window was hastily raised with a bang,
And a pistol-shot out through the old garden rang.
I tell you the sound of that ringing report
Put an end to the dancing, the singing and sport.
The beaux—why, they went just tearing off home,
And left the young kitties to come on alone.
Kittie Pollie was very much chagrined about
The way her grand entertainment turned out,
And although she certainly was not to blame,
She declares she will never give parties again.

THE LOST KITTY.

Have any of you seen my kitty? I have hunted all over the house for her and I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not under the stove nor up in my bed, and I don’t know what to do. Won’t you help me look for her? She is a gray kitty, with a white spot between her eyes. You will know her by that. Her name is Spot, and she knows it just as well as I know my name. When I have a saucer of milk for her, and call, “Here, Spot, Spot, Spot!” she runs as fast as her little feet can trot. Oh, dear, where are you, kitty? I wish I could find you. I hope no big, bad boy, or naughty little girl has carried you away. Hark! What is that? “Meow, meow, meow.” Why, there she is, now, on the window-sill. Just wait, my precious, darling old kitty, until I get you in my arms!

A MODEST CAT’S SOLILOQUY.

Oh, what a grand and glorious thing it is to be a cat!
Yes, every day I live, I grow more positive of that.

For all the great, big busy world, as is quite right and meet!
Comes humbly every day to lay its tribute at my feet;

Far down within the damp, dark earth the grimy miner goes,
That I on chilly nights may have a fire for my toes;

Brave sailors plow the wintry main, through peril and mishap,
That I, on Oriental rugs, may take my morning nap.

Out in the distant meadow meekly graze the lowing kine,
That milk, in endless saucerfuls, all foaming, may be mine;

The fish that swim the ocean, and, the birds that fill the air—
Did I not like their bones to pick, pray, think you they’d be there?

But first, of all who wait on me, preeminent is man;
For me he toils through all the day, and through the night doth plan;

Especially the gentleman who keeps this house for me,
And takes such thoughtful, anxious care, that I should suited be.

He’s stocked his rare old attic with the finest breed of mice,
A little hunting, now and then, comes in so very nice.

And furthermore, the thoughtful man, a wife has married him,
To tidy up the house for me, and keep it neat and trim;

And both of them with deference my slightest fancy treat,
And as I’m quite fastidious about the things I eat,

They never offer me a dish, to please my appetite,
Until they’ve tasted it themselves, to see if all is right;

And to entice my palate, when it’s cloyed with other things,
All fattening in a gilded cage, a choice canary swings.

But, best of all they’re training up, with pains that can’t be told,
Their children, just to wait on me, when they have grown too old.

Oh, truly I am monarchess of all that I survey;
No rules or laws I recognize, no bells or calls obey.

I eat and sleep, and sleep and eat, nor ever have I toiled;
No kind of base, degrading work my paws has ever soiled.

Oh, truly ’tis a gladsome thing to be a pussy-cat!
I’m truly glad, when I was born, I stopped to think of that.

A MIRROR CAT.

OLIVER HERFORD.

I really wish you’d all sit still,
And try to hear a curious tale
That happened just the other day.
There is another yellow cat
Who sits behind a golden frame,
And looks so very much like me
You’d think that we were just the same.
Yet, when I mew aloud or call,
She moves her mouth again to me,
But makes no sound at all.
And to the dullest kitten
It’s plain enough to see
That either I am mocking her,
Or she is mocking me.
It makes no difference what I play,
She seems to know the game;
For every time I look around
I see her do the same.
And yet no matter though I creep
On tiptoe lest she hear,
Or quickly dash behind the frame,
She’s sure to disappear.

A Wise Mouse.

By

Mary·Raymond·Garretson.

Purred the Cat, “Pretty Mouse, come out of the wall,
And make me this evening, a neighborly call:
Then into the cupboard, we’ll quietly creep,
To steal bread and cheese, while the family sleep.”

“No thanks, Tabby dear,” squealed old Mrs Mouse,
“I’ll remain in my hole, while you’re in the house:
On your good behavior I dare not depend,
For last night, you swallowed my intimate friend.”

THE CAT THAT CAME TO SCHOOL.

_Action Poem._

Why here’s a pussy come to school!
What do [1]_you_ want, my dear?
You [2]prick your ears and [3]gaze about,
And seem to feel no fear.

Ah! next I see you [4]wash yourself,
That’s right! Miss Pussy Cat;
We scholars here must all be clean—
I’m glad you think of that.

Now pussy [5]looks all around again,
Then gives a little “mew,”
And [6]shakes the bell tied [7]round her neck,
With bit of ribbon blue.

[8]Upon the table pussy jumps,
[9]Then to the Maypole goes;
Oh! kitty, would you like to dance,
As we do, on our [10]toes?

[11]Next to the class-room door she goes,
I’m sure she wants to learn.
[12]Come in, come in, then, pussy cat,
And [13]read when it’s your turn.

But pussy only says [14]“Mew, mew,”
And [15]looks in teacher’s face:
[16]Oh, puss, I fear you’ll be a dunce,
And leave in sad disgrace!

“I ’dopt her fer m’ ownes’ tat,
An’ dot fer her der nices’ house.”]

“W’ere she do stay w’en nite am tum
Ser still an’ twiet as er mouse.”]

How prettily you sit and [17]curl
Your long tail round your feet!
And look so cozy and content,
You must think school a treat.

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Point out.]

[Footnote 2: Raise forefinger of each hand, and put one on each side of head.]

[Footnote 3: Look around.]

[Footnote 4: Pretend to wash face.]

[Footnote 5: Same as 3.]

[Footnote 6: Hold hands loosely and shake.]

[Footnote 7: Point to neck.]

[Footnote 8: Raise both hands.]

[Footnote 9: Point outward.]

[Footnote 10: Tap toes lightly.]

[Footnote 11: Point to door.]

[Footnote 12: Beckon.]

[Footnote 13: Hold hands together, palms upward.]

[Footnote 14: Let a few children imitate mewing.]

[Footnote 15: Look intently at teacher.]

[Footnote 16: Move forefinger.]

[Footnote 17: Curve right arm around to left side.]

WHAT PUSS THINKS.

Pray tell me why a heartless pup
Should care to worry _me_—
A gentle, peaceful pussy cat—
And chase me up a tree?

The pup cannot be angry; why,
His eyes are bright with fun;
And yet, ah me! with all my heart
I wish I had a gun!

Then I would bang his wagging tail,
And laugh to hear him howl,
Just as he barks with glee at me,
While I can only growl.

“But how about the mouse?” you ask.
Oh, well, of course I do
Catch mice, and tease them, too, a bit;
But, really, wouldn’t you?

CATS.

EVE LAWLESS.

There are women in this world, and men, too, who, I think, were intended for cats instead of human beings. Notice their soft velvety paws as they beg some favor of you; and then offend them, I’ll be bound you’ll see the claws, and feel them, too.

That person, who creeps around your house with stealthy tread and catlike caution, take my word for it, means mischief, and if you don’t hear some rumors regarding yourself, then I am no prophet.

A cat will kill a bird, eat it, wash her paws, and look up in your face, as though she said, “I don’t see who could have eaten that canary.” Can’t you think of some individual who bears a resemblance to that cat?

Hasn’t some one been casting aspersions upon your character, and said foul things about you, and then licked her paws—I mean washed her hands—and put on a grave-yard look, saying, at the same time, “How can people talk so about their neighbors?”

I hate these cats. I want to have a person candid, upright and outspoken, not palaver before your face, and backbite you when you haven’t the ghost of a chance to defend yourself. It always makes me shiver to hear a catlike tread.

Hallo! Here comes another cat. This time it comes in the shape of an anonymous correspondent, who wishes Eve to write to him on Love! I beg your pardon; I don’t write to promiscuous people, and especially to those who are ashamed to write more than their initials. When a man is not willing to sign his name fair and square to a letter, it doesn’t strike me that he can be any too proud of it. This anonymous letter-writing is of too catlike a nature to suit me.

Have I any more cats handy? I think so. Imagine you have written a poem; some friend praises it, stroking your fur the right way, figuratively speaking. Let another friend tell you of its faults, rubbing the fur contrariwise, won’t you spit, and scratch, and mew something about somebody’s having no taste? Why _are_ we plagued with so many catlike attitudes?

INTELLIGENT CAT.

GRACE BACON HOLWAY.

A rush and a dash and a scamper,
A warm, nestling armful of fur;
Our brief game of tag—being over—
Gave place to the tenderest purr.

He measures a yard in the morning
When stretched in a sweet, dreamless sleep,
The rich, tawny fur, soft as velvet,
Showing broad, even stripes, dark and deep.

He lies on my lap in the sunshine,
I rock him to sleep on my arm,
I feel all the pleasure of loving,
And striving to shield him from harm.

He runs up the tree to my window
To tap with his paw on the pane
And plead, in his sweet coaxing language,
For comfort and shelter again.

Each movement of gentle contentment,
Replete with luxurious grace,
Proclaims him at once and forever
The king of the feline race.

DECORATION OF HONOR.

L.E. STREET.

“You—ow—w!” said Blitzen. “What are you doing on my premises?”

The other cat looked up from the plate before him. He was enjoying the good breakfast which had been placed upon it.

“I’m visiting here with my mistress.”

“What is your name?” further inquired Blitzen, still waving his tail, though in a somewhat less warlike manner; “and why is that blue ribbon tied on your collar?”

“My mistress calls me Herculo. I’m a pure-blooded Angora, and that blue ribbon is for a prize I took in a cat show. I’ve taken four.”

“Humph! Well, my name is Blitzen, which means lightning. I’m called that because I can scratch with my claws just as quick and sharp as lightning can strike. I’m just a plain cat, and never took a prize in my life; but I can catch mice and sparrows and climb a tree like a squirrel.”

Again the tail waved. Herculo looked duly impressed.

“Gr-r-r!” continued Blitzen, beginning to eat the breakfast which lay on another plate close by. “Don’t you dare touch any of my breakfast. Keep to your own plate.”

This was the way the two cats began their friendship. It did not take Blitzen long to grow quite amiable, especially when he saw how respectfully Herculo watch his exploits.

One morning Blitzen started off before daylight on an expedition, which kept him longer than he meant it should.

“Plates empty, eh?” he mused as he reached the kitchen door. “Now, what a good thing it was that I caught that mouse. Where can Herculo be, I wonder.”

“Meow-ow! Meow-ow!”

Blitzen pricked up his ears.

“That sounds familiar!”

“Me-ow-ow!”

“Herculo, as sure as I’m a cat! He must be in some scrape. Now, which direction—ah, front lawn, I guess.” And Blitzen ambled away thither.

“Meow-ow!”

Blitzen looked up in the larch tree, high up in the branches of which clung Herculo. Just beyond his reach sat a dozen sparrows twittering with bird laughter at the terror and discomfort of their would-be enemy.

“Hullo!” said Blitzen calmly. “Why don’t you come down?”

“Ca-an’t—it’s so hi-igh! I’ll fall.”

“What made you climb up there, anyhow, if you were too scared to come down again?”

“To hunt the sparrows. Meow!”

“Ha, ha!” laughed the sparrows. “Chee, chee!”

“Well, you just swing your hind feet off to the next branch below, can’t you?” said Blitzen.

Herculo tried, but was too frightened to succeed.

“I can’t,” he wailed again. “Yow-w-w!”

Blitzen walked around the tree and viewed him critically from all sides. Then he started for the barn. Herculo felt himself deserted, and yowed despairingly.

Blitzen trotted on. At the barn he found John, the man, and rubbing persuasively against his legs, said, “Meow!”

John stooped and petted him. Acknowledging the stroke of the friendly hand, Blitzen repeated firmly, “Meow!” Then he went a few steps toward the door and turned to see if John understood.

“What’s up, Blitzen, ye sinner?” asked John.

“Meow!” replied Blitzen, trotting ahead.

“Sure, he’s a knowin’ animal. He do be wantin’ somethin’. I’ll go with him,” was John’s conclusion.

And then Blitzen triumphantly led him to the tree where Herculo still clung, and still howled dolefully.

“Av coorse, I’ll get him down fer ye, Blitzen,” said John, taking in the situation. “Ye’re a clever feller entirely!”

By help of a ladder and John’s strong arms, Herculo was landed on the ground very much tumbled-up-and-down in his mind.

“Blitzen,” said his mistress, “you shall have a blue ribbon, too. You may not have any blue blood, but you’ve common sense; and that’s a trait worth having in man or beast!”

CAT’S THANKSGIVING DAY.

“Give me turkey for my dinner,”
Said a tabby cat.
“Before you get it, you’ll be thinner,
Go and catch a rat,”
Said the cook, her pastry making,
Looking fierce and red,
And a heavy roller shaking
Over pussy’s head.

Hark! her kittens’ shriller mewing;
“Give us pie,” said they,
To the cook, amid her stewing,
On Thanksgiving day.
“Pie, indeed! You idle creatures!
Who’d have thought of that?
Wash your paws and faces neater,
And go hunt! Scat! Scat!”

So they went and did their duty,
Diligent and still;
Exercise improved their beauty,
As it always will.
Useful work and early rising
Brought a merry mood;
And they found the cook’s advising,
Though severe, was good.

[Music: DING DONG BELL.

DING DONG BELL, PUSSY’S IN THE WELL
WHO PUT HER IN LITTLE JOHNNY GREEN
WHO PULLED HER OUT BIG TOMMY STOUT
WHAT A NAUGHTY BOY WAS THAT TO DROWN POOR PUSSY CAT]

PINS IN PUSSY’S TOES.

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

Little Fred is now in the third summer of his life. He has been moved into the country, and his round blue eyes are growing rounder and bigger every hour with new and wonderful experiences.

Most striking among them and most puzzling to Fred is Pussy. Not a big cat, but a kitten, of those tender years corresponding to Fred’s own. What a wonder she is, seen now for the first time, serenely walking on all fours! A Maltese kit, of pure blood and glossy mouse color, with a white breast-pin in her bosom!

Eagerly Freddy seizes her; he hugs her very tight, and Pussy squirms in vain; he examines the wonder; he pokes his fat little fingers into Pussy’s bright eyes; he opens her mouth and looks at her little pink tongue. He sends her a little while with her head up, and then, for vanity’s sake, he sends her with her heels up, and her head hanging down. Then it occurs to him that Pussy’s tail is a nice handle to carry her by, and he tries that experiment. At last Pussy’s patience gives out, and out from her pretty velvet paws fly the ten little sharp, pearly points that have been given her for her defence, and Fred feels a new sensation. He throws Pussy on the floor and runs screaming to mamma.

“Oh, mamma, mamma, Pussy got pins in her toes!”

Then mamma explains to Freddy why the pins were put in Pussy’s velvet toes. Poor, soft, furry, helpless little Pussy! what could she do if she had not pins in her toes? Does Freddy like to have people poke their fingers in his eyes, or open his mouth, or feel of his tongue? No more does Pussy. Would Freddy like to be carried around, squeezed up under somebody’s arm, with his head hanging down? No more does Pussy. But Pussy cannot speak; she cannot complain—all she can do is to use the pins in her toes.

“When Freddy holds Pussy right end up, strokes her gently, and speaks lovingly to her, the little sharp pins in her paws go away—clear in—where nobody can see them, and Pussy begins to sing a low, little purring song to show how happy she is! So, Freddy dear,” says mamma, “there is a right way and a wrong way to handle everything. If you hold Pussy gently, stroke her softly, and treat her kindly, you never will be troubled by the ten little pins in her ten toes; but if you trouble, and worry, and tease Pussy, she will scratch.”

LAMENT OF A FORSAKEN CAT.

ELIZABETH HARCOURT MITCHELL.

The family went out of town,
Refreshing themselves by the sea;
I thought they’d have taken me down,
But no one had pity on me.
What of that?
After all, it is “_only a cat_!”

The children got in one by one,
When the carriage drove up to the door,
How breathlessly then did I run!
Little Molly cried, “Room for one more!”
What of that?
After all, it is “_only a cat_!”

“No place with the children for me?
With the luggage then, porter,” I said.
“Get out, little demon!” cried he,
And gave me a blow on the head.
What of that?
After all, it is “_only a cat_!”

There is no one without or within;
Not a drop, not a crumb in the house.
My bones breaking through my poor skin;
No strength to say Boo! to a mouse!
What of that?
After all, it is “_only a cat_!”

I was petted and loved by the fair;
Do they think of me now by the sea?
The pavement is burning and bare,
I am dying by inches, poor me!
What of that?
After all, it is “_only a cat_!”

You have left me to die, but I say
That when you have once made a friend,
And loved him a little each day,
You should love him straight on to the end!
Think of that!
Even should he be “_only a cat_!”

A CAT CAME FIDDLING.

A cat came fiddling
Out of a barn,
With a pair of bagpipes
Under her arm;
She could sing nothing
But fiddle cum dee,
The mouse has married
The bumble-bee;
Pipe, cat; dance, mouse:
We’ll have a wedding
At our good house.

CAT AND TIGER.

_A Fable._

The cat and the tiger were once on very good terms. They considered themselves members of the same family; and, whenever any disputes arose among the animals, they were both found vigorously supporting the other’s case. They were often to be seen roaming about the country together, and they frequently did each other great services, the tiger by his superior strength, and the cat by his more nimble wit.

Although, for the most part fast friends, the tiger when they were by themselves would often harass the cat by his conceited speeches.

“You may be very well for small game,” he would say, striding up and down, and lashing his tail to and fro, “but you must know that you are but a small and very plain edition of me. I can easily bring down deer, and I have even put the great elephant to flight. Look how my beautiful stripes flash in the sun. Are you not proud of belonging to my family?”

To this the cat said nothing, but closed his eyes and mused.

Now, it is well known that, though the tiger can easily climb up a tree, once he is up, if he wishes to come down, he must either leap or fall, since he is unable to climb down.

One day he said to the cat: “I have long wished that I could climb a tree. Many of my tormenting enemies escape from me because I must stick to the ground. You climb very well, though you are so little. Why will you not teach me?”

“Come along; I will teach you with pleasure,” said the cat, leading the way to a tall tree. After a great deal of instruction the tiger succeeded in getting up the tree; but the cat, seeing now an opportunity to retaliate for the tiger’s unpleasant words, ran off, laughing.

“I am up very well,” said the tiger, a little frightened at finding himself so far from the ground; “now show me how to come down.”

“Oh, no,” said the cat. “I was only to show you how to get up. Now you must get down the best you can. Since you are so much more powerful and beautiful, surely you can do that much better than I.”

The tiger tried to cajole his small friend, then begged him for help; but, finding him obdurate, flew into a rage and leaped to the ground, meaning to catch and crush him at once. Instead, he almost crushed himself, and lay on his side for some moments, gasping for breath.

At last, when he was able to rise, he rushed after the cat with the best speed he could muster. Lame as he was, he gained rapidly, and it would have gone hard with the cat had he not, luckily, spied a man’s house a little way off. In this he took refuge, and he has never yet mustered courage enough to leave that protection.

WHERE ARE THOSE SLEEPY KITTENS.

_Action Poem._

[1]Cunning little kittens,
Cuddled in a heap,
Tired out with playing,
Now are sound asleep.
[2]Mother cat comes stealing in,
And softly says, “Im-mieouw.”
[3]Where are those sleepy kittens?
[4]Do you see them now?

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Children all huddled in a bunch, with faces in hands on desk.]

[Footnote 2: One child comes softly creeping in toward them and says, “Im-mieouw.”]

[Footnote 3: All children stretch, rub eyes and gather round their mother, now wide awake.]

[Footnote 4: All skip about as kittens do, when their mother is near, and play with one another.]

A SAD CASE.

CLARA D. BATES.

I’m a poor little kitty,
And alas! when born, so pretty,
That the morning I was found,
Instead of being drowned,
I was saved to be the toy
Of a dreadful baby-boy,
Who pinches and who pokes me,
Holds me by my throat and chokes me,
And when I could vainly try
From his cruel clutch to fly,
Grabs my tail, and pulls so hard
That some day, upon my word!
I am sure ’twill broken be,
And then everybody’ll see
Such a looking Kitty!

That baby has no pity!
Thinks I’m “only a kitty”—
I won’t stand it, nor would you!
’Tis no use to cry out m-e-w!
Listen! Some day I shall scratch,
And he’ll find he’s met his match;
That within my little paws
There are ever so many claws!
And it won’t be very long,
If this sort of thing goes on,
Till there’ll be a kitten row
Such as has not been till now;
Then, my lad, there will be found,
Left upon that battle-ground,
Such a looking Baby!

CATS AND DOGS.

JEROME K. JEROME.

I like cats and dogs very much indeed. What jolly chaps they are! They are much superior to human beings as companions. They do not quarrel or argue with you. They never talk about themselves, but listen to you while you talk about yourself, and keep up an appearance of being interested in the conversation. They never make stupid remarks. And they never ask a young author with fourteen tragedies, sixteen comedies, seven farces, and a couple of burlesques in his desk, why he doesn’t write a play.

They never say unkind things. They never tell us of our faults, “merely for our own good.” They do not, at inconvenient moments, mildly remind us of our past follies and mistakes. They never inform us that we are not nearly so nice as we used to be. We are always the same to them. They are always glad to see us. They are with us in all our humors. They are merry when we are glad, sober when we feel solemn, sad when we are sorrowful.

“Hulloa! happy, and want a lark! Right you are; I’m your man. Here I am, frisking round you, leaping, barking, pirouetting, ready for any amount of fun and mischief. Look at my eyes, if you doubt me. What shall it be? A romp in the drawing-room, and never mind the furniture, or a scamper in the fresh, cool air, a scud across the fields, and down the hill, and we won’t let old Gaffer Goggles’s geese know what time o’day it is, neither. Whoop! come along.”

Or you’d like to be quiet and think. Very well. Pussy can sit on the arm of the chair, and purr, and purr, and Montmorency will curl himself up on the rug, and blink at the fire, yet keeping one eye on you the while, in case you are seized with any sudden desire in the direction of rats. And when we bury our face in our hands and wish we had never been born, they don’t sit up very straight, and observe that we have brought it all upon ourselves. They don’t even hope it will be a warning to us.

But they come up softly; and shove their heads against us. If it is a cat, she stands on your shoulder, rumples your hair, and says, “I am sorry for you,” as plain as words can speak; and if it is a dog, he looks up at you with his big, true eyes, and says with them, “Well, you’ve always got me, you know. We’ll go through the world together, and always stand by each other, won’t we?”

He is very imprudent, a dog is. He never makes it his business to inquire whether you are in the right or in the wrong, never bothers as to whether you are going up or down upon life’s ladder, never asks whether you are rich or poor, silly or wise, sinner or saint. Come luck or misfortune, good repute or bad, honor or shame, he is going to stick to you, to comfort you, guard you, and give his life for you, if need be—foolish, brainless, soulless dog!

Ah! old staunch friend, with your deep, clear eyes, and bright, quick glances, that take in all one has to say before one has time to speak it, do you know you are only an animal, and have no mind? Do you know that dull-eyed, gin-sodden lout, leaning against the post out there, is immeasurably your intellectual superior?

Do you know that every little-minded, selfish scoundrel, who lives by cheating and tricking, who never did a gentle deed, or said a kind word, who never had a thought that was not mean and low, or a desire that was not base, whose every action is a fraud, whose every utterance is a lie; do you know they are all as much superior to you as the sun is superior to rush-light, you honorable, brave-hearted, unselfish brute?

They are _men_, you know, and _men_ are the greatest, noblest, and wisest, and best Beings in the whole vast eternal Universe. Any man will tell you that. Yes, poor doggie, you are very stupid, very stupid indeed, compared with us clever men, who understand all about politics and philosophy, and who know everything in short, except what we are, and where we came from, and whither we are going, and what everything outside this tiny world and most things in it are.

Never mind, though, pussy and doggie, we like you both all the better for your being stupid. We all like stupid things. It is so pleasant to come across people more stupid than ourselves. Ah me! life sadly changes us all. The world seems a vast horrible grinding machine, into which what is fresh and bright and pure is pushed at one end, to come out old and crabbed and wrinkled at the other.

Look even at Pussy Sobersides, with her dull sleepy glance, her grave slow walk, and dignified, prudish airs; who could ever think that once she was the blue-eyed, whirling, scampering, head-over-heels, mad little firework that we called a kitten.

What marvelous vitality a kitten has. It is really something very beautiful the way life bubbles over in the little creatures. They rush about, and mew, and spring; dance on their hind legs, embrace everything with their front ones, roll over and over, lie on their backs and kick. They don’t know what to do with themselves, they are so full of life.

Can you remember when you and I felt something of the same sort of thing? Can you remember those glorious days of fresh young manhood; how, when coming home along the moonlit road, _we_ felt too full of life for sober walking, and had to spring and skip, and wave our arms, and shout? Oh, that magnificent young _Life!_ that crowned us kings of the earth; that rushed through every tingling vein, till we seemed to walk on air; that thrilled through our throbbing brains, and told us to go forth and conquer the whole world; that welled up in our young hearts, till we longed to stretch out our arms and gather all the toiling men and women and the little children to our breast, and love them all—all.

Ah! they were grand days, those deep full days, when our coming life, like an unseen organ, pealed strange, yearnful music in our ears, and our young blood cried out like a war-horse for the battle. Ah, our pulse beats slow and steady now, and our old joints are rheumatic, and we love our easy chair and sneer at boys’ enthusiasm. But oh! for one brief moment of that god-like life again.

PICTURE VI.
“She ain’t ner tommon tind o’ tat,
She am Andora, yes, she be.”]

“Er nussin’ bottle wiv er mouf,
F’um wich she dinks her milk w’en hot.”]

DICK WHITTINGTON.

[Music: SONG WITH TABLEAUX.

1. “Clouds of trouble hover o’er me,
I will leave this London drear;
Save my cat, I’m lone and friendless,
Naught but failure greets me here.”
Thus said Dick; and off he wandered,
Eyes bedimmed with burning tears,
Till, fatigued, he paused and rested—
Sweet-toned bells salute his ears.
“Stay, O stay!”
They seem to say.
“Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Mayor of London.”

2. Years rolled by, and Dick was dwelling
In a land beyond the sea;
Fickle fortune smiled upon him,
He was rich as man need be.
Gold and jewels were his payment,
But the labor was his cat’s—
It had cleared the Prince’s palace
Of a mighty swarm of rats.
Still he hears,
As pass the years,
“Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Mayor of London.”

3. Once again in merry London
Dick had landed safe and sound;
Famed afar for truth and honor,
Many were the friends he found.
As Lord Mayor he counseled wisely,
Cheered the poor man’s humble lot,
For the struggles of his boyhood
In success he ne’er forgot.
Yet again
Resounds the strain,
“Long live Dick Whittington,
Lord Mayor of London.”]

PERSONS REPRESENTED IN THE TABLEAUX: Dick Whittington, a
beggar, attendants, etc. A cat.

SCENE. For Tableau I, an exterior; for Tableaux II and III,
an interior.

N.B. The chimes played on the Fairy Bells or some similar
instrument will greatly add to the effect.

TABLEAU I. Verse 1. Dick, with a bundle over his shoulder,
turns round at the sound of the bells.

TABLEAU II. Verse 2. Dick, well dressed, sits fondling his
cat.

TABLEAU III. Verse 3. Dick, as Lord Mayor of London, sits
in a chair of state. He gives alms to a poor man who kneels
before him. Attendants look on.

“TWO’S COMPANY, THREE’S NONE.”

MRS. FREDERICK W. PENDER.

_Written expressly for this book._

Two kittens bright
With haughty air
That plainly said,
“Two make a pair,”
A picture made
As they sat there,
A parasol
Kept off the air.

It shaded them
From wind and sun;
’Twas Japanese,
(A lovely one!)
And well they knew
They had outdone
In style, their chums,
Yes, ev’ry one.