Chapter III: Foreword (2)

And how they blinked
At Pussy Snow,
And said, “My friend,
You cannot go
With us about,
You are too slow;
Besides, your voice
Is never low.

“And people might,
Why, something say,
If you were seen
With us to-day.
Besides, we’ve heard
You’ve been quite gay,
And that should make
Us say, ‘Nay, nay!’

“Then, we, you see,
Are finely bred,
And our swell set
By us is led;
And nothing ’bout
Us must be said
To make us blush
And bow our head.

“We put on style
In dress, and air,
And often tend
Some great affair;
And you, by now,
Must be aware
We surely are
A happy pair.

“Then, too, perhaps,
You do not know
What ‘blue blood’ in
Our veins doth flow.
It might affect
Our social sway
Were we with you
For just one day.

“Then you have heard
By ev’ry one,
How ‘two’s company’
While ‘three is none.’
So run away,
And seek some fun
With peasant cats,
Out in the sun.”

Poor Kitty Snow
Was very sad,
The little dear,
It was too bad!
And though her voice
Was high, ’twas sweet;
And neat she looked
In house or street.

She did not know
That selfish pride
Was used to all
Her goodness hide,
By those who oft
She’d played beside,
From day to day;
And they to chide

Her for her birth—
She, too, a pet.
Oh, how it hurt!
Her eyes were wet
From grieving much
When told to “get,”
By those she loved
And daily met.

A lowly life
Is often best
To prove our friends;
And, for the rest,
If they should not
Stand by the test,
It’s well we know
Them at their best.

POLLY PRY’S KITTEN.

[1]My dear old Maltese pussy!
You’re so soft and sweet to pat,
[2]An’ I love you all the better,
’Cause you’re called a Maltese cat.

[3]When brother Dickey brought you,
He said: “Now, Polly Pry,
You can’t maul an’ tease this kitty,
And I will tell you why.

[4]“She’s called a Maltese pussy,
[5]So as little girls like you,
Will know that maulin’ an’ teasin’ her
Is what they musn’t do!”

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Child enters, walks to chair at stage C, looks down at kitty, speaking in loving tones, and petting her.]

[Footnote 2: Speaks as if she felt slightly teased.]

[Footnote 3: Continues petting kitty, and shakes a finger as if in warning.]

[Footnote 4: Drawls the line, separating the word into “Mal-tese,” and giving stress to “tease.”]

[Footnote 5: Shakes finger insistently, pulls and hauls at kitty. Gives a little meow.]

THE RASH YOUNG MOUSE.

_Action Poem._

“[1]Come in, [2]come in, you naughty child,
Don’t run about the house,”
[3]“Oh, mother, mother, let me please!”
Thus spoke the little mouse.

[4]“Those crumbs, I’m sure they’re meant for me,
Upon the parlor floor,
And most [5]delicious cheese I smell,
[6]Within the pantry door.”

[7]“Dear child, dear child,” mamma replied,
“The danger you don’t see;
If [8]puss appeared, what would become
Of you? [9]_That_ troubles me.”

“Pussy won’t come,” said young Miss Mouse,
[10]“I’m pretty sure of that,”
And [11]off she ran to taste the cheese,
Quite [12]merrily, pit! pat!

And mother-mouse [13]within her hole,
Said [14]“Dear! oh dearie, dear!
Young children are so headstrong, ah!
They never think of fear.”

So little mousie ate her cheese,
And never [15]heard behind
The [16]footsteps soft, which mother dear
Had told her she must mind.

[17]Pounce, pounce, squeak, squeak! Oh! ’tis too late!
And never, never more
Will young Miss Mouse eat cheese so nice,
Behind the pantry door.

So ends the tale of little mouse,
But one word more comes here;
Remember, mother always knows
What’s best for children dear.

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: and]

[Footnote 2: Beckon.]

[Footnote 3: Put hands together.]

[Footnote 4: Point to floor.]

[Footnote 5: Fold hands quickly.]

[Footnote 6: Point to door.]

[Footnote 7: Shake head slowly.]

[Footnote 8: Hold up forefinger.]

[Footnote 9: Emphasize with forefinger.]

[Footnote 10: Nod head saucily.]

[Footnote 11: Point outward.]

[Footnote 12: Shake hands loosely.]

[Footnote 13: Bend hands and place them together.]

[Footnote 14: Shake head slowly.]

[Footnote 15: Point over shoulders with both hands.]

[Footnote 16: Imitate walking with fingers on desks.]

[Footnote 17: Bring hands down suddenly.]

THE GOOD-FOR-NOTHING CAT.

There lives a good-for-nothing cat,
So lazy it appears,
That chirping birds can softly come
And light upon her ears.

And rats and mice can venture out
To nibble at her toes,
Or climb around and pull her tail,
Or boldly scratch her nose.

Fine servants brush her silken coat
And give her cream for tea;
Yet she’s a good-for-nothing cat,
As all the world may see.

THE TIMID KITTEN.

CAROLYN WELLS.

There was a little kitten once,
Who was of dogs afraid,
And, being by no means a dunce,
His plans he boldly made.

He said, “It’s only on the land
That dogs run after me,
So I will buy a _catboat_, and
I’ll sail away to sea.

“Out there from dogs I’ll be secure,
And each night, ere I sleep,
To make assurance doubly sure,
A _dog watch_ I will keep.”

He bought a _catboat_, hired a crew,
And one fine summer day
Triumphantly his flag he flew,
And gayly sailed away.

But in midocean one midnight—
’Twas very, very dark—
The pilot screamed in sudden fright,
“I hear a passing _bark_!”

“Oh, what is that?” the kitten said.
The pilot said, “I fear
An _ocean greyhound’s_ just ahead,
And drawing very near.”

“Alack!” the kitten cried, “alack!
This is no paltry pup!
An _ocean greyhound’s_ on my track!
I may as well give up!”

OUT FOR A HIGH TIME.

E. LOUISE LIDDELL.

Three gay little kittens, named Black, White and Gray,
From their own cozy corner once wandered away.
And old Mother Catkins, asleep on her chair,
Ne’er dreamed that her babies were off “on a tear.”

The kitty-cats frolicked, and gambolled, and ran,
And cut up such capers as only cats can;
And when they encountered a very high wall,
Up scrambled and clambered the little cats all.

“We’re out for a high time,” the kitty-cats said;
And they danced a few quicksteps; turned heels overhead.
Then Whitey and Graycoat struck up a sweet tune,
While Black sat sedately and mewed at the moon.

But brief was their pleasure. They soon heard a yell
Of “Scat there, you cats there!” while shoes and things fell.
Down scrambled and tumbled the poor little kits,
And scampered off homeward, scared out of their wits.

With joy, their warm corner the runaways spied;
And when they were nestled by old Catkin’s side,
The kittens purred softly, “No more will we roam,
For all the world over, there’s no place like home.”

WE CATS.

ACTION SONG.

[Music:

1. [1]We sit upon the mat,
Each comfortable cat,
And we [2]lick our sleek, soft fur, you see;
Then we [3]curl up on the rug,
And we [4]lay ourselves so snug,
And in [5]happy dreams we purr, you see,
In happy dreams we purr, you see.
[6]When dinner-time comes round
How hungry we are found,
With our [7]eager paws held out, you see;
And the [8]kittens rush and roll,
[9]Till they tumble in the bowl,
And they [10]splash the milk about, you see,
And they [11]splash the milk about.

2. But if [12]a dog should bark,
With bristling ears we hark,
And with [13]saucer eyes we glare, you see;
For we [14]know the way to fight,
We can [15]scratch and we can bite—
Let him enter if he dare, you see,
[16]Let him enter if he dare, you see.
What merry games and free
[17]We have when dinner’s done!
And how gaily then we [18]play, you see!
For a feather is enough,
[19]Or a little bit of fluff,
[20]To amuse our kits all [21]day, you see,
To amuse our kits all day.

3. [1]We sit upon the mat,
Each comfortable cat,
And we [2]lick our sleek soft fur, you see;
Then we [3]curl up on the rug,
And we [4]lay ourselves so snug,
And in [5]happy dreams we purr, you see,
In happy dreams we purr, you see.
But [22]when the night comes round
A-hunting [23]we are bound,
And we [24]rampage thro’ the house, you see!
We have [25]played, and slept, and fought,
And [26]now we think we ought
Just to [27]catch a fine, fat mouse, [28]you see,
[29]Just to catch a fine, fat mouse.]

“Oh, she do be ser very nice.”]

“Maybe I mite dess tazy dit,
Ef f’um titten I did part.”]

DIRECTIONS FOR ACTIONS IN “WE CATS.”

[Footnote 1: Each child should sit on a footstool.]

[Footnote 2: Affect to lick breast and paws like a cat.]

[Footnote 3: Lay head down on curled left arm upon knee.]

[Footnote 4: Change attitude to right arm.]

[Footnote 5: Look up with shut eyes, blink and smile, and lay head down again.]

[Footnote 6: All get up and look about eagerly.]

[Footnote 7: Stand on tiptoes and raise paws, like a cat begging; open mouth.]

[Footnote 8: Run three steps to left.]

[Footnote 9: Same action to right.]

[Footnote 10: Raise forefinger, looking down with severe air.]

[Footnote 11: Affect to lap milk eagerly.]

[Footnote 12: Spring back, raise head, put hand to ear.]

[Footnote 13: Stand stiff and erect, with wide eyes.]

[Footnote 14: Shake clenched fist, scowling.]

[Footnote 15: Scratch and bite at imaginary foe.]

[Footnote 16: Remain with both hands extended in clawing attitude and teeth showing.]

[Footnote 17: Each lay left arm around left hand neighbor’s shoulder, smiling.]

[Footnote 18: Each pats her neighbor lightly, smiling.]

[Footnote 19: Blow upward, as if at a feather.]

[Footnote 20: Pounce down playfully with right hand.]

[Footnote 21: Sit down on footstool, and affect to play with something on floor.]

[Footnote 22: Look up mysteriously and lay finger to lips.]

[Footnote 23: Rise stealthily and look to and fro with keen eyes.]

[Footnote 24: Rush three steps to left and then three steps to right.]

[Footnote 25: Quickly pat the next child as in 18, lay head on shoulder and shut eyes, and scratch forward as in 15.]

[Footnote 26: Raise forefinger, smiling mysteriously; stoop, crouching forward.]

[Footnote 27: Pounce forward and seize imaginary mouse.]

[Footnote 28: Swallow imaginary mouse.]

[Footnote 29: Look up smiling, and resume seat on footstool.]

CATKIN.

I had a little pussy,
And her coat was silvery gray;
She lives in a great wide meadow,
And she never runs away.

She always was a pussy;
She never came a cat.
Because—she’s a pussy willow!
Now, what do you think of that?

THE CATS.

(_With Apologies to Robert Southey._)

Hear the warbling of the cats—
Merry cats!
Oh, I love to hear the music of their midnight nightly spats!
And they waltz around and frisk all,
In the icy air of night,
In a way so weird and brisk all,
While their shapely tails they wisk all
With a Cataline delight—
Keeping time with their tails,
Like a lot of Runic flails,
To the concat-cantentation, sung in sundry sharps and flats,
Of a canticle on rats,
Rats, rats, rats,
Rats—
To a wild carnivorous canticle on rats!

Hear the turbulent Tom cats,
Daddy cats!
How the catapultic bootjack interrupts their fiendish chats!
In the darkness of the night,
How their ghoulish outcries smite
Portland flats!
From their catacoustic throats
An intense
Cataphonic ditty floats
To the turtle cat that gloats
On the fence!—
Ah, the tabby cat that listens, while she gloats,
To the surging cataclysm of their wild, catarrhal notes!

Hear the hoarse grandfather cats—
Aged cats!
How they make us long to grasp a score of rattling good brickbats!
They have caught a bad catarrh,
Caterwauling at the moon!
(See it? Caught a bad cat R!)
You may hear them from afar,
Roll it like a British R,
Out of tune.
In a clamorous appealing to the aged tabby cat,
In a futile, mad appealing to the deaf, old tabby cat!
Shrieking higher, higher, higher,
Like a demon in a fire—
While the little kitten cats—
Infant cats—
Sing an emulous, sweet ditty of their love for mice and rats?
That’s
But a rudimental spasm of the capers of the cats!

KITTEN AND THE MOUSE.

Once there was a little kitty, whiter than the snow,
In a barn she used to play, long time ago.
In a barn a little mousie ran to and fro;
For she heard the kitty coming, long time ago.

Two black eyes had little kitty, black as any sloe;
And they spied the little mousie, long time ago.
Four soft paws had little kitty, paws soft as dough;
And they caught the little mousie, long time ago.

Nine pearl teeth had little kitty, all in a row;
And they bit the little mousie, long time ago.
When the teeth bit little mousie, mousie she cried, “Oh!”
But she got away from kitty, long time ago.

HOW PUSSY AND MOUSIE KEPT HOUSE.

A.C. KISH.

One Summer day, not long ago,
A pussy and a mouse,
Decided that it would be fun—
If togeth’r they kept house.

They felt that they could always live
In love and harmony—
And never say an unkind word
Or never disagree.

So they bought a little cottage
And fix’d it very fine;—
And liv’d there-in for quite a-while,
And had a jolly time.

For pussy broiled the beef-steak
And bak’d the bread quite light
While mousie made the beds so neat
And polished the windows bright.

And thus they liv’d, for quite a year,
As happy as could be;
And nothing happened all that time
To mar their love, you see—

Until one day old selfish puss—
Drank all the good rich cream;
And she only left some skim-milk
For mousie,—wasn’t it mean!

When mousie said:—“Oh, pussy dear
I think that you are mean
To leave me only some skim-milk
And drink up all the cream.”

Then pussy’s eyes grew very big,
And pussy’s tail went thump,
It frightened little mousie so
It almost made her jump.

And pussy said: “Now, mousie, mind
Our mistress here to-day,
And if you say another word,
I’ll eat you right away.”

ELDER JOHNSON’S LECTURE ON CATS.

The subject of this lecture is Cats, a domestic animal what is in common use. Cats is a animal as resembles poor people, as they scratches for a living, and never has enough. Cats is lazy, wherein they resemble the rich. Women am fond of cats—p’raps because both uses their claws in asserting their rites—cats on Toms and rats and mice, and little birds, and women on their husbands—which accounts for the great number of divorces. Cats likes milk, but not water, hence the aversion that milkmen have to ’em. Cats is like dandies, as they have great whiskers and white teeth, and is fond of gallivanting about, especially Thomas Cats. There are always a war between cats and rats. Cats has lofty naturs, as they gets on the house-tops, and ascends to the utmost branches of the tallest trees. Robinson Crusoe had a cat, and so had Mahomet. Cats is anti-Malthusians, and increases in geometrical progression, or more. The productions of cats is kittens and electric sparks. This is all there is about cats, except caterwaulin’, which they shares with human bein’s.

A SUNDAY EPISODE

BY HERBERT RANDALL

A goose, a frog, a cat, a dog
All went to church one day;
The goose went on ahead, the rest
All followed on this way

When they got there they heard the choir,
And all began to sing,
The goose, the frog, the cat, the dog,
’Twas such a funny thing!

The goose went, “Honk-a-wonk-e-konk!”
I can’t tell how just now,
The frog went “Peep,” the cat went “Mew,”
The dog went “Bow-wow-wow!”

The people wouldn’t have them there,
They turned them out, and then
The goose, the frog, the cat, the dog
Went walking home again.

LITTLE KITTENS.

Three little kittens in coats so grey,
Went out with the old mother cat one day.

Said the first little kitten, “If we only might see
A monstrous great rat, what fun it would be!”

Said the next little kitten, “I’d seize hold of his head,
And bite him, and squeeze him, until he was dead.”

Said the third little kitten, “Should I see a rat,
I’d eat him all up in much less time than that.”

Suddenly something jumped out of the wood—
All three turned and ran as fast as they could,

And never once stopped till they came to their house.
Yet it wasn’t a rat, but a wee baby mouse.

It was then caught and eaten by old mother cat;
Said the three little kittens, “Now, just think of that!”

TWO GRAY KITS AND THE GRAY KITS’ MOTHER.

Two gray kits
And the gray kits’ mother,
All went over
The bridge together.
The bridge broke down,
They all fell in.
“May the rats go with you,”
Says Tom Bolin.

SANDY JENKINS’S REMARKS ON THE BLACK CAT.

J.D. CORROTHERS.

[From “The Black Cat Club,” by special permission.]

The cat—an’ pertickler de Black Cat—have bin a pow’ful an’ ’spectable genamun sense Time fust begun to wheel his eternal flight ob circumlocution th’u’ endless ages ob nitric acid, quinessence ob floatin’ protoplasm, an’ parliamentary usage!

Long befo’ de earf wah made, de Black Cat had gradjiated f’om a singin’ school in Mahs, an’ had created de planet ob Juan Fernandez an’ de islan’ ob Mesopotamia!

De cat am a practical pusson. He am no spring chicken. He am gen’ly cal’cated to hab nine libes, but dis de cunjah man ’roun’ de co’nah assures me am a sad mistake. He hab nine hundred and ninety-nine libes, libs as long as he want to evah time, an’, lak de good Christ’an, is “bo’n ag’in” almose any ole time. Dat’s why de Theosophists sings dey sacred solo, “De Cat Come Back.”

When de earf wah made without fo’m er void, de Black Cat wah dah watchin’ de whole business, an’ a-layin’ his wires foh to sen’ Grobah Clebelan’ to de United States senate an’ Dick Crokah to de happy lan’ o’ Canaan! Fust thing he done wuz to cross our fo’ parents’ luck in de beautiful Gahden ob Eden, an’ sen’ po’ Adam out to play football wid de rattlesnakes an’ In’juns in de lonely Province ob Wes’ Virginny.

De Black Cat am prone to ebil, as de spahks fly up’ards. He am a lubber ob de back fence, de telegraph pole, an’ de midnight serenade. Bootjacks, pistols, policemen’s clubs, an’ missiles kin not stop his rapturous ditty to de pale-face moon. He am a genamun! He am de mahvel ob de nations!

You mout ax me whut de Black Cat hab done foh sufferin’ humanity. I answer: He am de inventer ob de watermillun, co’n pone, sweeten ’taters, liquor, an’ ’possum; an’ wuz de fust man to teach de cullud race de advisability ob eatin’ po’k chops when you’s flush an’ libber when you’s hahd up.

Oh, de Laud will provide! Dat’s why he gib us our ole black cat Mesmerizer here to bring us good luck whahevah we goes in de United Snakes of Americy, while some ob our good ole mothers is a-ben’in’ ovah de wash-tub, ’way down yondah in Dixie-lan’, sheddin’ briny tears an’ a-sighin’—“Whah’s ma won’rin’ boy to-night?”

’N’ while she’s wo’kin’ ’n’ frettin’, hah trifflin’ son’s down on de co-nah, sunnin’ hisse’f an shootin’ dice, an’ a-singin’:

“Bells am a-ringin’ in Memphis—
Bells am a-ringin’ in Cairo—
De sun’s done sunk, an’ de alligatah’s
Dreamin’ in de deep bayou;
De ole folks done gone to chu’ch,
De little folks done gone to sleep—
’Way down on de ole homestead.
I ’speck dey’s grebin’ ’bout me;
But dey’s got to do widout me,
Tho’ I wuz de sweetes’ blossom
In de ole homestead.”

De Black Cat hab allus bin somebody. Look, whut a pull he had wid ole Isis, one o’ de riches’ men in Egypt, thousands o’ years ago: Cat come along one day, he did, an’ crossed Mr. Isis’ luck, an’ dat fellah didn’t do a thing but beg de cat’s pawdon, an’ build a sacred temple to him. Dat’s all he done to _him_! An’ don’ you think he kin take keer o’ _us_?—his needy an’ faithful chillun? All we’s got to do is to wo’k our rabbit’s foot, an’ say nothin’, an’ thaings’ll come our way.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

“Pussy-Cat, Pussy-Cat,
Where have you been?”
“I’ve been to London
To look at the Queen.”
“Pussy-Cat, Pussy-Cat,
What did you there?”
“I frightened a little mouse
Under the chair.”

KITTENS’ PROMENADE.

Whitefoot, Malta and Pussy-cat Gray
Went to walk together one summer day.

Never before had they passed the gate,
And they walked with pride, with tails up straight.

“It’s very charming,” Miss Whitefoot sighed,
“Who would have thought the world so wide?”

A toad and a grasshopper sat in the way—
“What giants we are!” said Pussy Gray.

“Mother told of danger outside the gate—
There’s nothing to harm us,” said Malta sedate.

Pussy Gray said, “You see, I suppose,
How very foolish of late she grows.”

Just then a dog jumped over the wall—
And spit and a cloud of dust were all

That was left. The kittens brave and sedate
Had vanished through the open gate.

ROBIN REDBREAST AND PUSSY-CAT.

Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree,
Up went Pussy-Cat, and down went he;
Down went Pussy-Cat, and away Robin ran;
Says little Robin Redbreast, “Catch me if you can.”

Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall,
Pussy-Cat jumped after him, and almost got a fall;
Little Robin chirped and sang, and what did Pussy say?
Pussy-Cat said, “Mew,” and Robin flew away.

PARTNERSHIP.

MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.

[_Little girl addresses the mother of her pet kitten._]

You need not be looking around at me so;
She’s my kitten as much as your kitten, you know,
And I’ll take her wherever I wish her to go.

You know very well that the day she was found,
If I hadn’t cried she’d surely been drowned,
And you ought to be thankful she’s here safe and sound.

She’s only just crying because she’s a goose;
I’m not squeezing her—look now—my hands are quite loose,
You may as well hush, for it’s not any use.

And you may as well get right down and go ’way,
You’re not in the thing we are going to play,
And remember it isn’t your half the day.

You’re forgetting the bargain we made, and so soon;
In the morning she’s mine, and yours all afternoon,
And you couldn’t teach her to eat with a spoon.

So don’t let me hear you give one single mew,
For you know what will happen right off if you do,
She’ll be my kitten mornings and afternoons, too.

THE PACE THAT KILLS.

Counted on a tortoise’s back,
Pussy Feathertail
Cries, “Next time I take a ride
I will try a snail.”

PUSS IN MISCHIEF.

_Action Poem._

[1]Where are you, kitty?
[2]Where are you?—say.
I’ve scarcely seen you
At all to-day.

[3]You’re not in mischief,
I hope, my dear;
Ah, now I have found you!
How came you here?

[4]That’s mother’s knitting,
[5]You naughty kit!
Oh! such a tangle
You’ve made of it!

[6]’Twas _that_ which kept you
So very still;
[7]Mamma will scold you,
I know she will.

[8]So, puss, come to me,
You rub your fur
Against my fingers,
And say “purr, purr.”

[9]I know you mean
To say, “Don’t scold,”
So close in my arms
My puss I’ll hold.

[10]And now, I’ll tell you,
My little pet,
That mother’s knitting
You must not get.

[11]The wool will never
Be wound, I fear;
[12]But mother’ll forgive
My kitty dear.

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Enters, looks all around, and recites first line.]

[Footnote 2: Recites second line little more emphatically.]

[Footnote 3: Walks to stage L, and looks, while she recites in anxious tone; suddenly face brightens.]

[Footnote 4: Discovers that kitten is playing with her mother’s knitting, and in surprised voice speaks.]

[Footnote 5: Shakes finger at kitten, picks up knitting and examines it.]

[Footnote 6: Turns and looks at kitten, who seems to be at her side.]

[Footnote 7: Somewhat anxiously. Sits down and looks at kitten.]

[Footnote 8: Kitten climbs into lap and apparently rubs against her fingers. Girl looks down as if to scold.]

[Footnote 9: Looks into kitten’s eyes; hugs kitten close.]

[Footnote 10: Shakes finger warningly at kitten, which she holds up before her. Shows kitten knitting; puts knitting down.]

[Footnote 11: Looks sorrowfully at the hopelessly tangled wool.]

[Footnote 12: Turns suddenly to kitten, as if the dearness of her kitten will cause mother to forgive her; finishes hugging the kitten.]

DAME TROT AND HER CAT.

Dame Trot and her cat
Led a peaceable life
When they were not troubled
With other folks’ strife.
When Dame had her dinner
Near Pussy would wait,
And was sure to receive
A nice piece from her plate.

THAT CAT.

BEN KING.

The cat that comes to my window-sill
When the moon looks cold and the night is still—
He comes in a frenzied state alone
With a tail that stands like a pine tree cone,
And says: “I have finished my evening lark,
And I think I can hear a hound dog bark.
My whiskers are froze ’nd stuck to my chin,
I do wish you’d get up and let me in.”
That cat gets in.

But if in the solitude of the night
He doesn’t appear to be feeling right,
And rises and stretches and seeks the floor,
And some remote corner he would explore,
And doesn’t feel satisfied just because
There’s no good spot for to sharpen his claws,
And meows and canters uneasy about
Beyond the least shadow of any doubt
That cat gets out.

OLD NURSERY RHYME.

Poor pussy-cat mew
Jumped over a coal
And burnt a great hole
In her best petticoat.
Poor pussy-cat mew
Can’t have any milk,
’Till her best petticoat’s
Mended with silk.

FALSE KINDNESS.

The softest little fluff of fur!
The gentlest, most persuasive purr!
Oh, everybody told me that
She was the “loveliest little cat!”
So when she on the table sprung,
And lapped the cream with small red tongue,
I only gently put her down,
And said, “No, no!” and tried to frown;
But if I had been truly kind,
I should have made that kitten mind!

Now, large and quick, and strong of will,
She’ll spring upon that table still,
And, spite of all my watchful care,
Will snatch the choicest dainties there;
And everybody says, “Scat, scat!
She’s such a dreadful, dreadful, cat!”
But I, who hear them, know, with shame,
I only am the one to blame.
For in the days when she was young,
And lapped the cream with small red tongue,
Had I to her been truly kind,
I should have made that kitten mind.

TURN ABOUT.

AUNT MARY: Nora, you’re a cruel child. Let that cat go at once.

NORA [_banging cat_]: But she’s been naughty, Aunty, an’ I’m punishin’ her. I told her it was for her own good, an’ it hurt me more’n it hurt her.

THE SECRET TOLD PUSSIE.

_Romantic Pathetic Monologue for a Young Lady._

All gone to the opera, Pussy, but me;
We are alone in this rambling old house.
Afraid? Not I! Come, sit on my knee,
And tell me your stories of dog and mouse.
Do you hear the wind—how it sobs and grieves?
And the rain falling down on the moss-grown eaves?

Let us turn off the gas and sit on the rug;
How the firelight brightens the long old room,
With its scarlet fancies! Puss, are you snug?
You know in one’s youth one should never know gloom.
That is what mamma told me to-day
When I sighed, and forgot one should always be gay.

Do you see any pictures in the fire,
Pussy, my dear, with your solemn eyes?
Pictures of river and castle and spire—
Or only of milk and a mouse’s surprise?
I see, ah, Pussy, eyes of brown,
And a brow that is royal enough for a crown.

I see a smile that is sweet and rare,
A hand that is gentle and strong and true;
I see a summer-tide swift and fair,
With golden sunshine and skies of blue.
Oh, what shall I do with the long, long years?
Pussy, forgive me, you don’t like tears.

The firelight flickers on picture and wall,
On book-case and bracket, and statue white—
Pussy, do you remember a ball
That happened a year ago to-night?
One little year! How the seasons bring
Changes that only blight and sting!

“Sorrow is sorrow to the old
But death to the young,” ah, Pussy, I’ve read;
Perhaps, if these curls were gray and not gold
I wouldn’t wish to-night I were dead.
Not twenty yet—and all joy o’er,
Oh, Pussy, Pussy, for evermore!

There, there, Pussy! No more tears.
Let’s have a romp in the firelight glow;
Other hearts have beat on through the years
When love and faith were lying low;
Mayhap, in soothing another’s pain
We forget our own. Just hear the rain!

But to-morrow, I doubt not, the sun will shine,
And the clouds be only a dream of the night.
Why should we cherish a woe divine?
Let us hide it away from the sun and light.
Forgetting one’s self is hard, I fear;
But we’ll each try bravely, Pussy, my dear.

Let us say “good-bye” to the dreams of the past—
And, Pussy, my comfort, never you tell
Of the chat that has made these hours fly fast.
One more frolic—oh, there is the bell!
I hear them laughing upon the stair—
Eternal secrecy, Pussy, swear!

From Painting by J. Adam.

THE HUNGRY QUARTET.]

“Two’s company, three’s none.”]

A NOCTURNAL SHOT.

He threw his small clock at a cat—
He missed her, you can bet;
The clock it stopped at half-past three,
The cat is going yet.

MOTHER TABBYSKINS.

[Music:

1. Sitting at a window,
In her cloak and hat,
I saw Mother Tabbyskins,
The _real_ old cat!
Very old, very old,
Crumplety and lame;
Teaching kittens how to scold—
Is it not a shame?]

Kittens in the garden,
Looking in her face,
Learning how to spit and swear,
O what a disgrace.
Very wrong, very wrong,
Very wrong and bad;
Such a subject for our song,
Makes us all too sad.

Old Mother Tabbyskins,
Sticking out her head,
Gave a howl and then a yowl,
Hobbled off to bed.
Very sick, very sick,
Very savage, too;
Pray send for a doctor, quick—
Any one will do!

Doctor Mouse came creeping,
Creeping to her bed;
Lanced her gums and felt her pulse,
Whispered she was dead.
Very sly, very sly,
The _real_ old cat,
Open kept her weather eye—
Mouse! beware of that!

Old Mother Tabbyskins,
Saying, “serves him right,”
Gobbled up the Doctor,
With infinite delight.
“Very fast, very fast,
Very pleasant, too,—
What a pity it can’t last!
Bring another, do.”

Doctor Dog comes running,
Just to see her begs;
Round his neck a comforter,
Trousers on his legs.
Very grand, very grand,
Golden headed cane
Swinging gaily from his hand,
Mischief in his brain.

Ah, Mother Tabbyskins,
Who is now afraid?
Of poor little Doctor Mouse
You a mouthful made.
Very nice, very nice,
Little doctor he:
But for Doctor Dog’s advice,
_You_ must pay the fee.

Doctor Dog comes nearer,
Says she must be bled;
I heard Mother Tabbyskins
Screaming in her bed.

Very near, very near,
Scuffling out and in,
Doctor Dog looks full and queer,
Where is Tabbyskins?

I will tell the moral
Without any fuss;
Those who lead the young astray,
Always suffer thus!
Very nice, very nice,
Let our conduct be;
For all doctors are not mice—
Some are dogs, you see.

TOPSY.

I have the dearest kitten
Your eyes did ever see,
And oh! such merry times she has,
My kitty dear, with me.

Her coat is soft and silky,
And just as black as ink,
That’s why I call her Topsy:
A good name, don’t you think?

Where did my pussy come from?
You cannot guess, I fear.
Why, Father Christmas brought her,
Now, wasn’t he a dear?

Just by my Christmas stocking
A little hamper stood,
And when I lifted up the lid,
My darling kitty mewed.

It was as if she said to me,
“Please take me out, dear May,”
And so I took her in my arms,
And quietly she lay.

But soon some lovely romps we had,
My kitty dear and I,
All round the room, upstairs and down,
To race me she did try.

And when each morning comes again,
And I get out of bed,
I run to feed my kitty
With nice, new milk and bread.

But one day, oh, my Topsy!
A sad, sad tale I heard,
Tom says you scampered up a tree,
After a little bird.

I’m sure I don’t know how you could,
Birds are such pretty things;
I hope you did not catch it, puss,
I’m glad that it had wings.

Perhaps it flew away from you,
So I will scold no more,
But love my Topsy, every day,
Just as I did before.

MY LITTLE GRAY KITTY AND I.

When the north wind whistles round the house,
Piling snowdrifts high,
We nestle down on the warm hearth-rug—
My little gray kitty and I.
I tell her about my work and play,
And all I mean to do,
And she purrs so loud, I surely think
That she understands—don’t you?

She looks about with her big, round eyes,
And softly licks my face,
As I tell her ’bout the word I missed,
And how I have lost my place.
Then let the wind whistle, for what to us
Matters a stormy sky?
Oh, none have such jolly times as we—
My little gray kitty and I.

PUSS AND HER THREE KITTENS.

TOM HOOD.

[_Give in an animated style and tone of voice_.]

Our old cat has kittens three—
What do you think their names should be?
One is tabby, with emerald eyes,
And a tail that’s long and slender,
And into a temper she quickly flies
If you ever by chance offend her.
I think we shall call her this—
I think we shall call her that;
Now, don’t you think “Pepperpot”
A nice name for a cat?

One is black, with a frill of white,
And her feet are all white fur, too;
If you stroke her she carries her tail upright,
And quickly begins to purr, too,
I think we shall call her this—
I think we shall call her that;
Now, don’t you fancy, “Sootikin”
A nice name for a cat?

One is a tortoise shell, yellow and black,
With a lot of white about him;
If you tease him, at once he sets up his back;
He’s a quarrelsome Tom, ne’er doubt him!
I think we shall call him this—
I think we shall call him that;
Now, don’t you fancy “Scratchaway”
A nice name for a cat?

Our old cat has kittens three,
And I fancy these their names will be:
“Pepperpot,” “Sootikin,” “Scratchaway”—there
Were there ever kittens with these to compare?
And we call the old mother—now, what do you think?
Tabitha Longclaws Tidleywink.

NOBODY DID IT.

“Nobody b’oke it! It cracked itself,
It was clear ’way up on the toppest shelf.
I—p’rhaps the kitty-cat knows!”
Says poor little Ned,
With his ears as red
As the heart of a damask rose.

“Nobody lost it! I carefully
Put my cap just where it ought to be,
(No, ’tisn’t ahind the door),
And it went and hid,
Why, of course, it did,
For I’ve hunted an hour or more.”

“Nobody tore it! You know things will
Tear if you’re sitting just stock-stone still!
I was jumping over the fence—
There’s some spikes on top,
And you have to drop
Before you can half commence.”

Nobody! wicked Sir Nobody!
Playing such tricks on all about thee.
If I but set eyes on you,
You should find what you’ve lost
But that to my cost,
I never am like to do!

THREE MAIDENS FAIR.

_Concert Recitation and Pantomime._

STANLEY SCHELL.

_Written expressly for this book_.

[Three girls in elaborate gowns. Each gown has a long
cat-tail attached at back, and each girl wears a cat-mask
suited to color of cat she represents. On each girl’s head,
just back of ears, is a lady’s hat, with three plumes
drooping forward. The hat is kept in place by white-lawn
streamers, tied in big bow beneath chin. One girl wears
chain, with lorgnette, which she uses occasionally; another
girl carries fancy parasol over shoulder; the third girl
carries very showy fan, which she uses at different times.
Gloves should be worn by all girls. Girls enter from stage
rear with mincing steps, and trip to stage front, doing
all sorts of things with lorgnette, parasol and fan until
stage front is reached. Then all stand still and look at
audience, then look sad a moment, and recite in concert the
following:]

Many years ago there lived
Three of us maidens fair and bright;
But to sorrow we were doomed,
All through a fairy’s spite;
For she wanted us to wed
Three sons of hers, we wot;
But we maidens all refused,
And hence this weary lot.
Pity, friends, we ask of you,
Doomed for years to cry me-you!

In this castle were we shut,
Many years ago;
Here for weary days and nights,
Our pearly tears did flow.
Each a handsome lover met
Within the garden fair;
But that fairy changed them all
To mice, and kept them there—
Changed them into three white mice,
And then devoured them in a trice!

Then not satisfied with this,
While we poor maidens sat
Side by side, that fairy came,
And changed us into cats!
Here we must stay to pine and mope,
In feline misery,
’Till three princes come to woo,
And wed, and set us free—
Me-you! There come three princes true!
And now again we’ll happy maidens be.

KITTENS’ BLIND-MAN’S-BUFF.

Blind-man’s-buff is my name.
Do you know how to play the game?
First shut your eyes, then open me,
And you shall see—what you shall see!

TATTERS, THE CAT.

MRS. FREDERICK W. PENDER.

_Written especially for this book._

I will tell you a story of Tatters, the cat,
Who was good, if not handsome, and sleek, and so fat,
And his coat it was ragged [which caused his queer name],
Did not lessen his value—he was loved all the same.

Now, one day he was longing to go on the street,
Just to see the fine sights, it would be such a treat;
He was clever, he thought, as he planned it all o’er,
And he said, “I’ll be gone but an hour, and no more.”

Oh, he never meant wrong, he was seeking some fun,
And to have his own way, why, he skipped out and run.
He was foolish, like children so often, you see,
That he got unawares in some bad company.

He was easy and free, and, I’m sorry to say,
How he went at the call of some boys from his play.
Now, they coaxed him at first till he thought each a friend,
All so trustful was Tatters, he dreamed not the end:

For he looked in their faces and purred his soft way,
And the shame of those boys when they scat him away;
And so timid he grew, and so wild in his flight,
That ’way down a dark alley he stayed all the night.

And his eyes, they shone bright—like two coals in his head.
It was damp, and so cold, and the ground was his bed;
How he crouched all in fear, tho’ no harm he had done,
From those wicked young boys, who were friends, no, not one.

He was far from his home, and his coat it was rough,
And more tattered it grew from the kicks and the cuffs
He would get from the boys as he sought food to eat,
So he stayed in the alley and avoided the street.

And his life was so sad, that he soon pined away,
From the day he had run to the street just to play;
And one morning those boys threw a stone at his head,
It could not hurt Tatters, for the poor cat was dead.

JUST PLAIN CAT.

JENNIE PENDLETON EWING.

Our neighbor’s cat is Persian, the Jones’s cat Maltese;
Aunty’s big Angora has feathers to her knees
(At least they look like feathers), and a tail so big and white,
When that kitty meets a puppy dog, I tell you it’s a sight!
But when I ask, “What breed is mine—my pussy, sleek and fat?”
They laugh and pull my curls, and say, “I fear—just plain cat.”

It’s true her eyes aren’t yellow, her tail is rather small,
I don’t know if she ever had a ped-i-gree at all.
(That big word means her mother, her grandma, too, they say,
That they all took prizes at a show, were marked a special way.)
What do I care for markings, for prizes and all that?
My kitty’s just as precious if she is just plain cat.

She is the dearest kitten, all scamper and all fur!
Not one of all my other pets can make me laugh like her.
She may be very common, but I know she’s good and true,
For she meets me when I come from school with loving little mew;
And when she’s round we never see a teenchy mouse or rat,
And I b’lieve I love her better ’cause she’s just plain cat!

PUSSY’S DREAM.

Dame Puss fell asleep in the great arm-chair,
And she dreamed a dream that was strange and rare.
She dreamed that the mice were to give a grand ball,
And begged her to come and dance with them all.

Pussy said, in her dream, with a curtsy low,
“With pleasure, dear friends, to your ball I’ll go.”
But she said to herself with a sly little mew,
“I’ll dance with you, yes,—but I’ll eat you, too.”

When Pussy arrived at Castle Mouse
She really could hardly get into the house;
For the house it was small and the crowd it was great,
And besides Madame Puss was a whole hour late.

When she reached the great hall, which was really quite high,
The mice placed before her a huge, mammoth pie;
And they said, “Lady Puss, you are hungry, we fear,
So the best of our dainties we’ve brought for you here.”

So Puss with good-will set to work at the food,
For the smell of that pastry, oh, wasn’t it good?
She picked and she licked, and she gobbled away,
And wished it might last for a year and a day.

And when it was gone, Pussy thought with a sigh—
“Ah, how will the mice taste, now—after the pie.
However, I’ll eat them, of course, since they’re here.”
She looked up—no sign of a mouse anywhere.

No sign of a mouse,—and the door it was shut.
Pussy made every effort to open it, but,—
It was firm double locked, and the windows were barred,
With railings of iron all heavy and hard.

To make matters worse, as each window she tried,
She heard the mice giggling and squeaking outside.
By their shrill cries of triumph, they thought, it was plain,
That their enemy never could get out again.

At this Pussy’s courage at once did revive,—
“What, stay here,” she cried, “and be buried alive,—
Be eaten by mice when my sufferings are over,—
No—never—miow! I will break down the door.”

She gathered her strength for a terrible spring,
And flew at the door like a bird on the wing.
Crash, smash went the panels; one more frantic leap,
And, then—why Dame Pussy awoke from her sleep.

And there she was sitting in master’s arm-chair;
No castle, no pie, not a mouse anywhere.
She stretched herself yawning, and, rubbing her eyes,
And looked all around with the greatest surprise.

Ah, Pussy, t’was only a dream, dear, but still
’Twas a dream full of warning for good or for ill;
When you go to Mouse Castle, just take my advice,
Before touching the pastry, first eat up the mice.

DOGS AND CATS.

ALEXANDER DUMAS.

It is admitted that the dog has intelligence, a heart and perhaps a soul, likewise it is agreed that the cat is a traitor, deceiver, thief, an egotist, an ingrate. How many have we not heard say: “Oh, I cannot abide a cat! it is an animal that loves not its master; it is attached only to the house; one must keep it under lock and key. I had one once, for I was in the country and there were mice. The cook had the imprudence to leave upon the table a poulet that she had just purchased; the cat carried it off, no morsel of it was ever seen after. Since that day I have said: ‘I will have no cat.’” Its reputation is detestable, the fact cannot be disguised, and one must acknowledge that the cat does nothing to modify the opinion in which it is held. It is entirely unpopular, but it cares as little about this as it does about the Grand Turk. Must I confess it to you? It is for this that I love it, for in this world one can remain indifferent to things the most serious—if there are serious things, and this one knows only at the end of his life; but he cannot evade the question of dogs and cats. There is always a moment when he must declare himself. Well, then! I love cats! Ah! the times they have said to me:

“What, you love cats?”

“Yes!”

“Do you not like dogs better?”

“No, I love cats much more.”

“That is extraordinary.”

I prefer certainly to have neither cat nor dog, but were I forced to live with one of these two individuals, I would choose the cat. It has for me the manners essential to social relations. At first, in its early youth, it possesses all the graces, all the suppleness, all the unexpectedness by which the most exacting, artistic fancy can be amused! It is adroit, it always knows where it is. Prudent unto caution, it goes everywhere, it examines without soiling, breaking nothing; it is in itself a warmth and a caress; it has not a snout, but a mouth—and what a mouth! It steals the mutton as does the dog, but, unlike the latter, makes no delight of carrion; it is discreet and of fastidious cleanliness, which might be well imitated by a number of its detractors. It washes its face, and in so doing foretells the weather into the bargain. One can entertain the idea of putting a ribbon around its neck, never a collar; it cannot be enslaved. It permits no modifications in its race; it lends itself to no combinations that industries could attempt. The cat reflects, this is obvious, contrary to the dog, a lackbrain whose rabies is his crowning idiocy. In short, the cat is a dignified, proud, disdainful animal that hides its love affairs in the shadows, almost within the clouds, upon the roofs, in the vicinity of the night-working students. It defies advances, tolerates no insults, it abandons the house in which it is not treated according to its merits; in short, the cat is truly an aristocrat in type and origin, whereas the dog is and ever will be naught but a vulgar parvenu by dint of complaisance.

The sole argument at all plausible against the cat is that it destroys the birds, the nightingales as well as the sparrows. If the dog does not as much it is because he is too clumsy and stupid. He runs also after the birds, but barking, the birds escape him, and he stays behind completely dumbfounded, open-mouthed and with astonished tail. He makes up for it upon the partridges and rabbits, after two years’ submission to the strong collar in order to learn this art, and it is not for himself, but for the hunter, that he goes in quest of game. The imbecile! He persecutes the animals, an animal himself, for the profit of the man who beats him. At least, when the cat catches a bird she has an excuse; it is to eat it herself. Why would that authorize man to slander her? Let men regard one another! They will see in their race, as in that of cats, those who have claws and have no other preoccupation but to destroy those who have wings.

MISTRESS KITTY.

“Mistress Kitty, from the city,
How do your kittens grow?
With eyes so bright,
And fur so white,
And teeth a shining row?”

“My kittens white, my heart’s delight,
Their fur is just like snow;
They play and fight
From morn till night,
And _that’s_ the way they grow.”

THE FAMILY CAT.

I can fold up my claws
In my soft velvet paws,
And purr in the sun
Till the short day is done—
For I am the family cat.
I can doze by the hour
In the vine-covered bower,
Winking and blinking,
Through sunshine and shower—
For I am the family cat.

From gooseberry bush
Or where bright currants blush,
I may suddenly spring
For a bird on the wing;
Or dart up a tree,
If a brown nest I see,
And select a choice morsel
For dinner or tea;
And no one to blame me,
Berate me, or shame me—
For I am the family cat.

In the cold winter night,
When the ground is all white,
And the icicles shine
In a long silver line,
I stay not to shiver
In the moonbeam’s pale quiver,
But curl up in the house,
As snug as a mouse,
And play Jacky Horner
In the cosiest corner;
Breaking nobody’s laws,
With my chin on my paws,
Asleep with one eye, and
Awake with the other
For pats from the children,
Kind words from the mother—
For I am the family cat.

DOCTOR TOM MEW.

This is the Schoolmaster, Doctor Tom Mew,
Who teaches young kittens, and birches them, too;
When he cries, “Silence!” each pupil turns pale,
And trembles right down to the tip of his tail.

WHERE IS MY KITTY?

_Action Poem._

[1]Kitty, kitty, kitty!
[2]Where can you be?
[3]Perhaps you’re in the garden;
[4]I’ll run out and see.

[5]She’s not in the garden;
And not in the shed;
[6]Oh, what shall I do
If my kitty is dead!

[7]I’ll look in mamma’s room;
[8]I’ll look in my chair;
[9]I’ll look on the table,
But no kitty is there.

[10]You’ve found her, the darling,
[11]What, there, you don’t say?
[12]Asleep in the barn,
Cuddled up in the hay,
My kitty.

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Child runs in calling.]

[Footnote 2: Stops and looks about.]

[Footnote 3: As if thinking a moment, shakes head as she recites the line.]

[Footnote 4: Recites fourth line and runs out a moment.]

[Footnote 5: Enters hurriedly and tells audience.]

[Footnote 6: Sorrowfully. Stands disconsolate a moment.]

[Footnote 7: Recites line, skips to entrance near R. front and looks in; comes back, and stops a moment, as if thinking.]

[Footnote 8: Recites line; goes and looks in chair; stops a moment.]

[Footnote 9: Recites third line; goes and looks at table; seeing no kitty, looks heartsick and ready to cry.]

[Footnote 10: Looks up and off L. suddenly; face brightens as she listens. Recites line, full of joy and animation and love.]

[Footnote 11: Listens; speaks as if astonished. Takes kitten in her arms very lovingly.]

[Footnote 12: Talks to kitty very lovingly, drawling out on “My Kitty.” Gives kitty a loving squeeze.]

KATHIE’S STORY.

Now stay right still and listen, kitty-cat, and I’ll tell you a story:

Once there was a little girl. She was a pretty good little girl, and minded her papa and mamma everything they said, only sometimes she didn’t, and then she was naughty; but she was always sorry, and said she wouldn’t do so any more, and her mamma’d forgive her.

So she was going to hang up her stocking.

“You’ll have to be pretty good, lest ’twon’t be filled,” said her mamma.

“’Less may be there’ll be a big bunch of sticks in it,” said her papa.

Do you think that’s a nice way to talk, kitty-cat? I don’t.

So the little girl was good as she could be, and didn’t cry nor slap her little sister hardly any at all, and always minded her mamma, specially when she came where the chimney was.

So she hung up her stocking. And in the night she got awake and wanted it to come morning; but in the morning she didn’t get awake till ’twas all sunshiny outdoor. Then she ran quick as she could to look at her stocking where she’d hung it; and true’s you live, kitty-cat, there wasn’t the leastest little mite of a scrimp!

Oh, the little girl felt dreadful!

How’d you feel s’pose it had been you, kitty-cat?

She ’menced to cry, the little girl did, and she kept going harder and harder, till bymby she screeched orfly, and her mamma came running to see what was the matter.

“Mercy me!” said her mamma. “Look over by the window ’fore you do that any more, Kathie.”

That little girl’s name was Kathie, too, kitty-cat, just the same’s mine.