Chapter II: The Tramp Cat (2)

Next morning, where the two had sat,
They found no trace of dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole that pair away;
But the truth about that cat and pup
Is that they ate each other up—
Now, what do you really think of that?

(The old Dutch clock, it told me so,
And that is how I came to know.)

IN THE HAY-LOFT.

HELEN THAYER HUTCHESON.

Up in the hay-loft—kitten and I!
With a window open to the sky,
Curtained with boughs of the chestnut-trees
That toss and sway in the cool west breeze.

The dome of the sky with a cloud is lined,
And the rain comes down when it has a mind,
Pelting the leaves of the chestnut-tree;
Never the rain can touch kitten and me.

Up in the hay-loft—kitten and I!
The hay behind us is mountain high;
The beams across are dusty enough;
Darkness broods in the peak of the roof.

In pearly lines the daylight falls
Through the chinks of the boarded walls;
The air is fragrant with clover dried,
Brake and daisies and things beside.

Queer little spiders drop down from on high;
Softly we welcome them—kitten and I!
Swallows chirp in a lazy strain
Between the showers of the summer rain.

Let the rain come down from the clouded sky,
We’re quiet and cosy—kitten and I!
We muse and purr and think out a rhyme,
And never know what has become of time.

People down there in the world below,
They toil and moil and get dinner and sew;
Up in the hay we lazily lie;
We have no troubles—kitten and I!

Kitten purrs and stretches and winks,
She doesn’t speak, but I know what she thinks;
Never a king had a throne so high,
Never a bird had a cosier nest;
There is much that is good, but we have the best—
Kitten, kitten and I!

EMBLEMATIC SIGNIFICATION OF CAT.

In hieroglyphics of ancient monuments of Egypt a cat represents false friendship, or a deceitful, flattering friendship.

In heraldry, a cat is an emblem of liberty, because it dislikes to be shut up.

In coat-of-arms, the cat must always be represented as full face—both eyes and both ears to show. Three cats in pale sable is the coat of the family of Kent of Devonshire.

The cat is always the emblematic animal of newspaper offices and editors’ chairs of to-day.

Miau! Miau!]

CAT’S DUET.

BERTHOLD

[Music: Miau [repeated by 1st and 2nd CAT to end]]

EVERY MOTHER’S LOVE THE BEST.

As I went over the hills one day,
I listened, and heard a mother sheep say,
“In all the green world there is nothing so sweet
As my little lammie with his nimble feet;
With his eyes so bright, and his wool so white,
Oh! he is my darling, my heart’s delight.
The robin that sings in yonder tree,
Dearly may dote on his darlings four,
But I love my one little lammie more.”
So the mother sheep and her little one,
Side by side, lay down in the sun,
And there let them lie on the hillside warm,
While my little darling lies here on my arm.

I went to the kitchen, and what did I see
But the old gray cat and her kittens three;
I heard her whispering soft and low,
“My kittens with their tails so cunningly curled,
Are the prettiest things in all the world.
The birds in the tree, and the old sheep, they
May love their babies exceedingly,
But I love my kittens from morn to night,
With their fur so soft, and clean and white.
Which is the prettiest, I cannot tell,
I cannot choose, I love all so well;
So I will take up these kittens I love,
And we’ll lie down together beneath the warm stove.”
There they snugly lie under the stove so warm,
While my little darling lies here on my arm.

I went to the yard and saw the old hen
Go clucking about with her chickens ten;
She clucked, and she scratched,
And she bristled away,
And what do you think I heard her say?
I heard her say, “The sun never did shine
On anything like these ten chickens of mine.
You may hunt the round moon
And the stars, if you please,
But you’ll never find any such chickens as these.
The cat loves her kittens,
The sheep loves her lamb,
But they do not know what a proud mother I am.
For lambs nor for kittens I won’t part with these,
Though the sheep and the cat should go down on their knees.
My dear, downy darlings, my sweet little things,
Come nestle now cosily under my wings.”
So the mother hen said, and the chickens all sped
As fast as they could to their warm feather-bed.
And there let them lie ’neath the feathers so warm,
While my little darling lies here on my arm.

ME AN’ BAB.

JOY VETREPONT.

Me an’ Bab we went to church, an’ Bab she saw a mouse. An’—course she wanted to catch him. An’ she slipped out under my sack, where I’d hid her when we went to church, an’ was out of the pew quicker’n no time.

Well, my pa’s a dicken, an’ he had a correction-box, an’ he was a-leanin’ over with the correction-box stretched out so ’t Frankie Hill, what sat in the farthest corner, could put in a cent, an’ all the people was givin’ centses, top, an’ ten cents, too, an’ five cents, too, and he was a-stretchin’ out the correction-box to Frankie, an’ just then the mouse ran right acrost his feet an’ Bab after him. An’ my papa he gave a queer sort of a cry, an’ dropped the correction-box, an’ all the centses fell on the floor in Frankie Hill’s pew, an’—an’ my pa’s face went redder’n red, an’ his ears, an’ his neck, an’ he turns around an’ sees our Bab scamperin’ after the mouse, an’ he started to go after her, an’ everybody on our side was a-lookin’ at Bab, an’ the people on the other side that couldn’t see Bab was lookin’ at my pa, an’ then they all looked at Mr. Green—that’s the minister—an’ Mr. Green he was lookin’ orful solemn. An’ the mouse ran acrost the raised places covered with red carpet, where the minister sits, an’ he ran under his chair, an’ Bab after him. An’ all the dickens had laid down their correction-boxes an’ was goin’ there, too—not under the chair I don’t mean—but up to the raised place with red carpet, an’ the mouse he scampered to the door that’s one side of where the min’ster sits, an’ he couldn’t get out, an’ there wasn’t no hole for him, an’ Bab was after him lickety split, an’—an’—he comed back an’ ran into old Miss Tromley’s pew, an’ she screamed an’ ran out, an’ then there was a reg’lar scrimmage; an’ the dickens was all mixed up, an’ Bab was among their feet, an’ my pa he stooped down, an’ then he came down ’tween the pews with Bab in his arms, an’ his face was orful. An’ he went out with Bab, an’ the other dickens went for their boxes.

An’ Mr. Green he dropped his hank-cher, and he was _orful long_ pickin’ it up; an’ then he coughed, an’ hid his face in his hank’cher, an’ he shooked all over just like he did when my pa told that story about the dicken what put the wrong plaster on his nose; an’ everybody was laughin’, but _I_ was cryin’, ’cause I didn’t know what my pa would do to Bab—or—or—_me_.

An’ Frankie Hill was pickin’ up centses in his pew when my pa comed back; an’ he took me by the arm, an’ led me out of church, an’ says, very stern—

“Go home!”

An’ our house is close by, so I went all by myself, an’ my pa went back to his correction-box. An’ I don’t know what came of the mouse; but Jemima Jane says it’s a good thing my ma’s away, an’ I’ll get a proper “correction-box” when she gets home.

THE CATS’ MERRY, MERRY MEETING.

_Action Song for Six Boys and a Chorus._

STANLEY SCHELL.

_Written expressly for this book._

COSTUME: Every boy wears a different colored costume
made from cambric or cotton cloth. First a hood is made
perfectly tight-fitting and covering all except the eyes,
nose and mouth. Then ears are made and fastened to side
of head. The rest of costume is made like a little boy’s
night-suit, but perfectly tight-fitting and open at the
back. The suit is so made that feet and hands are covered
by the sleeves, and legs being of sufficient length to
form a sort of glove or stocking. To the lower back of the
costume is attached a tail made from the goods rolled in a
long coil and sewed together, then attached to suit. Every
boy wears a cat-mask fitted under hood.

STAGE SETTING: At stage center should be placed a table
with lighted lamp above it. On table a large pan of milk.

Music: “Merry, Merry Cats.”

[_Chorus begins to sing and the cats come wandering in from all parts of stage and on all fours and to act out the words sung_.]

[Music: MERRY, MERRY CATS.]

Some merry cats, once on a time,
Had a merry, merry meeting:
They said “Good Day” and “How De Do?”
Amid some very loud meowing.

ACTIONS: Boys smile as they enter and see the other cats;
then, as they slowly edge around in alert fashion and catch
the others’ eyes, they bow, move along, say “Good Day” and
“How De Do?” and scamper quickly about “meowing” as they go.

Chorus sings as follows:

How they do scamper round the room,
How they do run and play;
And such a merry time they have,
These merry, merry cats to-day.

ACTIONS: Cats scamper around, roll over each other, give
each other gentle pats, etc.

There on the table ’neath the light,
Is a pan of milk so clean and white;
The cats now see it, and with a cry,
All lap until the dish is dry.

ACTIONS: Cats suddenly stop playing as one discovers table
and gets up to see what is on table. His discovery is
learned by his meow, and all rest paws on table and begin
to lap milk from pan.

They now feel full and lazy, too,
And walk about and gossip anew
Of mice and all the latest styles
Of rats and coats, hats, ties and shoes.

ACTIONS: Cats having finished the milk lazily leave table,
drop to floor and roll about; begin to wash themselves,
then walk about in couples and act as if gossiping about
something of greatest interest.

They feel at last ’tis growing late,
And yawn and stretch and say “Good Night.”
Then give each other sleepy bows,
Now see them scamper out of sight!

ACTIONS: Cats act sleepy and move about very lazily. They
yawn and stretch a bit, then nod to one another sleepily.
Suddenly a crash is heard and all the cats scamper out of
sight.

CAT CONVENTION.

EDNA A. FOSTER.

A congress was held in Great Catkin Town,
And all the kitties of wealth and renown
Met to consider the mission of cats
As something more than the killing of rats.
The lawyer declared, in a long-winded speech,
That the very habits of cats should teach
They were born for orators firm and true;
You may hear them argue the whole night through.
They turned the discussion this way and that,
With an eloquent plea from every cat.
Only one admitted that he could live
For love alone, and his hours would give
To graceful posing on hearth-rug and chair.
Then the clown spoke up and said: “I despair—
This weighty question I move to give up;
My feelings warn me ’tis time to sup.
And, so with apologies, friends, to you,
I think I’ll prowl round for a mouse or two!”
Be it said with sorrow, the president then
Gave a wee wink and said, “My dear men,
I much regret the way things have turned;
This Cat Convention is hereby adjourned!”

SOME CAT TRAITS.

Cats work while we sleep.

Cats do not mind the cold.

Cats sing to show friendship.

Cats scratch or bite when annoyed.

Cats cannot catch game by running.

When hunting prey, cats’ claws are sheathed; when seizing prey, their claws are quickly uncovered and thrown out.

When winking at us, cats’ eyes become dull and expressionless.

When darkness approaches, pupils of cats’ eyes dilate and shine brightly.

When daylight strikes pupil of a cat’s eye, it contracts until only narrow vertical slits remain.

Cats’ ears always stand erect to catch sound, except Chinese cats, who have drooping ears.

Cats show less fondness for human beings than do most animals.

Cats are expert hunters of birds, squirrels, fish, mice, rats.

Cats spit or purr.

When scared, cats lay back ears, show thirty sharp teeth, arch back, raise tail.

Cats have five toes on each front paw and four on each back paw. To each toe is attached a sharp nail or claw. These claws are covered by a sheath except when in use.

Cats have twelve cutting teeth—six above and six below. Cats also have four longer teeth known as canine teeth, similar to those of nearly every carnivorous animal.

Cats love to sleep by day and prowl by night.

When cats catch prey they play with it for a long time before killing it.

Cats always wash after eating or drinking.

* * * * *

_Ques._—What is the name of the plant most fatal to mice?

_Ans._—Cat-nip.

CAT AND MOUSE.

A mouse was chased, and in its haste
Away from claws to fly,
In use an empty bottle placed
That happened to be nigh.

Then pussy, peeping through the neck,
Could scarce suppress a grin
To see how calm it met her gaze
As safe it sat within.

She turned the bottle upside down
And shook it freely there;
But nothing could induce the mouse
To seek the open air.

Then lying down upon the floor
She reached a paw to take her,
But still the mouse had room enough
And blessed the bottle-maker.

She raised the bottle overhead
With all the strength she knew,
And in a thousand pieces small
The port of safety flew.

But while the fragments filled the air
The mouse with action spry
Quick reached another hiding-place
And squeaked a glad good-bye.

* * * * *

_Ques._—Why has a chambermaid more lives than a cat?

_Ans._—Because each morning she returns to dust.

LAND ON YOUR FEET.

SAM WALTER FOSS.

You take a cat up by the tail,
And whirl him round and round,
And hurl him out into the air,
Out into space profound,
He through the yielding atmosphere
Will many a whirl complete;
But when he strikes upon the ground
He’ll land upon his feet.

Fate takes a man, just like a cat,
And, with more force than grace,
It whirls him wiggling round and round,
And hurls him into space;
And those that fall upon the back,
Or land upon the head,
Fate lets them lie there where they fall—
They’re just as good as dead.

But some there be that, like the cat,
Whirl round and round and round,
And go gyrating off through space,
Until they strike the ground;
But when at last the ground and they
Do really come to meet,
You’ll always find them right side up—
They land upon their feet.

And such a man walks off erect,
Triumphant and elate,
And with a courage in his heart
He shakes his fist at fate;
Then fate with a benignant smile
Upon its face outspread,
Puts forth its soft, caressing hand
And pats him on the head.

And he’s fate’s darling from that day,
His triumph is complete;
Fate loves the man who whirls and whirls,
But lands upon his feet.
That man, whate’er his ups and downs,
Is never wholly spurned,
Whose perpendicularity
Is never overturned.

KITTEN’S VIEW OF LIFE.

THOMAS WESTWOOD.

Kitten, kitten, two months old,
Woolly snowball, lying snug,
Curled up in the warmest fold
Of the warm hearth-rug!
Turn your drowsy head this way;
What is life? Oh, kitten, say!
“Life?” said the kitten, winking her eyes,
And twitching her tail in a droll surprise,
“Life? Oh, it’s racing over the floor,
Out at the window and in at the door;
Now on the chair-back, now on the table,
’Mid balls of cotton and skeins of silk,
And crumbs of sugar and jugs of milk,
All so cozy and comfortable.
It’s patting the little dog’s ears, and leaping
Round him and over him while he is sleeping,
Waking him up in a sore affright;
Then off and away like a flash of light,
Scouring and scampering out of sight.
Life? Oh, it’s rolling over and over
On the summer-green turf and budding clover;
Chasing the shadows as fast as they run
Down the garden-paths in the mid-day sun;
Prancing and gamboling, brave and bold,
Climbing the tree-stems, scratching the mold—
THAT’S life!” said the kitten two months old.

PUSSY GRAY’S DINNER.

The lobster and fish on the long table lay,
When, smelling and sniffing, in walked Pussy Gray.
“I’ve had breakfast, of course, but fresh fish is rare,
And while no one’s looking, I’ll just take my share.
For once I am sure, I shall really rejoice,”
She remarked, “to dine first and make my own choice.
A lunch of fresh fish! Now what could be nicer?
I’ll eat of you raw, the rest may have fry, sir.
What hinders my dining at table to-day?
The first bite shall be mine,” said smart Pussy Gray.

But poor Puss, alas! had no chance to be first!
The lobster was living, his temper the worst,
And when Puss began to poke round him, and claw
At his shell, he suddenly seized on her paw
And held it with a grip so exceedingly tight
That no one could question that he had the first bite.
Puss mewed and she squalled and made such a clatter
That cook rushed in to see what was the matter.
“Served you right,” she cried crossly, as Puss limped away.
“’Tis best to be honest,” mourned poor Pussy Gray.

“Four little scamps are we.”]

UNHAPPY MOTHER.]

ME AN’ METHUSELAR.

HARRIET FORD.

[SCENE.—_An alley leading to the stage entrance of the
theater. Enter a very ragged child carrying a pet cat. She
looks cautiously around as if afraid of being followed. Her
dress is draggled and she wears an old shawl. Her hair is
tangled and unkempt._]

Nop—nobody seed us, Methuselar. Nop—no—o—op. Thought sure Pike Cotes’u’d guess what we wuz up t’, an’ foller. Oh—oo! Oh—oo! That wuz a stunner, wa’n’t it, Methuselar? Sit down sudden ’nough that time, didn’t we? Oh—oo! Did I smash his ’ittle empty stomach? Did I? Drat Daddy? He drank yer milk, he did. Meuw, meuw! You’re right, Methuselar. He’s a stingy, skimpy, skinny old stealer. That he is. But you knowed you stayed out on the roof half the night—yes, you did, yes, you did. O’ course, ye’re shamed of it, now ye’re starved an’ sober. Daddy got in first an’ swiped your drink, he did. There’s no ust o’ me talkin’. You an’ Daddy are dead set t’ keep out nights. Yes, you be, yes, you be! Never you mind. We’ll buy a whole river o’ milk sometime or ’nother, an’ you shall jest swim in it, Methuselar.

We’ve had a tough time of it to-day, hain’t we? This ’ere’s me first ’round these diggin’s. Don’t believe nobody never thought o’ this afore. My eyes! but I wuz ’fraid Pike Cotes ’u’d catch on an’ sneak after us, but we skipped him. This must be the stage-door. We’ll jest set here an’ sing, Methuselar.

“On Sunday night
’Tis my delight
An’ pleasure, don’t you see,
With all the boys
An’ all the girls——”

Can’t seem to rouse a shadder, Methuselar. Meuw! You knowed this wuz the spot fer us. Yes, you did, yes, you did. Didn’t you wink yer grazy eyes, an’ wag yer fuzzy tail when I sat an’ thought it up. Now, you knowed from the start, Methuselar, that you had t’ toddle ’long a me, an’ you ’greed to it, yes, you did, you did. You heard Pike Cotes tell how he got in the the-a-tur t’run erruns an’ things, an’ he said as how all the acturs an’ show folks jest dote on cats, an’ ’u’d have a fit if one turned agin ’em. Why, Puss, they’d no more dare walk by me an’ you ’thout givin’ us a penny fer luck—goodness! Here comes one.

“She’s my sweetheart,
I’m her Joe,
She’s my Annie,
I’m her beau.
Soon we’ll marry,
Never to part——”

He can’t be an actur, Methuselar. Why, he looked right at you an’ you never phased him. That song did it, Methuselar. It’s a Jonah, ain’t it? Let’s try anodder.

“The heart bowed down by grief an’——”
We’re a sad pussy cat,
A hungry pussy cat,
An’ a sad, sad, sorrowful girl.

Here comes somebody else. Better luck this time, Methuselar.

“On Sunday night,
’Tis my delight,
An’ pleasure, don’t you see——”
Oh, thank you, lady,
Thank you, lady,
Da de da, ah de dee—e.
“There’s an organ in the parlor
To give the place a tone,
An’ ye’re welcome ev’ry evenin’
To Maggie Murphy’s home.”

My eyes! Methuselar, ain’t it grand? Hain’t seen one afore t’-day, have we? You caught her, Methuselar. Yes, you did, you did! She’s ’fraid you’d bring her everlastin’ bad luck. Guess she don’t know it’s ’bout all you kin do t’ hustle fer yourself ’thout mousin’ ’round hoodooin’ other folks. You couldn’t do much hoodooin’ on such an awful empty stomach, could you? Brace up, Methuselar! Here comes a swell.

Oh, sir, jest a penny t’ help a girl, me an’ puss are starvin’. Jest a—

Oh, thank you, sir! Thank you!

A nickle, as you’re a cat with whiskers, Methuselar! You done it, you done it! Yes, you did—yes, you did. Yer first trip, too, ain’t it? You’ll soon be up t’ the tricks. You do look hungry, Methuselar, but I’ll have t’ train you in looks. Now, jest t’ think, if you could squeeze out a few tears while I sung, my eyes! wouldn’t we get rich! Here comes a beautiful lady. Hush up an’ I’ll try a new dodge on ’er.

Oh, lady, can’t you give a poor girl a lift? I do so want t’ see you act in the play. If I could only git a few more pennies, me an’ a friend ’u’d clap you out of sight. Jest a few pennies, a quarter or a dime, or a nickle ’u’d do, lady. Oh, thank you! Much obliged, much obliged! God bless you, lady!

Ho, ho! Methuselar! How’s that? Ain’t you proud o’ yer mudder? That’s the way to catch ’em. Pike put me on, he did, the night he an’ me went to the play, an’ he tole me t’ help him raise the roof whenever his bloomin’ benefactor so much as put his nose on the stage.

Methuselar, I don’t think we need to sing. Anybody jest t’ look at us ’u’d know we wuz poverty-struck. Now, I’d know you was the minit I seen you. Well, I have t’ sing t’ make folks look, I s’pose. Oh, see this gentleman, Methuselar! I guess an upperatic song’ll catch him.

“She’s plain Molly O,
Tender an’ sweet;
She’s plain Molly O,
An’ my heart is at her feet.
She’s plain Molly——”

Oh, thank you, sir. Oh, thank you! Thank you! My name? Oh—Ginny Mur—Genavarur Murkin’s my name, sir. Yes, I have t’ sing or I guess we’d starve. I’d a’ sung better for you jest now only I’m frightful hungry. Rats ain’t in it with me an’ Methuselar. Methuselar? This ’ere’s Methuselar. We’re pards. Purty name? Yes, we think so. Pike Cotes, he named him. He’s ’bout the only friend I got, Pike is. He goes t’ Sunday school, Pike does, an’ he tole me, he says: “Now, if you’ll name that ’ere cat Methuselar, he’ll live to be as old as this ’ere house, see?”

Our house? Well, ’taint ourn, but we live on top. Bordun’s saloon’s on the first floor, you see, an’ Granny Midders an’ her son’s on the second. Tom Grimy an’ his pard’s the third, an’ Daddy an’ me an’ Methuselar’s fourth back. That ’ere saloon’s the spite o’ me an’ Methuselar’s life, ’cause Dad he—he can’t—can’t get by it nohow. He’s richer’n we are, but he has t’ drink. He can’t help it somehow. He’s purty weak lately. Me an’ Methuselar think he’s ’bout drowned out.

What, sir? What, sir? Sing—in—the the-a-tur? Yes, sir! Yes, sir—yes—sir! Sing in the the-a-tur? My eyes! You don’t think they’d have me? You do? Sing in the the-a-tur! Sing—in—oh, sir, may I try? I’ll sing—nobody never heard the way I’ll try for it, sir. Not alone? Yes, I know, sir—in the chorus, yes, sir. To-morrow? Yes, sir. Ten o’clock sharp, sir. Yes, I’ll fix up a bit, sir. Oh, thank you, sir. Look for you? Yes, sir. Good-bye, sir. Good-bye, sir—Good-bye!

Sing—in—the—the-a-tur! Methuselar! Me—Ginny Murkins. You shall hear, Methuselar, you shall, you shall. My! but I’ll be skart, won’t I? But I’ll sing, Methuselar. What’ll Pike say now, what’ll he say? Methuselar, you shall have a bouncin’ bowl of milk this minit, an’ Granny Midders shall help me get a gown. Methuselar—think of it! Sing in the the-a-tur—the the-a-tur—the the-a-tur!

[_Exit laughing and crying._]

PUSSY CAT.

Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?
You say: “To the grand matinée;”
’Twas held on the house-top, away down the street,
And ended at breaking of day.

THE HAPPY FAMILY.

[Music:

1. I have a cat, she’s as black as my hat,
Fur fifty times finer than silk,
And whate’er is occurring, she always is purring,
Especially over her milk.

And I have a dog, too, a wonderful dog,
Nobility beams in his eye;
And early or late for his master he’ll wait,
None such friends as dear doggie and I.

2. His dear honest nose he shoves into my hand,
Yet growls if a rogue comes in view;
And his great wagging tail makes one quite understand
He’s a watchman both fearless and true.

A trio of jolly companions are we,
Together we pleasantly jog;
Indulge in no riot, but live very quiet,
Myself and my cat and my dog.]

THREE NAUGHTY KITTENS.

ISABEL FRANCES BELLOWS.

There once were three kittens who lived on a farm,
And never were kittens who did so much harm;
They worried the chickens, and snarled at the hen,
And scratched at the pig through a hole in the pen;
They climbed on the sty and hung over the rail,
And bit off the curl from a little pig’s tail.

The horses they scared, and they frightened the cows,
By shrieking out at them with dreadful me-ows;
They worried the ducks and they bothered the geese,
And clawed at the ram till he lost all his fleece;
They frightened the bossy calf half into fits,
And spit at the dog till he half lost his wits.

They knocked down the turkey and rolled him about,
They rumpled his feathers, and pulled them all out;
Such horrible faces they made at the drake,
He went straight and drowned himself off in the lake;
They fought the old rooster upon his own hill,
Till all that was left were his spurs and his bill.

They drank up the milk and tipped over the cream,
And gave the old parrot a horrible dream;
They chewed up the tab-strings of grandmother’s cap,
While she, poor old lady, was taking a nap;
So shocking the squealing they made in their pride,
The children all ran, and the baby it cried.

They played with the meal and the hominy bags,
And tore them all up into tatters and rags;
They climbed by their claws up the farmer’s new clothes,
And knocked his gold spectacles off from his nose;
The meat in the pantry they stole from the hooks,
And chewed up the children’s nice Sunday-school books.

These kittens left nothing at all to itself,
Save only the mice on the store-closet shelf;
The farmer’s good wife bore it meekly and long,
Though telling them oft they were naughty and wrong;
She argued and reasoned by day and by night,
But nothing could make them behave as was right.

Her patience, one morning, was wholly worn out,
So, ere they discovered what she was about,
She clapped them all three in a covered tin pail,
And carried them straight to the great county jail.
And there they have kept them to this very day,
Locked up in a cell where they can’t get away.

“WHEN THE CAT’S AWAY THE MICE WILL PLAY.”

_Tableau._

MRS. MARY L. GADDESS.

Young girl in morning dress, seated in a chair; sewing on the floor, where it has been dropped. A youth in blouse and flannel trousers, or bicycle suit, kneels at her feet. She has her finger on her lips, and laughingly motions the youth with her hand to keep quiet, as someone is in the back room. Old lady in house dress, broom in hand, enters, stands as if appalled, then advances with broom up. The youth sees her, and jumps up; girl looks astonished, while old lady catches each by the ear and glares at them. The girl drops a curtsy and demurely says: “When the cat’s away the mice will play.” Lad nods head as if he agrees, while curtain falls.

A CAT LAW-SUIT.

Two tabbies on a summer morn
Were gayly walking,
When, lo! a boy let fall a cheese,
While busy talking.
Both wandered near, as though in play,
And slyly rolled that cheese away.

They rolled it fast, they rolled it far,
Those cunning cats;
They rolled it to the forest’s edge,
By dint of pats;
But when they came to share, you see,
These foolish cats could not agree.

Each one, mistrusting much the other,
Began to growl,
And made so loud a din and noise
They woke an owl.
He cried: “Don’t fight, but let us tell
Your case to Lawyer Judge-em-well.”

So said, so done. A monkey came,
When they did call,
With ink and pen, and scales in hand
To settle all.
“Are you the folks who disagree?
Give here the cheese, and trust to me.”

He broke the mass, dropped either half
In balance flat—
One lowest plumped. “Now, see how law
Will alter that.”
He bit a huge piece off, and then
They saw him weigh the rest again.

“Now, this side’s wrong.” Another nibble
Made that too light.
“Stop!” cried the cats; “Why, at the rate
At which you bite,
We soon shall have no cheese to share.
Surely that is not dealing fair.”

“Justice must have its dues,” cried he,
Still biting;
“You should have shared your cheese in peace,
Instead of fighting.
The two sides I have matched, and for my fee
All that is left belongs to me.”

PUSSY’S VOCAL LESSON.

My elocution lesson I didn’t quite enjoy;
You’d scarcely guess the reason, ’twas a little teasing boy.
Wee Rob, my naughty nephew, would listen to it all,
And mimic in a manner that made me feel quite small,

The motions and the gestures, the swayings and the bounds,
The consonants explosive, the open vowel-sounds.
And then he’d tell his kitty, in jolly boyish play,
Just how I said the letters “P,” “T,” “Z,” “S,” and “K.”

One morn came Uncle Charlie, with Nero by his side,
A big Newfoundland beauty, our uncle’s pet and pride.
Toward kitty Nero sauntered with stately doggish grace,
She spit and hissed like fury right in his friendly face.

Astonished and disgusted, no word did Nero say,
Scorn on his noble features, he turned and walked away.
And Snowball swelled her body, with all her feline might,
Her back looked like a camel’s, she was a funny sight.

“You spitfire,” shouted uncle, “you bristling bunch of rage!
If you were mine I’d whip you and put you in a cage!”
“My kitty is no spitfire” (Rob’s eyes with mischief glowed),
“She says them ’splosive letters as fast as she can ’splode.”

“Oh, now I see,” laughed uncle, “please pardon me, my dear,
’Twas pussy’s vocal lesson I happened then to hear.
You’ve done it well, brave pussy” (he smoothed her ruffled back),
“Although your tones are faulty, you’ve learned the right attack.”

THE SEA-PUSS.

KATE UPSON CLARK.

[On certain portions of the coast the white, rushing waves
which precede a storm are called “sea-pussies.”]

The ocean-cats flirted their fluffy white tails,
And flecked with salt dewdrops the fisherman’s sails,
And the noise of their fighting flew over the foam,
Till the mother, leagues off, in the fisherman’s home,
As she watched o’er her little ones, cried: “Listen! how
The sea-puss is screeching! Just hear her me-ow!”

When the ocean-cats shake their fluffy white tails,
The fisherman trembles and takes in his sails,
And when on his ear strike their menacing cries,
Before them the bravest of fishermen flies;
And he says to his children: “I came home just now,
For the sea-puss was angry—I heard her me-ow!”

So, when the waves whiten, the children’s hearts quail,
And, “Mother,” they say, “there’s a sea-pussy’s tail!”
For they know, if the ocean-cats sport on the foam,
Their father may never get back to his home;
And a cloud darkens even the baby’s bright brow,
When they shout: “There’s the sea-puss! Just hear her me-ow!”

PUSSY AT SCHOOL.

LOUIS B. TISDALE.

[For a little child sitting in a chair nursing a kitten.
Appropriate actions suggest themselves in the verse. “Do,
mi, sol, do,” should be sung.]

Now pussy come and play at school
And sit up very straight,
Just listen now—you’ll get bad marks,
If you are ever late.

So, pussy, say your A B C,
Don’t make a face like that;
You know quite well, I’m sure you do,
That C A T spells “cat!”

Come, let me see you write your name,
Just hold the pencil so,
Don’t say “Mieow, mieow, mieow,”
That’s not your name, you know.

I think I’d like to hear you sing,
’Twill give me great delight;
What’s that you say? “You only sing
Upon the tiles at night?”

Well, never mind, just do your best
And sing this after me;
“Do, mi, sol, do,” that’s right, and now
You’ll have some milk for tea.

I’m very pleased indeed with you,
You’ve been so good to-day;
And school is over, so dear puss,
You now can go and play.

MOTHER GRAY AND HER CHILDREN.

[Music:

1. In an old brick oven not far from here,
All cuddled up in a heap,
Are three little kittens so cunningly dear;
Their story, I know, you would like to hear,
While they are fast asleep.

Two are spotted with white, one is soberly grey,
Save the paws so soft and white
Which with ashes and coals so frequently play,
And into all mischief so constantly stray,
And oft are as black as night!

2. Round and round they run, in the funniest style,
After each little one’s grey tail;
But the tail whirls the faster, and once in a while
They fly round so swiftly that all in a pile
They huddle like leaves in a gale.

Then old Mother Gray, with a face quite demure,
Sits winking at their droll play;
And once in a while she says, with a purr:
“My dear little kittens, you must ever prefer
At home with mother to stay!”]

THE WAY YOU LOOK AT IT.

A mousie begged, “Oh, mother, please,
The moon, they say, is made of cheese;
Let’s go there—you and I. The man
Could never catch us if we ran.”

“Dear,” said the parent, “I’ve a mind
To buy you specs—you seem so blind.
Had you the sight of any bat
You’d see that man is just a cat.”

PET AND HER CAT.

Now, Pussy, I’ve something to tell you,
You know it is New Year’s day,
The big folks are down in the parlor,
And mamma is just gone away.

We are all alone in the nursery,
And I want to talk to you, dear,
So you must come and sit by me,
And make believe you hear.

You see there’s a new year coming,
It only begins to-day,
Do you know I was often naughty
In the year that is gone away?

You know I have some bad habits;
I’ll mention just one or two,
But there really is quite a number
Of naughty things that I do.

You see, I don’t learn my lessons,
And, oh! I do hate them so,
I doubt if I know any more to-day
Than I did a year ago.

Perhaps I’m awfully stupid,
They say I’m a dreadful dunce.
How would you like to learn spelling?
I wish you would try it once.

And don’t you remember Christmas—
’Twas naughty, I must confess—
But while I was eating my dinner
I got two spots on my dress.

And they caught me stealing the sugar,
But I only got two little bits,
When they found me there in the closet,
And frightened me out of my wits.

And, Pussy, when people scold me,
I’m always so sulky then,
If they only would tell me gently,
I never would do it again.

O Pussy! I know I am naughty,
And often it makes me cry,
I think it would count for something,
If they knew how hard I try.

But I’ll try again in the New Year,
And, oh! I shall be so glad
If I only can be a good little girl
And never do anything bad!

WHAT BECAME OF THE KITTEN?

AUNTY.—What became of the kitten you had when I was here before?

NIECE [_in surprise_]. Why, don’t you know?

AUNTY.—I haven’t heard a word. Was she poisoned?

NIECE.—No’m.

AUNTY.—Drowned?

NIECE.—Oh, no.

AUNTY.—Stolen?

NIECE.—No, indeed.

AUNTY.—Hurt in any way?

NIECE.—No’m.

AUNTY.—Well, I can’t guess. What became of her?

NIECE.—She growed into a cat.

THE OUTING.

MRS. FREDERICK W. PENDER.

_Written expressly for this book._

Now, a stylish young cat and a little white pig,
And a duck who was black, and a goat who was big,
Were all playing around in some newly mown hay,
When they paused in their sport as the duck she did say:

“Come away to the woods for a nice sunny walk.
There’s a stream on whose banks we can rest as we talk,
For the day is so fine, ’tis a shame if we stay,
So we’ll hurry and dress, then away, all away.”

Now, the cat was so pleased that she bowed and she smiled,
While the piggie he squealed till he nearly went wild.
As for Billy, he did—why, a stunt that was fine,
For he stood on his head with his heels up behind.

They were proud and the pains they all took so each rig
“It would suit the complexion,” remarked the white pig;
And his hat it was pink, like the bow on his tail,
And he marched with the cat ’cause she wore a blue veil.

Now, gray Billy, the goat, wore a beard nearly white,
And a new linen duster a trifle too tight;
While a string with a bell on his neck he did twine,
As he said, “Now, my suit it is stunning and fine.”

As the duck was determined to dazzle them all,
She selected a gown that was fit for a ball;
Then she simpered and waddled in her silly way
Till the rest were disgusted, tho’ tried to look gay.

When the cat, with her paw on the pig, came the first,
Why, the duck (who was jealous) with envy near burst,
Still she walked with the goat, and they looked very trim,
And the calf, how he laughed, as they nodded at him.

When they reached the cool stream they sat down for a treat,
And the goodies they brought, they were hungry to eat;
And the cat was so dainty, the pig was so clean,
While the goat was polite, but the duck, she was mean.

For she gobbled the cake, and the berries so red;
Till they saw at a glance, she was very ill bred;
Then she told how she loved on the water to float,
And she blinked and she winked at the poor Billy-goat,

Who then told the white pig, how a pain in his back
Came from stooping to hear all the duck’s foolish quack;
While Miss Pussy she charmed with her sweet, modest air
As she wore the pink bow of the pig in her hair.

When they finished their lunch then all danced ’neath the trees
And the duck at the last, I will say, tried to please;
For she found a mistake in her greed she had made,
When her friends told her how she at home had best stayed.

When the stars were a-twinkling o’er each bright little head,
“Why, it’s time,” said the cat, “we were home and in bed.”
And the pig, to be friends with the duck, he walked back,
While the goat led the way, with the nice pussy-cat.

“ROTOGRAPH”
SERIES]

WIDE AWAKE]

* * * * *

_Ques._—What is the difference between a cat and a comma?

_Ans._—A cat has its claws at the end of its paws; a comma its pause at the end of a clause.

KITTEN THAT NEVER GREW OLD.

There once was a kitten who wished that he
Might never grow older, for “Don’t you see,”
Said Pussy, “I’m told
That when a cat’s old
He curls himself up on the hearth to sleep!”
Why, just the mere thought made this Pussy-cat weep,
“Meow—ow—ow—ow,
Meow—ow—ow—ow!”

And so, as he lay in his snug little bed,
He thought of the kittens’ good fairy, and said,
In a kittenish way—
Or a purr, I should say—
“Oh, fairy, dear fairy, just as I am now
I wish to be always, meow! meow!”
Now, wasn’t it queer!
The fairy was near,
And then and there took Mr. Puss at his word,
And said to him, “Pussy” (or so I have heard),
“With play you are smitten!
Be always a kitten!”

And so ever after, by night and by day,
That poor little kitten did nothing but play.
Just ask him for me,
Should ever you see
A playful old cat of diminutive size,
Whose friends have grown older and ever so wise,
If being the only
Puss left isn’t lonely?
He’ll tell you that fairies should never allow
A cat to be always a kitten, meow!

KITTENS’ DANCING LESSON.

STANLEY SCHELL.

_Written expressly for this book._

Now kitties, dear, come, form a square,
Right in the center of the room;
No, girlies here, and bubbies there,
Now, all face so and smile and bow.

[_Play music of Lancers from now on with variations._]

First, Tom and Nell and Will and Min,
Dance forward and then back again;
Next go Fred, Ned, Tootsy and Jane,
With Hey diddle-diddle and riddle-cum-ree!

All forward and then back; next ladies’ chain;
Up the middle and back again.
My dearest kitties, won’t you try,
The Hey diddle-diddle and riddle-cum-ree?

Balance to corners, all now bow,
Join arms and try a promenade.
For all who dance, as you can see,
Must Hey diddle-diddle and riddle-cum-ree!

Swing the next lady fast and low,
Now in a circle all must go;
Take partners all, all skip away,
For kitties’ dance is o’er to-day.
With Hey diddle-diddle and riddle-cum-ray!

* * * * *

“I don’t like that cat; it’s got splinters in its feet!” was the excuse of a four-year-old for throwing the kitten away.

THE SOCIAL TEA.

MRS. FREDERICK W. PENDER.

_Written expressly for this book._

Now, a bundle of fun
With the sweetest of eyes,
Was Miss Kitty McGee,
Who had won the first prize
At a big country fair,
Where were kittens galore,
Who her rivals had been,
And she made them heart sore.

For the laurels they had,
Why, they could not compare
With the prize this dear pet
Wore with pride from the fair.
And the judges all said,
When they saw her sweet way,
She eclipsed all the cats
They had met the whole day.

And she mused as she blinked,
When she rode thro’ the town,
“There were few like herself,
Who had gained such renown.”
And to show she was kind,
As a kitten should be,
She planned to invite
Her three cousins to tea.

When Miss Kitty awoke
From her dreams the next day,
And her toilet was made
In her own dainty way,
Why, she drank all the milk
In her pretty new dish,
And she ate some nice bits
Till no more she could niche.

With a snuff of the air,
All so sweet and so clear,
Off she scampered to write
To her cousins most dear;
And the notes she perfumed
With a dash of catnip
And invited them all
To her home for a sip

Of the nicest of tea,
With a wafer or two,
And she tied all the notes
With pink ribbons and blue;
And a special dispatch
They all sent right away
And it said “they would come
To her house that same day.”

There was Queenie, so white,
With a sweet, dainty air,
And her brother Sir Tom,
With a dignity rare;
And dear little Snip,
Who was cute as could be,
And a prettier sight,
Why, you seldom do see.

Now, Miss Kitty, she served
At the table with ease,
And she tried, oh, so hard,
All her guests for to please;
And they drank to the health
Of their hostess, with tea,
And they said “she was good
And as sweet as could be.”

And they hoped she would care
All their love to retain,
For they wished, very soon,
To be with her again;
And they shook her soft paw,
Said the judges were right,
“You are worthy the prize,”
Then they bade her good night.

MATTHEW ARNOLD’S CAT ATOSSA.

_Elegy on a Canary._

Thou hast seen Atossa sage
Sit for hours beside thy cage;
Thou wouldst chirp, thou foolish bird,
Flutter, chirp—she never stirred!
What were now these toys to her?
Down she sank amid her fur—
Eyed thee with a soul resigned—
And thou deemedst cats were kind!
Cruel, but composed and bland,
Dumb, inscrutable, and grand;
So Tiberius might have sat,
Had Tiberius been a cat.

GIRL, CAT AND CUSTARD.

Dear Pussy, I love you, an’ I’s your true friend,
’Cause I saved you a whippin’ to-day,
When cook missed her custard, an’ every one said
It was puss that had stealed it away.
You know you are naughty sometimes, Pussy, dear,
So in course you got blamed, an’—all that!
An’ cook took a stick, an’ she ’clared she would beat
The thief out that mizzable cat!
But I—didn’t feel comfor’ble down in my heart,
So I saved you the whippin’, you see,
’Cause I went to mamma, an’ telled her I ’spect
She’d better tell cook to whip me.

’Cause the custard was stealed by a bad little girl
Who felt dreffely sorry with shame,
An’ it wouldn’t be fair to whip Pussy, in course,
When that bad little girl was to blame!
“Was it my little girlie?” my dear mamma said,
I felt dreffely scared, but I nodded my head,
An’ then mamma laughed. “Go find nurse, for I guess
There’s some custard to wash off a little girl’s dress.”
Well, then, ’course they knew
It was I, an’ not you,
Who stealed all the custard an’ then ran away.
But it’s best to be true
In the things that we do,
An’—that’s how I saved you a spankin’ to-day.

* * * * *

_Ques._—Why does a Maltese cat rest better in summer than winter?

_Ans._—Because summer brings a caterpillar (cat-a-pillow).

THE AUDACIOUS KITTEN.

OLIVER HERFORD.

“Hurrah!” cried the kitten, “hurrah!”
As he merrily set the sails;
“I sail o’er the ocean to-day,
To look at the Prince of Wales!”

“O kitten! O kitten!” I cried,
“Why tempt the angry gales?”
“I’m going,” the kitten replied,
“To look at the Prince of Wales!”

“I know what it is to get wet,
I’ve tumbled full oft in pails,
And nearly been drowned—and yet
I _must_ look at the Prince of Wales!”

“O kitten!” I cried, “the Deep
Is deeper than many pails!”
Said the kitten, “I shall not sleep
Till I’ve looked at the Prince of Wales!”

“O kitten! pause at the brink,
And think of the sea-sad tales.”
“Ah, yes,” said the kitten, “but think,
Oh, think of the Prince of Wales!”

“But, kitten,” I cried, dismayed,
“If you live through the angry gales,
You _know_ you will be afraid
To look at the Prince of Wales.”

Said the kitten, “No such thing!
Why should he make me wince?
If ‘_a cat may look at a king_,’
A kitten may look at a prince.”

CAT-LIFE.

LUCY LARCOM.

Dozing, and dozing, and dozing!
Pleasant enough,
Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat,—
Delicate stuff!

Of raids on the pantry and hen-coop,
Or light, stealthy tread
Of cat-gossips, meeting by moonlight
On a ridge-pole or shed.

Waked by a somerset, whirling
From cushion to floor;
Waked to a wild rush for safety
From window to door.

Waking to hands that first smooth us,
And then pull our tails;
Punished with slaps when we show them
The length of our nails!

These big mortal tyrants even grudge us
A place on the mat.
Do they think we enjoy for our music
Staccatoes of “scat?”

What in the world were we made for?
Man, do you know?
By you to be petted, tormented?—
Are _you_ friend or foe?

To be treated, now, just as you treat us,—
The question is pat,—
To take just our chances of living,
Would you be a cat?

THE LANGUAGE OF CATS.

[Dialogue for four small girls. Each may have a cat, excepting the last. All stand on line, facing audience.]

JEANNE. My cat speaks French, dear little friends,
As plainly as can be;
Says “s’il vous plait” (that’s if you please),
And thanks me with “merci!”
I know because I understand
Each word she says to me.

LISA. And mine speaks German, dearest friends,
And we live on the Rhine;
Says “bitte” when she wants a drink,
And “ja,” of course, and “nein”;
I wouldn’t have a cat that spoke
A different tongue from mine.

NORAH. That’s foine fer yees, you French and Dutch,
With faces so demure;
Me cat sphakes Oirish; whin I set
A saucer on the flure,
An’ ax her would she have some milk,
Me darlint tells me shure.

LILY. You may talk about your kittens,
May think they talk like you,
I’ve listened well to all they said—
And know that this is true;
Cats speak in English, every time,
And all they say is “Miaow.”

HOW PUSSY BATHES.

As Pussy sat washing her face by the gate,
A nice little dog came to have a good chat;
And after some talk about matters of state,
Said, with a low bow, “My dear Mrs. Cat,
I really do hope you’ll not think I am rude;
I am curious, I know, and that you may say—
Perhaps you’ll be angry—but, no, you’re too good—
Pray, why do you wash in that very odd way?

“Now, I, every day, rush away to the lake,
And in the clear water I dive and I swim;
I dry my wet fur with a run and a shake,
And am fresh as a rose and neat as a pin.
But you any day in the sun may be seen,
Just rubbing yourself with your red little tongue;
I admire the grace with which it is done—
But, really, now, are you sure you get yourself clean?”

And Pussy sat swelling with rage and surprise,
At this from her nice little doggie friend,
For she had always supposed herself rather precise,
And of her sleek neatness had bragged without end;
So she flew at that doggie and boxed both his ears,
Scratched his nose and his eyes, and spit in his face,
And set him off yelping from pain and disgrace.

CAT AND PAINTER.

ELEANOR H. PORTER.

“Me-ow-w!”

It was a plaintive wail that came from behind the ash barrel in the alley-way.

It had been so delightful to scurry out the hall-door when Miss Dorothy was not looking—out into the bright sunshine, where the red and yellow leaves were chasing each other down the smooth walk in front of the house.

Then there came a time when the sunshine fled and the leaves lay quiet, refusing to play, even when she poked them with her little insistent paw. She had run far down the street, and everything was new and strange to her. A big dog bounced around the corner, and she was obliged to scramble up a tree.

She had but just accomplished her fearsome descent when a group of boys hailed her appearance with yells of delight. Then to her tail—her beautiful fluffy tail—they tied a cruel cord with a jangling tin can at the end. Down the street she wildly fled, around corners, through back alleys, followed always by that deafening rattle dangling at the tip of her tail.