Chapter XXV: Eventide 261 (3)

Topsy had come down from her perch and roved about the garden as if possessed by an evil spirit. They had gone into the house but a short time, when she trampled all the flowers on the grave under her feet and knocked over the flower pot. Then she roved back and forth till she found a neighbor's cat, with whom she had a feud of long standing, and worked off all her sorrow in a free fight, where she proved the victor, and at night she returned to the house just as composed as usual. She never visited little Pearl's grave to their knowledge again.

The house where the family lived was large and old-fashioned,--one of the houses Salem was noted for at that time, long ago given up to the march of improvement. It belonged to a wealthy sea-captain in the India trade. Since his death it had not been cared for or repaired, and was therefore within the means of a small family. The remains of his extensive wine cellar consisted of a multitude of empty bottles.

Topsy was very fond of this cellar. They often remarked that she probably found kindred spirits of the past, for she always surprised them with some practical joke on her return to the upper regions.

One day, just at dusk a crash came that shook the house. The sound came from the cellar, and on taking a light there, they found the floor covered with bottles. Through some unknown agency, Topsy had moved a shelf, and all the bottles had fallen to the floor. There she sat on a barrel, looking on. If ever a cat delighted in a sensation, she did.

Quite a young girl lived with them, to help the girl of all work. She got the impression that the house was haunted. She said the doors would fly open without visible agency, and the bells all over the house would ring, and when she answered them, every one would be surprised; they had not touched them. They explained to her that the wind moved the old-fashioned latches, and the doors, being old, would fly open. Possibly rats would move the bell wires and make them ring. It is impossible to uproot a belief in the supernatural out of the mind of an ignorant child.

She said: "It is that black witch cat Topsy. She is an evil spirit. I shut her up at night in the kitchen, Molly says she never let her up; but there she is, upstairs, all over the house, during the night."

They could not persuade her to stay, and after she left the mystery was solved, as such mysteries almost always can be, in a very common, matter-of-fact manner. Miss Eleanor said at the time that she thought her room was the way Topsy came, though how, she could not say.

One night, about eleven o'clock, being very wakeful, she heard a slight scratching sound at the door. She sat up in bed and watched. She was not afraid, for she was sure the mystery was about to be solved. Another rattle of the latch, then the door opened wide, swinging back, with some long black thing hanging from the latch. It was Topsy. She had jumped up and knocked up the latch with her head, holding on the lower part with her paws, and in this way had entered the room every night.

Changes came to their home, and the death of their mother made a break in the household. They moved to Boston and were perplexed about Topsy. What could they do with a cat of her restless nature in a few rooms? What could she do without a large house and garden to roam about in, and, above all, how could she leave that cellar? The people who took the house were very anxious to keep her, and at last it was decided to leave her on trial.

Miss Milly said, "After what we have passed through, as we are breaking the last tie to home, one parting more we can bear."

After a few weeks Miss Eleanor went down to see about Topsy. She had a tale of woe to listen to. They said: "Topsy searched the house after you left, and at night she caterwauled in the hall in the most fearful manner, and paid not the least attention to us, when we tried to coax her. She refused all food, preferring to steal all that she wanted. She at last took to the cellar, and would not come up. We put food and drink for her every day, and it was gone, so we supposed she took it."

They said the night before she had made such a racket that it seemed as if there were a dozen cats with her. They had that day decided to write, asking what could be done with her.

When they opened the cellar door, and called her, no answer came; but the moment Miss Eleanor went to the door, and said, "Topsy," she flew up the stairs like lightning, and into Miss Eleanor's arms, just like a child. She held her so tight she could hardly remove her claws from her shoulder.

"This decides it. I shall have to take her," Miss Eleanor said; "and indeed I could not face Milly without her, now that we know how unhappy she has been."

They loaned her a shawl, and in it she wrapped Topsy, who followed every movement with her yellow eyes, though she kept as quiet as a lamb. Her trust was perfect; she knew she had found her own. She made no trouble on the journey by cars to Boston, keeping her eye on Miss Eleanor's face out of one corner of the shawl.

They were perfect slaves to her, keeping her in one room. Boarding was not very convenient, even with a quiet, well-behaved cat but with her it was a dreadful experience. She had come to Boston, a great and gay city, and she did mean to see the sights. The very first Sunday she crawled out of the window, though it was only open a very little; but she squeezed herself out on to the balcony that ran around several of the houses in that block, and Miss Milly went all over the street hunting for her. Being a stranger, it was very hard. At last Topsy was found on the balcony just outside the next house, all in a heap, and for once well frightened.

After Mrs. Rice and the boys came from the South, and they had a home, she was very happy, and it was then my mother met her, about which event I have already written.

I did pity them; at the last, to lose her in such a manner was very hard.

Miss Milly was so sad after this that Miss Eleanor said she hoped she would never tell Topsy's story again. Miss Milly would say, taking me in her arms, "I never felt comforted till I had my Daisy."

This pleased me, and made me very careful to do just as they told me to. I was very glad I had heard Topsy's story. My opinion is, that the witches wanted her and called her home. Very likely she rides on their shoulders when they go through the air on a broomstick.

XI

REMINISCENCES

I was suffering much from my shoulder just at this time, but we were very quiet, and I enjoyed lying on the lounge or in their laps and listening to the stories of the pets they had loved in their childhood. Miss Eleanor would read aloud, and indeed (you may laugh if you please) I could understand the nice things she selected.

One day she found some of Martin Luther's sayings. He one day remarked to his dog, that was growling, "Don't growl, little Hans, for in the resurrection thou, too, shalt have a little golden tail."

Miss Milly caught me up, saying, "Thou, too, Daisy, shalt go to heaven, and have golden bells on thy collar, for thy tail is more lovely than a golden one could be."

"How absurd you are!" said Miss Eleanor.

"Well, I do not think it absurd to believe we shall have our dear pets in the hereafter; heaven would not be heaven without them. God has not given them to us to love, without making provision for their hereafter. We have no little hands and feet waiting for us on the 'golden shore,' but little paws of all colors I know will be extended in welcome, and we shall be happy with our own again."

This comfortable doctrine suited me and made me very happy. Knowing that I could not live many years longer, the thought of an eternal separation from my loved ones would have been unbearable.

I did try to be good and be a comfort to them, but often my good resolutions were put to a hard test.

My mistress had one young friend who detested cats. She was very beautiful, and they loved her very much. She came to see us one day, and after greeting them affectionately, she said as her eye fell upon me, "Oh! have you got that old Tom cat now?"

How I bristled up! But Miss Milly was equal to her. "Would you like to have me speak of one of your children in this manner?" she said.

"I should think not," replied her friend; "but this is only a cat."

"And a cat that we both love as dearly as you love your children."

My rage at being called a "Tom cat" knew no bounds; it seemed to degrade me, and I thought to myself, "How can I avenge this insult?"

One can always find a chance to do wrong, and mine came at once. I espied her hat, gorgeous with feathers, birds, and wings, and brilliant beading. To my great discomfort--for it was very scratchy--I seated myself on the crown. I had no compunction when I heard the crunching of the beads and feathers, as I bent them under me. They seemed to say, "Tom cat,--indeed!"

I sat there till I felt pride had been sufficiently levelled; and as I chewed the delicate end of one of the expensive feathers, I felt that I might (in vulgar phrase) call myself even with her. Then I went under the bed, where I could with safety witness the impending tempest.

I was not disappointed. Words are powerless to express her wrath. Had her wishes been consulted, I should never have seen the light of another day.

When I saw how my mistress was distressed over my wickedness, my conscience did prick a little, though I did not repent. I had been called a "Tom cat," and for once I acted like one.

The climax was reached when Miss Eleanor produced a box containing a lovely wing and ornaments, and placed them where the broken ones had been. She said:--

"I do not approve of such decorations. Were I young, I would never wear anything that had been killed to pander to a foolish vanity. These were given me to put with some flowers and grasses for exhibition. If you will accept them in place of those our naughty pet has destroyed, I shall feel we have atoned for his thoughtlessness."

Accept! I guess she did, and in her heart thanked me for giving her such a treasure, though she gave me a cross look at parting, which I returned in full and longed to give her an etching.

I was disgusted. I had been outwitted, as people often are when they seek for revenge. It made me cynical, and I remained under the bed, thinking of the wrongs that are beyond redress, going on daily. I said to myself:--

"Just see! To gratify personal vanity how many millions of beautiful birds are slaughtered! Innocent creatures that God made, just like the lovely flowers, to make the world charming! And if a cat or any other animal kills a bird or chicken, their legitimate prey, knowing no better, they are called horrid creatures and hunted about just as if they were murderers."

They did not say anything about my naughty act; but I heard them (after they had called me to come out, and I had not answered) say, "Daisy is asleep." Then they laughed, while Miss Milly said: "Who could doubt that cats can understand, if they had seen Daisy's face when he was called a 'Tom cat.' I believe he sat on that hat to show his indignation."

All our friends were not of this order. One young artist was very fond of me, and we were quite chummy. He was a great big fellow, with a thick head of hair, and a mouth like a shoe-brush. I loved to see his teeth gleam through when he laughed, for they were perfect and white as snow. I did not like to have him rub his face over mine; it was like a porcupine, while my fur and whiskers are as soft as silk.

One day he had been fooling with me, and I gave him a good scratch. I raked his whiskers well, making his lip bleed. After that he called me his bar-ber-ous friend. Perhaps he thought I did not see the pun intended, but I did, and the point also.

I was rather sorry, and surprised. Somehow I thought his hair was like grass, and I could claw it as I pleased.

He brought me very nice catmint from his country home. Once he brought a pasteboard box with "Daisy" printed on the cover. I was very proud of that box, and always turned it over with the name on the top. He brought us a beautiful pitcher called after the Emperor Hadrian. The style of pitcher was taken from those found in his tomb.

You will see I have a taste for history. There is no doubt, had I lived at that period, I should have made wonderful excavations. Mummied mice or rats would have had no mercy from my claws.

My special interest in this pitcher was the beautiful white daisies it was often filled with. The contrast with the blue pitcher was perfect. He would bring in a bunch from his country home, and say, "Here, Daisy, are your namesakes; they are for you," while I would pretend to smell of them, delighted to make them all laugh. I would mount the table, and lie down by the side of the pitcher very contented.

My friend went to Virginia to sketch. He wrote word that he had planted a large grove of catmint for me, and had called it "Daisy's Plantation." Was I not happy and important! As Miss Milly said, I was a real landowner.

After his return, he went to Germany to study. In all his letters he remembered me. I was just as much interested in his progress as his other friends were, and enjoyed the photographs of his pictures he sent home.

In my opinion he was a great artist--better than the "old masters" they talk so much about. The "young masters" are good enough for me. He wanted to paint my picture, but Miss Milly refused, just as she had all other offers of this kind.

I did not like it, for I thought my friend would do me justice, and it might make his fortune, if exhibited. I used to look in the glass and pose, thinking what a lovely picture I would make.

I say it, and I suppose you will say, "What a vain cat!" But how about these society women (and men, as to that) who dress in velvets and jewels, and exhibit their charms, and so much of them that it makes a modest cat blush? What if they don't say, as I do, that they would make a lovely picture, do they not act it? You will soon discover, if you never knew it before, as you read my history of many cats, that animals are often superior to the human race.

My mistresses would often dress me and make me pose to please them, and for the life of me I could not see why I should not be painted for the benefit of others. They would tie a half-handkerchief on my head, the point trimmed with lace just between my ears, the ends tied under my chin. They called it a "Marie Stuart point." Whatever that might be, I knew not. I afterward learned that she was a queen, and was executed. It pleased my cat vanity to represent a queen.

I myself performed all the tricks I could think of. One day, being in a large armchair, I just posed, myself. I sat down, hung my two paws over the arm of the chair, my head on one side, my "Marie Stuart point" all right, the bow tied under my chin, my collar and padlock in sight, and then and there I made an impression never to be forgotten by those who saw me. As long as memory lasts they will remember me in all my beauty.

My mistress fell on her knees beside me, calling me all the pet names she could think of, while Miss Eleanor said, "If ever a cat lived that could equal Daisy, that cat I would like to see!"

I remained a long time in the same attitude, proud of my success. When Miss Milly brought a little hand-glass for me to see myself, I did not wonder they were delighted, and I wished they would let me pose for the benefit of poor cats. I knew I could draw a crowd.

I never would pose for those I did not care for. I tore off the handkerchief as soon as they put it on, and taking it by the lace edge, I shut my teeth on it and dragged it under the bed. After this they only asked me to pose for my friends. For them I was very willing to do my best. I enjoyed being called a "darling" and a "love" by pretty girls, just as any boy would enjoy it.

One friend of my mistress, a charming little woman and a real philanthropist, was quite fond of me. She was the mother of my dear girl friend, whom I introduced to you at my party. This good little woman was a real friend to animals of all kinds, but she particularly loved cats.

She told us one day when she came to see us about the cruel people in her neighborhood who went away in summer, leaving their cats to starve. She said she had the past summer chloroformed eighteen cats in the last stage of starvation and too far gone to save.

She had two lovely cats named Chico and Sancho. They had very beautiful clear white fur and blue eyes. They were very bright, learning readily many little tricks. They would turn a graceful somersault for their food, and behaved at all times with great politeness.

Chico had trouble with his teeth, and Sancho was in great distress about it. This sympathy was almost human. When he found he could do no good, he retired in deep distress to the corner of the room, where he preserved a grave silence. The family dentist soon made matters right by extracting the troublesome teeth, making both cats very happy. No doubt Chico disliked him just as children dislike those who operate upon them, even though the kindness is evident.

Mrs. M. said, when she was telling my mistress about Chico, "Of course you will have Daisy's teeth filled with gold when they decay?"

"Certainly," Miss Milly replied; "and I would hold him while it was done."

For days after this I had no peace. Visions of doctors with horrid instruments were ever before my eyes. I shut my mouth tight when any one came in; and at the name of doctor I fled under the bed, where I remained with fear and trembling, fearing my teeth were to be operated upon. I could not clean and brush my teeth, but I got a bit of grass and one of my catmint stalks, and sharpened my teeth on them, keeping them as nice as possible, to preserve them.

Last year I lost one tooth. It fell out without any pain, and I did not miss it; but Miss Milly did feel so badly about it, and cried when one of the family said, "Daisy is quite old; it is the beginning of the end."

Miss Eleanor was very indignant, saying, "If it is not 'the beginning,' it is the end, of their visits here; we will not entertain such cruel people."

They were more careful of me than ever after this. They cut up my food very fine, and I was very careful not to gnaw meat off of a bone, for fear it would injure my teeth, and bring the "beginning of the end" after me. Whatever that might be I did not know; but it was such a scare to Miss Milly that I thought it must be some monster that would devour me as soon as I lost my teeth.

Our nice friend told us a great many stories about cats she had known and loved. Her charming daughter, my girl friend, could make cats perform tricks very easily. She seemed to charm them. There were photographs of cats taken in every position, and they seemed to do just as she wished, for she took the pictures of them herself.

We had very few cats in our neighborhood, and I did long sometimes to see one of my own old friends. I went out every day when it was pleasant, and sat upon a high fence, where I could look into back alleys, where the poor people had one or two miserable rooms, scanty furniture, and probably very little food, and I noticed with pleasure that in every one of these poor homes a cat could be seen sitting before the small fire, an honored member of the family. I wished I could write a check for these good-hearted people. It made me laugh; for who would honor a cat's check?

If I could talk, I know my dear friends would help them, if I could tell how much they need it; but as I cannot, I must content myself with good intentions.

XII

CAT TALES

There is no doubt that cat lovers will be interested in the true stories of cats that our friends related to us from time to time. I have them all in my memory. If they can arouse a love of cats in the hearts of my readers, this little work of love by one fortunate cat will accomplish its purpose.

Our friend told us a very wonderful story of a cat named Alexander. There seems to be a fitness in his name; for he was, in my opinion, very great. It does look a good deal like a "fish story," though I know it is strictly true; for he was a Boston cat, and lived not half a mile from our home.

Alexander was a prime favorite with all the family. He was the master's special friend and pet, while the mistress had a bird she was very fond of and had kept a great many years. Alexander had been taught to respect its rights, and ignored it as beneath his notice.

They had bought a beautiful house at the seashore, reached by the boats every hour or two from Boston. They closed their city house, and removed all the family, including dogs, bird, and last, but not least, Alexander, to their summer home quite early in the season. They went down by boat, and, as one would suppose, neither dog nor cat could well find his way back alone.

Alexander was taken in a large basket; one of the most reliable of the maids had charge of him, while the bird was taken by one of the family. Alexander had in every way protested against this move. He walked about the house, superintending the shutting up of rooms, with grave displeasure.

The dogs, bird, and the family soon settled themselves, and the new place assumed an air altogether homelike. Alexander was restless and morose, and the third day he was missing. They had noticed the stolid air of disapproval with which he had gone around, looking with critical eye upon the house and its surroundings. He avoided the side of the house that faced the water, proving that he did not care for sea-bathing, and the air evidently did not agree with him.

They spared neither money nor trouble in searching for him. No clew whatever could be found, and they mourned him as dead. They returned early in September to their Boston home on account of illness in the family.

They had been at home only a few days, and the house had settled into that homelike air so pleasant to returned wanderers, when one day, while they were at dinner, Alexander walked in. He was the shadow of his former self, thin, rough, and gaunt looking, the very fierce expression of his eyes making him look like a stranger.

He refused every welcome extended to him, looking at them with disdain. He marched to a table, mounted it, gave one spring, and before they could realize his purpose he put his sharp claws through the cage door and killed the little pet bird.

He looked around upon them all with an expression of satisfaction, as if to say: "Now I am satisfied. You have enjoyed the company of your pets; you have not been satisfied with going away and leaving us in our good home, but you must have another. If the little fools you took with you were willing to stay, I was not. You left me to wander, and I have taken my revenge."

The mistress was very unhappy at the loss of her pet, and demanded Alexander's life in exchange--"a life for a life." Her husband refused. He sympathized with her loss, but he stood by Alexander. The master was the only one that cat would trust. He avoided all the other members of the family, and never recovered his cheerfulness or his good looks. The iron had entered into his soul.

Where he spent the summer months remains a mystery. From the change wrought in him, it could not have been in very elevating company. But the question is, Where did he spend that time, and how did he get back to the city? Is it not a convincing fact that cats know more than they are supposed to? And if they are such intelligent beings, ought they not to be treated with humanity?

It is true they will be hunted and abused by bad children; but properly taught, might they not be made nice playmates for children, even taking the place of a nurse maid if trained to do so? It does seem right for all animals to be studied and their good traits encouraged.

Horses have been, ever since the world was formed, the friend and patient slave of man. No animal has suffered more abuse patiently borne than the horse. And now that the fools of fashion have presumed to improve on their Maker's work, clipping them, cutting their tails, and using the abominable check-rein, they are objects of pity to every right-minded person.

My mistress had a friend who often called to take her to ride. She had been away, for a long time, travelling. On her return she came to see us, and asked my mistress to ride with her out into the country. We were very much pleased, for they both needed the air; and as she said she would take Miss Eleanor the next day (the carriage holding only two), there was a pleasant prospect for both of my dear friends, and I was delighted, for they had stitched and stitched till I was nearly frantic, looking at my sharp but useless claws.

I could only express my satisfaction by walking around her, and rubbing my head against her dress. She was quite pleased, saying, "Daisy has grown more lovely then ever," and she patted my head with such soft dogskin gloves, I did long to chew them.

As Miss Milly prepared for the ride, her friend said: "Just look at my new horses. Are they not beauties?"

"These are not your horses!" exclaimed Miss Milly, as she looked from the window.

"Certainly they are," her friend replied, "and I knew you would admire them."

"I am sorry to disappoint you," Miss Milly said, "but I do not admire, though I do pity these poor creatures. Is it possible that you had their tails cut in such an absurd manner? And their heads held up so cruelly?"

"Of course I did," replied her friend, while her face grew red with anger; "and I mean to have their heads raised an inch every day till they get used to it."

Miss Milly untied her bonnet, saying, "Much as I need a ride, I could never enjoy it, in sight of such cruel suffering. How could you do it? I thought you so kind-hearted, when we were girls together, that I cannot believe you have changed so sadly."

"How absurd you are! I think you carry your old-fashioned notions too far, and I must say you are very unkind to refuse to ride with me. Every one has these things done, why should not I?"

"You need not be cruel because others are; and I thought you had independence enough to do as you thought right, regardless of the weak and wicked who know not right from wrong. In your position, with wealth at your command, you could set an example that others would follow; for there are always those who are ready to do just as people in better circumstances than themselves are able to do, no matter what foolishness it leads to."

"I hope, Eleanor," said their friend as she turned away from Miss Milly, "you are not going to refuse to ride with me because my horses are in the fashion, we all know Milly is a crank on such subjects."

"And in this case, I fully indorse her," said Miss Eleanor. "It is cruel to cripple such noble creatures and make their lives a curse."

"Well," said the other, "I have had a lesson this morning." And tears of vexation stood in her eyes.

"My dear Laura," Miss Milly said, "just think that all we have said to you has been in kindness, because we believe in your real nature. Let your own heart speak for these poor creatures that cannot help themselves, so wholly in your power."

"And make myself a laughing-stock! No, thank you! I shall keep my horses like other people's. I am very sorry not to take you to ride; it is a real disappointment to me."

"It is an equal one to us. We fully appreciate your kindness in offering us a luxury beyond our means, here we recognize the Laura of bygone years. Come some day with 'Brown Bess,' the nice horse you used to drive, and we shall be glad to go with you."

Laura looked very red and confused, and replied, "We did not bring her to the city with us."

They learned some time after that the good old horse had been sold for a hack. My mistress was very indignant. She said she would have sold her own flesh and blood just as soon as a faithful old horse. She said, "If money hardens one's heart, as it has our friend's, we are better without it."

I mounted a chair and saw the carriage drive off, and I did pity the poor horses. The foam fell from their mouths, and they pranced and glared about in torture from which there was no escape. I was sorry my friends had lost their ride, but I was very glad they acted up to their principles.

I looked at the very pretty little woman, sitting so quietly in her carriage, and I said to myself, "If those poor tortured creatures should run away and injure her for life, could she complain? Do not animals have lessons of cruelty taught them every day? What reason have they for being better than their owners?"

I was sorry I had allowed her to pat my head. It brought on a fit of indigestion, and I left my nice kidney; I could not swallow it.

XIII

MY FIRST THEFT

Perhaps a confession of my sin may be a warning to others. I know it will be interesting to my friends. It was in the house of the "philanthropist" of whom I have written before in my book.

One day when I went down for my outing I saw a door open that I had never noticed before. It is a well-known fact that a cat never passes an opening without looking in; they never leave a mystery unsolved if they can discover it.

The conditions were favorable, no one was about; "Oliver Twist" was out of the way; so I just wandered in. It proved to be the store-closet, and on a plate unfortunately near me, within my reach, was a piece of steak. It was large, but I saw my opportunity. It looked very nice, just like the steak our good doctor ordered for Mrs. Rice. She could taste but little, while I could devour it all. Thought I, "This will be nice for my mistress." So I just jumped up, and after several ineffectual efforts got it in my mouth. By holding my head high I could just walk with it, for it was long and reached to the floor.

It was some time before I could get started, for I was all of a quiver, starting at every sound, and in my hurry, tripping over it, getting so mad that I said, "Hiss! hiss!" just where an old boy of the human kind would have said something more to the point.

Then came the greatest difficulty,--three flights of stairs to mount. I had to rest at every landing, and when at last, breathing hard, but proud and happy, I laid my offering at my mistress's feet, instead of the delight I anticipated she screamed out, "Oh, Daisy, what have you done?" I looked at her, amazed. "You naughty cat! Look Eleanor," she said; "see! he has stolen this piece of meat. What shall we do?"

"I am very sorry. Of course we can pay for it," Miss Eleanor said, "but then Daisy has lost his character; they will never trust him again. Oh, how could you be so naughty, Daisy?"

I began to realize that my little offering had not been the success I thought it would be. Why, I could not understand; so I just walked under the bed, my place of refuge, and in high dudgeon reflected on my deed of darkness, for such it seemed to be. Miss Milly had scolded me, Miss Eleanor had reproved me, and I was very much provoked.

Miss Eleanor said: "I will go down and speak about it. If you go, you will be so provoked; if they speak one word against Daisy, you will not keep your temper."

I waited in fear and trembling, not knowing what would be done. She soon returned, saying, "I have paid her for half a pound of steak."

"Half?" said Miss Milly; "why, it could not be over a quarter, and old steak at that."

"I know that, but I would have no words with her. I simply told my story, expressed my regrets, and asked what I should pay her, and gave the money in silence and disgust. She remarked she always thought Daisy was a sly one."

This aroused a tempest of wrath. Having to pay twice the amount for a piece of stale meat was nothing compared to her calling me sly.

"Come out, Daisy," my mistress said; "I know you are sorry, and did not understand how wrong it was to take that steak!"

I did not go out for a long time. My feelings were hurt at the injustice I had suffered; and I was very dignified. My mistress took me in her arms, saying:--

"My dear kitty, I know you did not mean to do wrong; but to take anything belonging to others that is not given to you is stealing, and people are punished for it--I do believe," she said to Miss Eleanor, "that this dear cat got that steak as much for us as for himself." And she gave me a hug.

Then I could no longer control myself. I could not speak, but I got up and put both paws around Miss Milly's neck and licked her face. She was quite overcome, as she said: "I will never forget that you did this for me. But you now know what stealing means, and must never do it again."

And I never did. But oh, how good that steak did taste! I had heard it said that "stolen fruit is sweet," and I found it so. I had worked hard over it, and I enjoyed it.

I was not very unhappy that my mistress had to pay for it; for I had a friend who gave me pennies enough to buy all my extra food, and I said to myself, "She can take the money from that." So that afternoon I went to the table where my little tin bank was kept, and just pushed it off, and out came the pennies.

The noise aroused my mistress. How they did laugh, saying, "Daisy is paying for her meat." But they put them all back and kissed me, saying I was a very honorable cat. I wished I could speak and ask my mistress if that "philanthropist" was a church member. If so, did they allow extortion?

I think "Oliver Twist" was a free-thinker, for he seemed to grasp everything as his own, recognizing no law; certainly he did not favor our church. Perhaps, like the cat that a smart boy tried to sell, she represented the belief of the person to whom the boy offered her. When this enterprising boy had offered his cat to a member of every other denomination, he came to an Episcopalian. He was asked why he called her an Episcopalian, when he had just said she was a Baptist. "Oh," he answered, "but her eyes are open now."

I think "Oliver Twist" and his mistress were born with their eyes open.

This little item has run in my silly head ever since Miss Eleanor read it.

I must tell you before I forget it about the friend with the high-stepping horses. It was not quite six months after her visit to us that I wrote about that she was taken very ill and sent for my mistress to come and see her just before she died. She said to her:--

"Milly, I have never known one moment's peace since you gave me such a lesson on my cruelty to my horses. I seemed to realize, after you had spoken, just how foolish I had been in following a wicked fashion. My husband has promised me that Aunt Mary shall have them, and she is so devoted to animals she will never allow any abuse. Though I cannot restore their tails, they will be made comfortable. Old Mike, her coachman, will make them happy if any one can. I realize all they suffered, and think I deserve to lose all I misused so thoughtlessly."

Is not this an illustration of the good one brave word can do? If my mistress, fearing to offend her wealthy friend, had not spoken, the poor horses would never have been released from their suffering, and the conscience of her friend never awakened. If every one who is witness to an act of cruelty would remonstrate against it, there would be some chance of reform.

Many people say, "It is no business of mine if people ill-treat their own animals." But it is the business of every one with Christian feelings to speak for the poor dumb animals, for they cannot speak for themselves. Children, if taught when young, would never be cruel.

Miss Eleanor saw a little boy carry three little kittens into a lot where a house was being built. The boy was sent on this cruel errand by his mother. Their cries made Miss Eleanor's heart ache, and she had decided to go over for them and see what could be done to keep them, when a poor woman came along, who could not turn a deaf ear to their piteous cries, but went to them. They were so glad to see her, she said, though she was poor, she could not leave them alone. Miss Eleanor gave her some money, and the woman said she would find them good homes.

This is only one instance of what is going on day by day. Is there no help for it?

XIV

RELIGIOUS ASPIRATIONS

One ambition of my life has never been gratified. I have always had a desire to attend church. I have never been able to understand why restless children, who have no understanding of sermons, who are wretched when obliged to keep still, and are only kept quiet by a promise of something nice or a threat of punishment, should be taken to church and the family cat left at home.

What if we _do_ sleep all through the service--we have a precedent for it. How often we hear people say, "Mr. So-and-So might as well have remained at home, for he slept all through the sermon," or, "Mrs. So-and-So had to pinch herself to keep awake. She dare not sleep, fearing to crush her new bonnet."

If we can believe all we hear, ministers all have voices "like old cows" or "dying calves." They never speak plain, and deaf people remain at home rather than look like fools when they cannot hear one word. Cats hear all these speeches, and wonder why they cannot go and judge for themselves. I know in our church, with the boy choir singing so lovely, one could not sleep.

When I was young I brooded over this question. I did want to be a Christian cat, and, like most ignorant people, I thought I could not be good unless I went to church. Of course I know better now. I can be just as good at home. Like all young things, I wanted to try my wings and see a little of the world.

Karl and Will were choir boys, and I was very proud of their voices. I did not understand why I could not march in the processional, right behind Karl and Will, even if my voice was not trained to sing.

I thought it all over, and out of a multitude of thoughts came forth an act. Not one of the "Acts of the Apostles." Had it been, I might have been successful.

One Sunday I made up my mind to try my luck. I had a hearty breakfast, washed myself all over, and cleaned my nails, for I had heard that "cleanliness is next to godliness." I did not mean that in my cat vocabulary there should be one such word as "fail."

I hid myself when Karl and Will were ready for church, and after they had left the house I crept out after them. I followed them on the opposite side of the street, without being discovered, when, just as I was feeling sure of the situation, a dog must needs bark and make for me.

Karl and Will turned around, and then my church-going was ended. Before I could run away Will caught me up in his arms and carried me home.

I was very angry over it, and refused to be comforted. I wished I had been a heathen; then they would have taken the trouble to convert me. I tried to find a rat to kill, and crept all around the cellar. But no; rats must not be killed on Sunday. I was very unhappy. Six days of the week I could do very well, but oh my, the _seventh_!

That day was a poser to me. All the family had gone to church. What could a poor cat do? I could not sleep, and, to cap the climax, a plate of beans and a saucer of milk had been put out for me, in case I wanted something before they returned.

Now I love my beans Saturday night and Sunday morning, but to be expected to make a dinner of them, in place of the nice little lamb kidney that was served up for me every Sunday, was adding insult to injury.

I dragged the beans out on the floor and threw over the milk saucer; then, as I could do no more mischief, off I went in a huff to look out for their return home.

I did feel a little ashamed, for I remembered that Karl could not get a kidney. The man at the store told him they were all sold, adding, "If that cat of yours will not feed on anything but kidneys, he will die of kidney disease." It was not their fault, and I did feel mean.

Every Sunday Karl and Will studied their lesson. They would sit at the table with their books, while I had a hassock in front of them, with my little Bible open on it. Here I would pose for an hour, with my paws folded on the open book, looking from one to the other, for I loved them dearly.

This Sunday I would not look at my book. The boys tried to make me, but were obliged to give it up. I behaved just like a bad boy, running after imaginary balls, jumping over the hassock, sitting on the Bible, till at last Will said: "I will call Aunt Milly. We shall never get our lesson if she does not take Daisy away."

This did not please me. I just picked up my book, and when my mistress came in I was sitting at my hassock, my claws clasped over my Bible (though it was upside down), looking as innocent as possible.

All this naughtiness because I wanted to be a choir boy and walk in the processional with the rest of the boys. I think it would have been better if they had taken me to church.

One thing always gave me great pleasure: I never could tire of cat stories. I think it may be a help to the understanding of cat nature if I give the most interesting ones for people to read.

With the horrors of vivisection and other cruelties practised upon animals, it is time for them to assert themselves. Even a cat's voice may be heard. Children can be taught to respect the rights of animals if their parents will interest themselves in their dumb servants.

My mistress met two very nice ladies one summer while in the country. They were cat-lovers, and gave many nice anecdotes of cats they had known. I will tell you one I particularly liked.

A friend of theirs had a great many cats, and as their number increased she felt the necessity of giving up some of them. She found homes for all but one; and one day, when her friends were visiting her, she asked them if they would take the cat and drop her near some nice house, where they had no doubt she would soon make a home. It was not a very pleasant commission, but they could not very well refuse.

Pussy had evidently heard their conversation, for she tried to hide from them. She was very quiet, never responding to their coaxing, covering her face with her paws in great sorrow. They drove many miles into the country before they could think of parting with her.

At last a large and finely situated farmhouse attracted them by its homelike aspect. It was a low, rambling house painted red, and the barns and outbuildings were in keeping. Everything looked inviting. The large kitchen-garden at the back of the house seemed just the place for cats to enjoy. An opening in the trees gave them a glimpse of a small stream meandering through the country, reflecting the rustic scene in its clear depth.

"Here," they said, "we will leave her. Surely no one in a place like this could turn away from a poor cat."

They coaxed her, and in spite of her clinging to them, put her down very gently. She stood like one dazed. Then she turned and surveyed the house and its surroundings. She looked long at the clear, bright water, as if in deep thought. She then looked up at the sky, and after giving them a reproachful glance, she walked slowly toward the river. Reaching it, she paused one moment, then deliberately walked in. Twice she rose to the surface, then the waters closed over her forever.

They could make no effort to save her. Knowing cats' strong dislike of water, they had no idea she would go near it. It was, they said, a clear case of suicide. Homeless, friendless, and wretched, she preferred death, even in the element a cat usually dreads, to seeking a new home.

The people were very unhappy about it. They said they felt like murderers, and never had believed before that cats could think and suffer. They said that they should ever after do all they could for animals, particularly cats, in atonement for their share, though unintentional, in the death of poor pussy.

It made me appreciate the care I had had all my life, when I heard such sad stories of cats.

Cats are fond of mischief, and I fear I never thought of the sorrow I should cause when I saw a good opportunity for fun.

We made a visit one summer in a family where the old grandfather, from Vermont, was spending a few weeks. He was an original character, and we were entertained by his quaint speeches and his old-fashioned manners. He thought Boston was one of the biggest and wickedest places in the world. I was the only one he seemed to be at home with, though I never could tell why, for I disliked him from the first sight I had of his horrid little eyes, with a real wicked expression, and his flesh looked just like an over-baked apple.

The wonder of all to me was his head, which was the part I could not understand. It was covered by uneven, red-brown hair, with no seam in it, and it looked just like a cocoanut.

He ate so loud I thought some one was choking, and when I walked over to the side of the table and looked in his face, I found he was eating with a big knife so fast it made me wink. This increased my dislike of him, and I refused all his overtures to make friends with me.

He said I was "a proud critter." He guessed lots of time was spent on keeping my fur so nice. And "as to that trinket on my neck, it was too fine for a cat."

One day I solved the mystery of his head-gear. I chanced to peep into his room,--as no place was sacred from my investigation,--and I saw another old man, his head as bare as the bed-post. When he said "Pussy, Pussy," I fled in alarm, but not before I had discovered that it was the same old man minus the top of his head. It was a wonder to me, and I never rested till I found that head-gear. They called it a wig, but I called it a "bird's nest."

Then I made up my mind to investigate it. Soon my opportunity came. All the people had gone to ride, and I was making a tour of the house, when loud breathing convinced me my old man was at home. Bad cat that I was, I just followed the noise, and sure enough, there he lay, flat on his back, his mouth wide open, sound asleep.

Of course I climbed up and looked into his open mouth. Another discovery I made: he had not one tooth in his head! And the wind and spray that covered me, from his open mouth, satisfied me with a brief investigation.

On the floor, by his side, lay the bone of contention, the brown wig I had speculated on so long. I grabbed it, and carrying it into a corner, inspected it thoroughly. Then I clawed it a little, and at last seated myself in it. Something about it acted like a narcotic, and in this uncomfortable bird's nest I fell asleep.

I dreamed that I was sitting under the piazza, when I heard voices. One of them said: "Why should not cat's fur be used for wigs and bangs? Gray hair is so fashionable."

"Oh," replied a young voice, "think of Aunt Sally with a maltese front-piece, and Grandpa and Uncle Jim with tiger-cat wigs!"

"Well," replied the first speaker, "if it were the fashion, we should like it. That great, pampered cat belonging to those two big-feeling old maids would make nice wigs, for his fur is as soft as silk."