Part 10

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.

[Illustration: CONVALESCING.

“ROTOGRAPH” SERIES]

[Illustration: From Painting by J. Adam.

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.

The shouts of the boys grew fainter and fainter, and finally ceased altogether. It was then that she stopped, and tugged and bit at the knotted cord until at last she could switch her tail from side to side—free from its hated burden.

“Me-ow-w!”

“Whew! little cat, is it so bad as all that?”

He was tall, wore a soft black hat, and carried a cane, which he playfully twirled over the kitten’s head as he spoke.

The kitten’s tail came upright instantly, waving an appreciative welcome to the kindly tones.

Two blocks down the street, the man ran up the steps of a house. His latch-key was in his hand before he spied the kitten. She had sprung lightly to the topmost step and was now facing him.

“Why—pussy!”

“Meow!”

Mechanically the man obeyed the obvious command, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The kitten was inside the hall with a bound.

“Oh, what a beauty, Mr. Heywood! Where did you get it?” asked the landlady.

“That’s just the trouble, Mrs. Merriam; I didn’t get it at all—it came!”

“Came to you? How perfectly lovely! The very best sign of good luck that you could possibly have! There’s not a bit of doubt now, Mr. Heywood—your picture will be a certain success.”

“But what am I going to do with it?” asked Heywood.

“Do with it? Why, you’re going to keep it.”

The kitten had arrived with a bedraggled ribbon of what had once been lustrous white satin around her neck. This forlorn bit of finery Heywood at once consigned to the wastebasket, substituting a band of blue cut from a roll of ribbon, after scrutiny of his guest’s eyes to obtain just the proper shade; but the roll of ribbon soon began to show signs of a rapid disappearance, so frequently was the necklet renewed. This was owing to the fact that the kitten’s usual companions, during her waking hours, were Heywood’s tubes of paints.

The first time she had jumped upon his low stand and poked her inquisitive nose into his paint-box, he had looked on in dumb dismay. A skirmish, a sweep of a yellow paw—and a tube of Rose Madder leaped from the box and scurried across the floor with the kitten in full pursuit.

It was then that Heywood had caught up his crayon and drawn hurried lines on the canvas before him; and it was that rough sketch that became the first study for his famous picture “The Kittens’ Playground.”

After that he used every device in his power to interest the kitten in that paint-box.

From the very first the little stranger had not lacked for a name. She was always referred to as “Her Majesty,” and right royally she ruled the household. It was two weeks before Her Majesty’s new surroundings palled upon her and she longed for other worlds to conquer. Coincident with this longing came the open back-yard gate. A wild scamper, and she was free—out in the wide, wide world! Through the alley and across the lot another open gate tempted her. Up the steps, through the kitchen door and on into the dining-room pattered the little yellow feet.

“Why, Queenie!—you darling!” and she was in Miss Dorothy’s arms.

“Where have you been? You little dear—you’re as plump as a partridge, anyway! Some one has appreciated you. But they’ve taken off your pretty white ribbon and put on a horrid blue one. We’ll go and change it, sweetheart. I never did like blue!”

Meanwhile on the other side of the square consternation reigned.

“Where’s Her Majesty?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll hunt her up,” responded Mrs. Merriam.

Perhaps the kitten missed her box of pigment playthings, or perhaps she longed for the masculine homage she did not find at home; at any rate, three days later, when she heard a familiar call from across the open lot, she slipped through the back-yard gate, and hurried in the direction of Mrs. Merriam’s voice.

“I’ve got her,” she announced breathlessly, “but I guess she’s found her home, Mr. Heywood. I don’t know’s we ought to keep her—you see her ribbon’s changed.”