Part 14

Forth skipped the cat, not now replete As erst with any self-conceit, And in her own fond apprehension A theme for all the world’s attention; But modest, sober, cured of all Her notions hyperbolical; And wishing, for a place to rest, Anything rather than a chest. Then stept the poet into bed With this reflection in his head:

Beware of too sublime a sense Of your own worth and consequence. The man who dreams himself so great, And his importance of such weight, That all around in all that’s done Must move and act for him alone, Will learn in school of tribulation The folly of his expectation.

A STRANGE MOUSE.

As in the nursery Mrs. Puss was looking out for mice, She threw a glance upon the shelf and there saw something nice.

A little mouse among the toys was standing very still. “I’ll catch that mouse,” said Mrs. Puss, “most certainly I will.”

Then crouching down before the shelf, her instinct to obey, She made a sudden upward spring and pounced upon her prey.

But what was this? In sudden fear her claws let go their hold At coming into contact with a substance hard and cold.

Then frightened Mrs. Puss turned tail and fled from out the house, While still her prey remained unmoved—he was a clockwork mouse!

HOW TO FEED AND CARE FOR CATS.

STANLEY SCHELL.

The cat is instinctively a cleanly animal, and, when housed, should be provided with every means to keep herself clean. Articles necessary for a cat are:

1. A flat, galvanized pan or box, with clean sand, earth or sawdust.

2. Clean box or basket, filled with clean straw, excelsior, or tissue paper, in summer; cut-up (waste) paper from printer or binder, or a large, soft flannel blanket in winter. This basket should be kept in the sunlight.

3. Absolutely clean dishes for food.

Brush the cat daily with a soft hair-brush or with a bath-mitten.

To wash a cat (which should be done every week) prepare a dish of good, rather thick soft soap, and have ready two foot-tubs of tepid water. If you have a small bath-tub, place a towel in bottom of tub, stand cat on hind legs in tub and let her front legs rest on edge of tub. Hold her by the neck or collar with one hand, and, talking to her nicely, begin rubbing in gently but thoroughly the soft soap, beginning at the hind quarters and tail and gradually working up toward the ears. When soap is well applied, move soap-bowl aside and dip your free hand in one dish of tepid water and gently apply water to lower part of cat’s body, and so on up the body until all the tepid water in this bowl has been used; then use second dish of tepid water to rinse cat, using, as before, a little at a time.

When cat is thoroughly cleaned, wrap her in a clean turkish towel and gently pat her so as to dry her as much as possible. Remove towel and wrap cat in a warm flannel blanket and gently rub towel over her body to dry her still more; then put her into her basket and let her finish the drying for herself.

If you are afraid to wash your cat, you can clean her by rubbing her with olive or cocoanut oil, or with cream; then, after partly drying her, put her into her basket to do the rest.

Some of the articles of food good for a cat are:

Fresh milk, Sour milk (in case of worms), Fresh water daily, Oatmeal porridge, Bread, crackers, or oatmeal biscuit, soaked in milk, Asparagus, celery, string beans, etc., occasionally, Raw mutton, except on day you give her liver (which should be given at least once in ten days), or on day you give her fish (which should be once a week).

Add boiled rice to the milk if cat has diarrhœa.

Whenever a cat is sick, if possible learn and remove cause; if not possible, give her one of the following:

Castor oil, Grass, Catnip, Flowers of sulphur, or baking soda in milk.

A COMPOSITE CAT.

MARIA J. HAMMOND.

We took our pussy’s photograph, then one of a neighbor’s cat; And then a third, and then a fourth—a dozen pussies sat. And then we took the photograph of every photograph. Oh, that is often done, you know; indeed, you needn’t laugh!

We showed mamma the last effect. “Here is the type,” we said, “Of all the dozen pussy-cats—see what a splendid head!” “Splendid? A terror!” cried mamma—quite frank, to say the least; “Each puss would be a truer type than this composite beast!”

KITTY.

Here, and there, and everywhere, Climbing, running, frisking; On the table, in the chair, Round the parlor whisking, Kitty seems forever flitting. Maids and mistress scold and laugh; Now she’s in the basket sitting; Let me take her photograph.

Most important person, Kitty! Equal to a baby—nearly! Full of mischief—more’s the pity, Everybody sees that clearly! See! She’s on the parlor table, Breakfasting on milk and cream— Steals as much as she is able, Of the rest she makes a stream.

Scrambling up the window curtain, To the mantel-piece she leaps; Down go ornaments, that’s certain! Broken fragments lie in heaps. Kitty never feels she’s sorry— Never has the slightest shock; So she dozes, free from worry, Sitting calmly on the clock!

Mrs. Pussy, her dear mother, Watches her in mute delight; Wondering at so much bother With her kit from morn till night. Kitty plumps on mother’s back, Bites her ears, and pulls her tail, Gets a scolding and a smack, But it’s all of no avail.

Here, and there, and everywhere, Kitty scampers through the house; Mother shows her how to scare, How to kill a captured mouse. Up the trees, and on the wall, Heedless she of all reproof; Deaf to the maternal squall, She is playing on the roof.

Oh, Miss Kitty! of to-morrow Little know you, little care; Never dream of coming sorrow, How you may in future fare. Happy now, and full of frolic, Only eat and drink and play, Never suffer gout or colic, Or meet misery half way.

CATS RECOGNIZED BY CAT CLUBS OF TO-DAY.

1. SHORT-HAIRED CATS

Siamese Blue (Maltese) Manx Foreign Tabby Spotted Bicolor Tricolor Tortoise Shell Black White Sable Ticks Abyssinian.

2. LONG-HAIRED CATS

Black White Blue Orange Cream Sable Smoke Tabby Spotted Chinchilla Tortoise Shell Bicolor Tricolor.

JIM WOLFE AND THE CATS.

MARK TWAIN.

We was all boys then, an’ didn’t care for nothin’ only how to shirk school, an’ keep up a revivin’ state of devilment all the time. This yah Jim Wolfe I was talkin’ about was the ’prentice, an’ he was the best-hearted feller, he was, an’ the most forgivin’ an’ onselfish, I ever see. Wall, there couldn’t be a more bullier boy than what Jim was, take him heow you would; and sorry enough was I when I see him for the last time.

Me an’ Henry was allers pesterin’ him, an’ plasterin’ hoss bills on his back, an’ puttin’ bumble-bees in his bed, an’ so on, an’ sometimes we’d jist creowd in an’ bunk with him not’standin’ his growlin’, an’ then we’d let on to git mad, and fight acrost him, so as to keep him stirred up like.

He was nineteen, he was, an’ long, an’ lank, an’ bashful, an’ we was fifteen an’ sixteen, an’ pretty tolerabal lazy an’ wuthless.

So, that night, you know, that my sister Mary giv the candy-pullin’, they started us off to bed airly, so as the comp’ny could have full swing; an’ we swung in on to Jim to have some fun.

Wall, our winder looked out onter the ruff of the ell, an’ about ten o’clock a couple of ole tom-cats got to raisin’ an’ chargin’ reound on it, an’ carryin’ on just like sin.

There was four inches of snow on the ruff, an’ it froze so there was a right smart crust of ice on it, an’ the moon was shinin’ bright, an’ we could see them cats jist like daylight.

First they’d stand off, e-yow-yow-yow, jist the same as if they was a-cussin’ one another, you know, an’ bow up their backs, an’ bush up their tails, an’ swell around, an’ spit, an’ then all of a sudden the gray cat he’d snatch a han’ful of fur off the yaller cat’s back, an’ spin him around jist like a button on a barn door. But the yaller cat was game, an’ he’d come an’ clinch, an’ the way they’d gouge an’ bite an’ howl, an’ the way they’d make the fur fly, was peowerful.

Wall, Jim he jist got disgusted with the row, an’ ’lowed he’d climb out there an’ shake ’em off’n that ruff. He hadn’t reely no notion o’ doin’ it, likely, but we everlastingly dogged him, an’ bully-ragged him, an’ ’lowed he’d allers bragged heow he wouldn’t take a dare, an’ so on, till bimeby he jist histed the winder an’ lo an’ behold you! he went—went exactly as he was—nothin’ on but his——_ulster_. You ought to ’a’ seen him! You ought to seen him creepin’ over that ice, an’ diggin’ his toe-nails an’ finger-nails in, fur to keep him from slippin’; an’ ’bove all, you ought to seen that——_ulster_ a-flappin’ in the wind, and them long, ridicklous shanks of his’n a-glistenin’ in the moonlight.

Them company folks was down there under the eaves, an’ the whole squad of ’em under that ornery shed o’ dead Wash’ton Bower vines—all settin’ reound two dozzen sassers o’ bilin’-hot candy, which they’d sot in the snow to cool. An’ they was laughin’ an’ talkin’ lively; but, bless you! they didn’t know nothin’ ’bout the panorammy that was goin’ on over their heads.

Wall, Jim he just went a-sneakin an’ a-sneakin’ up unbeknown to them tom-cats—they was a-swishin’ their tails, an’ yow-yowin’ an’ threatenin’ to clinch, you know, an’ not payin’ any attention—he went a-sneakin’ an’ a-sneakin’ right up to the comb of the ruff, till he got in a foot an’ a half of ’em, an’ then all of a sudden he made a grab for the yaller cat! But by gosh he missed fire an’ slipped his holt, an’ his heels flew up, an’ he flopped on his back, an’ shot off’n that ruff just like a dart!—went a-smashin’ an’ a-crashin’ down through them old rusty vines, an’ landed right in the dead center of all them comp’ny people!—sot down jist like a yearthquake in them two dozen sassers of red-hot candy, an’ let off a howl that was hark from the tomb! They got—wall, they left, you know. They see he warn’t dressed for comp’ny, an’ so they left—vamoosed.

All done in a sec’nd; it was jist one little war-whoop an’ a whish o’ their dresses, an’ blame not one of ’em was in sight anywhere!

Jim he war in sight. He was gomed with the bilin’ hot molasses candy clean down to his heels, an’ more busted sassers hangin’ to him than if he war a Injun princess—an’ he come a-prancin’ upstairs jist a-whoopin’ an’ a-cussin’, an’ every jump he giv he shed some sassers, an’ every squirm he fetched he dripped some candy! an’ blistered! why, bless your soul, that poor creeter couldn’t reely set down comfortable for as much as four weeks.

KITTEN OF THE REGIMENT.

JAMES BUCKRAM.

This kitten, sir, of the Colonel’s? I’ll tell the story. We were at Roanoke, a month ago. Waiting the fleet, and camped the hill-side white. One night, when sentinels were all at post, We lay around the fires and talked of home. The smoke wreathed up into the still blue sky, The wind was whist, and all the stars shone clear— Just such a night as sleeps above the hills Of old New England when the frosts are hoar— Talking not aloud, but soft, as soldiers talk, After some months o’ the rolling drum and sight Of blood. The sentinel’s sudden challenge came: “Halt! Who goes there?” We all leaped up and harked. “Only Doll Brewster, sir; I’ve brought my kitty.” What! a child’s voice?—a child at bayonet’s point? Shame! Let her pass. Into the fire-light then, Led gently by two brave, kind soldier-boys, Blushing, with downcast eyes, and pretty lip Half-curled to cry, hair loose and all like gold, A kitten on her breast, walked sweet Doll Brewster.

Well, sir, the regiment came on the run; And such a wall of ’em, all of ’em looking down At a ten-year girl, hair loose, lip curled to cry, And a kitten, white as snow, curled under her chin. “Just like my sister!” cried one; “And mine!” cried another, Till the fire began to look dim to all of us. Then, sir, the Colonel came, with his sword a-clanking. “What’s this?” he cried, but stopped, and his face grew soft. “Please, sir,” said Doll, “I’ve brought you my little kitty, It’s all I had, and Papa is sick and poor. (Mamma, you know, is dead.) We’re Northerners, sir, And brother died for the flag. I loved him so! Please take my kitty; I want to give something, sir.”

The Colonel? He stooped and caught her in his arms— Caught kitten and Doll, and kissed ’em both. He did! And every man of us would have done the same, And mighty glad of the chance. There wasn’t an eye Could hold its tears, nor cheek that had kept dry, And if it hadn’t been for the Colonel there, A hundred of us would have kissed the child.

That’s all the story of the kitten, sir— The Colonel’s kitten and the regiment’s. We wouldn’t have a hair of it hurt for gold— Nor blood, if it came to that! Have you a sister? You know how a man can feel for a bit of a child With golden hair and eyes like the heaven’s blue; And she’d a brother who died for the old flag, too!

Oh, sir, we dreamed of home the livelong night— Sisters and sweethearts, mothers, and wives and daughters. Never was sweeter sleep in a soldier’s camp. And all because that little bright-haired child, Doll Brewster, with a kitten on her breast Came up the hill, marched by the sentinel’s gun, Stood in the fire-light with her golden hair All loose, and pretty lip half-curled to cry, And said: “It is all I had. Please take it, sir— Please take my little kitty; I want to give something.”

THE WATCH-CAT.

ELLIOT WALKER.

Othello sits at top of cellar stairs and gazes reflectively down into the gloom. He has washed his paws and now is reflecting. Yes, he has caught the mouse and eaten him—a most delicious mouse—a most exciting moment—when, after long, patient wait behind the wood-box, his prey suddenly darted across to the refrigerator. Othello had given one quick spring—and now he lashes his long black tail from side to side at the recollection—it had been a great satisfaction to catch that mouse at last.

But now the mouse is gone, and so is Othello’s occupation. For three successive nights he had crouched in patient watching. Now the mouse is no more, and Othello almost wishes it back in its hole, so that he might again pass long hours in delightful anticipation. And that was the last mouse in the cellar! No use to go down again. Nothing to do, and he may as well go to sleep.

What is that? Noises outside the door—strange whispers! Why! the key turned round in the keyhole by itself! How funny! He will put up his paw and play with it if it does that again. The door is opening and cold air is coming in, and something else coming in, too—two such creatures as you never have seen before—muffled creatures, with queer black things over their faces and queer things in their hands. Yes, they must be men, but very queerly dressed, and they cast searching glances in every direction. What a queer little lamp they have lighted—just a glare of light, then darkness, then light again that moves here and there. Oh, they are going down cellar, to look in the refrigerator, probably, or possibly to shake the furnace. That is all the master goes down cellar for.

The cat crawled from his hiding-place to top of cellar stairs and again gazed into the gloom. What! Are they talking about that beautiful roast, and the pudding and the cold mashed potatoes? They are going too far; they might have the potatoes, but the cold meat—that is too much! He will tell his master, and the master will make them give it back, even as he had made Othello give up the young robin, by choking and blows. Yes, he shall know of this at once. But how to reach him? The pantry doors to kitchen and dining-room are always locked now, ever since the parrot came. Ah, he understands it now! Those creatures in the cellar are friends of the parrot—probably invited by him to come and gobble everything. That is the parrot all over, wanting everything and getting it, and Othello, who formerly had the run of the house, and went regularly to wake the master every morning, is now relegated to the kitchen, with the pantry door locked.

Othello grins at recollection of the reason for locking that door. When the parrot had arrived six months before and cast a shadow over Othello’s position, hatred and jealousy filled his feline bosom. To be sure, the parrot was talented and could say real words like people, and Othello admired that, but his disposition was mean, and after he had startled Othello by screeching “Scat!” and “Get out, Blacky!” something had to be done. And now it pleases him much to remember the scientific play of his claws on the parrot’s head and neck, and the way the feathers flew, and the appalling screams. Well, Ephraim—that is the parrot’s name—had no business to insult him. He began it by putting his head through the bars of the cage and rasping out “Niggerhead! Niggerhead! I chew niggerhead!” Ephraim had come over in a sailing vessel, and the sailors had taught him many evil words and phrases. So Othello had reached out one paw invitingly and Ephraim had struck at it viciously. But Othello had pulled the paw back quickly and brought the other one down on Ephraim’s head and held it there while he raked him with the other. And all the people in the house had come running, and he was cuffed and driven down-stairs.

The men in the cellar are coming toward the stairs now, and Othello retires under the stove. Now they are in the kitchen again and have put the food on the dresser. Othello would like some of that cold meat—it smells delicious—but he fears to come out from under the stove. He is suspicious. He will wait. What _are_ they doing? Unlocking the door to the pantry. How excited they seem! Now they are unlocking the dining-room door. What _are_ they after? He crawls quietly after them—they cannot see him in the shadow, but _he_ can see everything. Oh, they have laid a great nasty bag on the dining-room table, and they are taking from the sideboard all of those bright things that the family eat with and take such care of, and are putting them into the bag very carefully. There goes little Jenny’s mug—the one she lets him have milk from. No, that will not do. No meat, no milk! Now is his chance. From the dining-room to the hall, then up-stairs to the master’s room. How very easy, all in a minute!

What did that man say?—“Get the swag ready and leave it on the table; we’ll step back and eat. Don’t move it now—it may rattle. We’ll carry it off when we start—good haul!” Othello pricks up his ears. “Carry it off!” Yes, he understands that. He has been cuffed often for carrying off things—chops and slices of meat. These horrible men shall be cuffed, too—the master will do it. Creep along, Othello, creep along! Up the stairs now, down the hallway, into the master’s room. You will rouse him and save what you little know the value of. Jump on him, scratch him—anything! You have done it. He is wide awake now and trembling; is out of his warm bed, and seems to understand. There is a bright, shining thing in his hand and his face is white and set.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Why are you, brave Othello, cowering at top of the attic stairs? Two short seconds ago you were on the master’s bed, purring loudly. What is that awful rush below, out of the kitchen where the clock ticks, out across the porch, across the lawn, into the road? Bang! Bang! outside the house, then the sound of rapid running. Why, what is it, Othello? What are people screaming for, and why is little Jenny crying, why is Ephraim screeching atrociously, and why are you, with your tail twice its natural size, wailing dismally? Fright, Othello, general fright—and you brought it about with your notions of the rights of property. Quiet down now and crawl down-stairs to see what you get.

They are gathering in the dining-room, with all the lights going full blast, as you, Othello, sneak down-stairs wondering what it all means. The master has just come back from the outside, quite pale and shaky. “Fired six times and never hit one of them,” he says. “Did they get anything?” And the mistress, who has emptied the dirty bag on the table, replies, “Not a thing, William.”

They are all quiet now, especially Othello, who feels the queer experience deeply, and wonders how much abuse he will get when he is discovered hiding by the sideboard. The master spies him, and lifts him tenderly, with words of such affectionate appreciation that Othello wonders still more, but sinks his claws gently through the thin covering and purrs. “Ow!” says the man, and quickly extricates them. He strokes the cat very gently, and turning to his wife, says, “Maria, let’s get rid of that parrot. From this time forward the cat shall have first place. I have thought lately of buying a watch-dog, but it is not necessary. I’d rather have a watch-cat like Othello.”

* * * * *

_Ques._—Why does a cat look on first one side and then on another when she enters a room?

_Ans._—Because she can’t look on both sides at the same time.

TOM.

M.T. HART.

“Dear Tom is dead, please come to-night!” She telegraphed. With keen delight I read the message. Roses for consolation meant I sent, but oh, with what content I paid expressage!

Don’t think me heartless, till you know Death has relieved me of a foe. Tom was my rival. When he began to pine away, I scarcely was the one to pray For his survival.

He’s hated me since first we met; He was a most pronounced brunette, While I am fair. He was more favored of the two; Of soft caresses very few Fell to my share.

But now he’s dead, I feel no spite. I hope his harp is tuned all right, His robe a fit, his halo bright With gems galore. And just this once do I confess The reason of my happiness— Because on earth there’s one cat less, In heaven one more.

MY PET CAT.