Part 2
“No, thank you, I’m quite well. Suppose we go into the show together?”
“Why, we can’t, can we. It ain’t open yet, is it?”
“Not to every one, but I am one of the patronesses, and I fancy they will let us in.” And sure enough they did.
“Here is a little girl who has a cat she would like to exhibit,” said the lady to a gentle-looking man inside, who seemed to be managing everything. “I know it’s rather late to enter it, but—” and she whispered something which made him smile and look almost as queerly at Maysie as the lady had done.
However, he gave Rags a nice cage, with soft straw in it, and a little medal with a number on it to hang around her neck by a scarlet ribbon.
“Now, you had better go up stairs and wait,” he said; “they won’t be on for an hour yet, and the judges cannot award the prizes until then.”
Maysie did not understand very clearly what he meant, but she was a trustful little soul, and so left Rags with him and climbed the stairs to a little waiting-room above.
After awhile the lady joined her saying, “Come, we can go in now.”
Pale with excitement, Maysie accepted the hand held out to her, and grasping it tightly, entered the great exhibition. Oh, wasn’t it beautiful! All lit up with ’lectric light! Row after row of cages crossed the floor, in each one of which blinked and stretched and softly purred a lovely, lovely kitty.
They kept getting more and more wonderful and beautiful as Maysie and the lady went on and on, but in her royal little soul, Rags’s mistress would not admit that any one of them was prettier or sweeter, or half as clever as Rags.
No, not even that grandest, showiest Angora, lying upon a rose-colored velvet cushion with exquisite pink roses in cut-glass bowls around her, and a tiny canary bird singing away blissfully in the same cage.
“You know, Rags ain’t never seen a bird, lessen it’s a sparrer, and she ain’t never smelt a flower in all her life, so wouldn’t you think they’d give her a prize jus’ to keep her from feelin’ bad?”
“Yes, I would indeed. There are the judges and they are coming from the other side of the room. Now, we will go over there and look for Rags, and if they have given her a prize, it will be written upon a card and hung on her cage, where we can see it in an instant.”
“Oh, my, do you suppose everybody what’s got a cat here feels like I do now?”
“I hardly think so much so, dear.”
At last they stood before Rags’s cage. Maysie put both hands over her eyes and peeped fearfully through her fingers.
“Oh! Oh! I believe I see a card.”
“Yes, you do.”
“What’s on it? Oh! What is on it?”
“P-r-i-z-e, prize!” read the lady.
“Ten dollars prize for the ug—for Rags.”
“My,” said Maysie, and she burst into tears of pure joy.
The lady kissed her warmly, dried her eyes and placed the bowl of roses right under Rags’s funny little nose.
Then the great, severe looking judges came up and congratulated her, and counted out into her two little hands all the heap of money that was the prize.
“And now,” said the lady, “I will drive you home.”
So she did, and didn’t all the children in the neighborhood run off to see who was getting out of the fine carriage that stopped before the tenement, and weren’t they surprised to find it was just Maysie? And didn’t Mrs. Williams laugh and cry and scold and pet her all at once when she heard the great news?
“Dear, dear, what a jewel Rags is.”
“Yes,” said her mother, “who’d have thought she’d have brought us such good luck by her very homeliness?”
“Homely? Why, mother, you forget, she’s got a prize.”
“So I did,” said Mrs. Williams, “so I did, of course.”
DIFFERENCES BETWEEN CAT AND DOG.
ELIZABETH I. CASSIN.
Cats see their prey, and catch it by creeping slyly up to it. Dogs smell their prey, and catch it by running it down. Cats must therefore have good eyes and be able to move very softly, while dogs must have strong scent and be able to go fast and far.
WHY CATS WASH AFTER EATING.
EVA J. BEEDE.
You may have noticed, little friends, That cats don’t wash their faces Before they eat, as children do, In all good Christian places.
Well, years ago, a famous cat, The pangs of hunger feeling, Had chanced to catch a fine young mouse Who said, as he ceased squealing,
“All genteel folks their faces wash Before they think of eating!” And, wishing to be thought well-bred, Puss heeded his entreating.
But when she raised her paw to wash Chance for escape affording, The sly young mouse said his good-bye, Without respect to wording.
A feline council met that day, And passed, in solemn meeting, A law forbidding any cat To wash till _after_ eating.
* * * * *
A kitten looked up with a sanctified grin, Singing “Birdie, nice birdie, sweet birdie.” When the robin descended she gobbled him in, Singing “Birdie, nice birdie, sweet birdie.”
THE CATS’ TEA PARTY.
_Action Poem._
[1]Four little pussy-cats, invited out to tea, Cried: “Mother, let us go. Oh, do! [2]for good we’ll surely be, [3]We’ll wear our bibs and hold [4]our things as you have shown us how— Spoons in right paws, cups as well, and [5]make a pretty bow; We’ll always say ‘Yes, if you please,’ and ‘Only half of that.’” “Then go, my darling children,” said the happy Mother Cat.
[6]The four little pussy-cats went out that night to tea, [7]Their heads were smooth and glossy, their tails were swinging free; They held their things as they had learned, and tried to be polite;— [8]With snowy bibs beneath their chins they were a pretty sight. But, alas for manners beautiful, [9]and coats as soft as silk! The moment that the little kits were asked to take some milk,
[10]They dropped their spoons, forgot to bow, and—oh, what do you think? They put their noses in the cups and all began to drink! Yes, every naughty little kit set up a _miou_ for more, Then knocked the tea-cups over, [11]and scampered through the door.
DIRECTIONS.
[Footnote 1: Stand erect, hands by side.]
[Footnote 2: Fold arms and look very imploringly.]
[Footnote 3: Place pinafores to imitate bibs by raising the bottom and placing it around neck.]
[Footnote 4: Place fingers as if to lift a cup to mouth.]
[Footnote 5: Make a bow.]
[Footnote 6: Let children take hold of hands as if to go out.]
[Footnote 7: Smooth hair.]
[Footnote 8: Point to chins.]
[Footnote 9: Point to coats or pinafores.]
[Footnote 10: Look very sorrowful.]
[Footnote 11: Raise hands and throw them both forward toward door.]
A CAT’S BIRTHDAY CELEBRATION.
MRS. GERTRUDE MANLY JONES.
A kitty named Pollie—just over the way— Gave a party last week on her second birthday. It was—so I’ve heard—quite a stylish affair, For the cat elite of the village was there. For a week the party was meowed about, After the neat invitations were out; “What shall I wear?” was a question oft asked, And for some little time the kitties harassed; At last they decided, without a demur, That because of cool weather, they’d all dress in fur. In the meanwhile, Pollie was burdened with care To get up a fine supper, and nice bill of fare. There were grasshopper croquets and truffles to make; A lot of fat lizards to stuff and to bake; There were mice, to be fricasseed, parboiled and stewed, And strong catnip bouillon, and punch to be brewed— Oh, my! Was there ever before a gray cat Who had such a weight on her shoulders as that? But at last the eventful evening came ’round, And everything was quite in readiness found. In the old kitchen garden the table was set, And a funnier table you never saw yet; The tea cups were egg shells; and turnip green plates Were loaded with savory messes and baits; A large rutabaga was hollowed out clean, And made quite an excellent bouillon tureen; The table was trimmed up with beet leaves and mint, And festoons of parsley were used without stint. As the clock struck midnight, the guests all poured in, And you never did hear such a horrible din! The old cornstalk fiddles set up a full blast, And partners for quadrilles were taken up fast. How the feet and the tails did fly in the air! How the sparks glinted off from the soft glossy hair! Some cats promenaded; others, played the coquette, While a pair on the fencetop struck up a duet; The ball had now reached its dizziest height, When from a near cottage, there flashed a bright light; A window was hastily raised with a bang, And a pistol-shot out through the old garden rang. I tell you the sound of that ringing report Put an end to the dancing, the singing and sport. The beaux—why, they went just tearing off home, And left the young kitties to come on alone. Kittie Pollie was very much chagrined about The way her grand entertainment turned out, And although she certainly was not to blame, She declares she will never give parties again.
THE LOST KITTY.
Have any of you seen my kitty? I have hunted all over the house for her and I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not under the stove nor up in my bed, and I don’t know what to do. Won’t you help me look for her? She is a gray kitty, with a white spot between her eyes. You will know her by that. Her name is Spot, and she knows it just as well as I know my name. When I have a saucer of milk for her, and call, “Here, Spot, Spot, Spot!” she runs as fast as her little feet can trot. Oh, dear, where are you, kitty? I wish I could find you. I hope no big, bad boy, or naughty little girl has carried you away. Hark! What is that? “Meow, meow, meow.” Why, there she is, now, on the window-sill. Just wait, my precious, darling old kitty, until I get you in my arms!
A MODEST CAT’S SOLILOQUY.
Oh, what a grand and glorious thing it is to be a cat! Yes, every day I live, I grow more positive of that.
For all the great, big busy world, as is quite right and meet! Comes humbly every day to lay its tribute at my feet;
Far down within the damp, dark earth the grimy miner goes, That I on chilly nights may have a fire for my toes;
Brave sailors plow the wintry main, through peril and mishap, That I, on Oriental rugs, may take my morning nap.
Out in the distant meadow meekly graze the lowing kine, That milk, in endless saucerfuls, all foaming, may be mine;
The fish that swim the ocean, and, the birds that fill the air— Did I not like their bones to pick, pray, think you they’d be there?
But first, of all who wait on me, preeminent is man; For me he toils through all the day, and through the night doth plan;
Especially the gentleman who keeps this house for me, And takes such thoughtful, anxious care, that I should suited be.
He’s stocked his rare old attic with the finest breed of mice, A little hunting, now and then, comes in so very nice.
And furthermore, the thoughtful man, a wife has married him, To tidy up the house for me, and keep it neat and trim;
And both of them with deference my slightest fancy treat, And as I’m quite fastidious about the things I eat,
They never offer me a dish, to please my appetite, Until they’ve tasted it themselves, to see if all is right;
And to entice my palate, when it’s cloyed with other things, All fattening in a gilded cage, a choice canary swings.
But, best of all they’re training up, with pains that can’t be told, Their children, just to wait on me, when they have grown too old.
Oh, truly I am monarchess of all that I survey; No rules or laws I recognize, no bells or calls obey.
I eat and sleep, and sleep and eat, nor ever have I toiled; No kind of base, degrading work my paws has ever soiled.
Oh, truly ’tis a gladsome thing to be a pussy-cat! I’m truly glad, when I was born, I stopped to think of that.
A MIRROR CAT.
OLIVER HERFORD.
I really wish you’d all sit still, And try to hear a curious tale That happened just the other day. There is another yellow cat Who sits behind a golden frame, And looks so very much like me You’d think that we were just the same. Yet, when I mew aloud or call, She moves her mouth again to me, But makes no sound at all. And to the dullest kitten It’s plain enough to see That either I am mocking her, Or she is mocking me. It makes no difference what I play, She seems to know the game; For every time I look around I see her do the same. And yet no matter though I creep On tiptoe lest she hear, Or quickly dash behind the frame, She’s sure to disappear.
[Illustration]
A Wise Mouse.
By
Mary·Raymond·Garretson.
Purred the Cat, “Pretty Mouse, come out of the wall, And make me this evening, a neighborly call: Then into the cupboard, we’ll quietly creep, To steal bread and cheese, while the family sleep.”
“No thanks, Tabby dear,” squealed old Mrs Mouse, “I’ll remain in my hole, while you’re in the house: On your good behavior I dare not depend, For last night, you swallowed my intimate friend.”
THE CAT THAT CAME TO SCHOOL.
_Action Poem._
Why here’s a pussy come to school! What do [1]_you_ want, my dear? You [2]prick your ears and [3]gaze about, And seem to feel no fear.
Ah! next I see you [4]wash yourself, That’s right! Miss Pussy Cat; We scholars here must all be clean— I’m glad you think of that.
Now pussy [5]looks all around again, Then gives a little “mew,” And [6]shakes the bell tied [7]round her neck, With bit of ribbon blue.
[8]Upon the table pussy jumps, [9]Then to the Maypole goes; Oh! kitty, would you like to dance, As we do, on our [10]toes?
[11]Next to the class-room door she goes, I’m sure she wants to learn. [12]Come in, come in, then, pussy cat, And [13]read when it’s your turn.
But pussy only says [14]“Mew, mew,” And [15]looks in teacher’s face: [16]Oh, puss, I fear you’ll be a dunce, And leave in sad disgrace!
[Illustration: PICTURE IV.
“I ’dopt her fer m’ ownes’ tat, An’ dot fer her der nices’ house.”]
[Illustration: PICTURE V.
“W’ere she do stay w’en nite am tum Ser still an’ twiet as er mouse.”]
How prettily you sit and [17]curl Your long tail round your feet! And look so cozy and content, You must think school a treat.
DIRECTIONS.
[Footnote 1: Point out.]
[Footnote 2: Raise forefinger of each hand, and put one on each side of head.]
[Footnote 3: Look around.]
[Footnote 4: Pretend to wash face.]
[Footnote 5: Same as 3.]
[Footnote 6: Hold hands loosely and shake.]
[Footnote 7: Point to neck.]
[Footnote 8: Raise both hands.]
[Footnote 9: Point outward.]
[Footnote 10: Tap toes lightly.]
[Footnote 11: Point to door.]
[Footnote 12: Beckon.]
[Footnote 13: Hold hands together, palms upward.]
[Footnote 14: Let a few children imitate mewing.]
[Footnote 15: Look intently at teacher.]
[Footnote 16: Move forefinger.]
[Footnote 17: Curve right arm around to left side.]
WHAT PUSS THINKS.
Pray tell me why a heartless pup Should care to worry _me_— A gentle, peaceful pussy cat— And chase me up a tree?
The pup cannot be angry; why, His eyes are bright with fun; And yet, ah me! with all my heart I wish I had a gun!
Then I would bang his wagging tail, And laugh to hear him howl, Just as he barks with glee at me, While I can only growl.
“But how about the mouse?” you ask. Oh, well, of course I do Catch mice, and tease them, too, a bit; But, really, wouldn’t you?
CATS.
EVE LAWLESS.
There are women in this world, and men, too, who, I think, were intended for cats instead of human beings. Notice their soft velvety paws as they beg some favor of you; and then offend them, I’ll be bound you’ll see the claws, and feel them, too.
That person, who creeps around your house with stealthy tread and catlike caution, take my word for it, means mischief, and if you don’t hear some rumors regarding yourself, then I am no prophet.
A cat will kill a bird, eat it, wash her paws, and look up in your face, as though she said, “I don’t see who could have eaten that canary.” Can’t you think of some individual who bears a resemblance to that cat?
Hasn’t some one been casting aspersions upon your character, and said foul things about you, and then licked her paws—I mean washed her hands—and put on a grave-yard look, saying, at the same time, “How can people talk so about their neighbors?”
I hate these cats. I want to have a person candid, upright and outspoken, not palaver before your face, and backbite you when you haven’t the ghost of a chance to defend yourself. It always makes me shiver to hear a catlike tread.
Hallo! Here comes another cat. This time it comes in the shape of an anonymous correspondent, who wishes Eve to write to him on Love! I beg your pardon; I don’t write to promiscuous people, and especially to those who are ashamed to write more than their initials. When a man is not willing to sign his name fair and square to a letter, it doesn’t strike me that he can be any too proud of it. This anonymous letter-writing is of too catlike a nature to suit me.
Have I any more cats handy? I think so. Imagine you have written a poem; some friend praises it, stroking your fur the right way, figuratively speaking. Let another friend tell you of its faults, rubbing the fur contrariwise, won’t you spit, and scratch, and mew something about somebody’s having no taste? Why _are_ we plagued with so many catlike attitudes?
INTELLIGENT CAT.
GRACE BACON HOLWAY.
A rush and a dash and a scamper, A warm, nestling armful of fur; Our brief game of tag—being over— Gave place to the tenderest purr.
He measures a yard in the morning When stretched in a sweet, dreamless sleep, The rich, tawny fur, soft as velvet, Showing broad, even stripes, dark and deep.
He lies on my lap in the sunshine, I rock him to sleep on my arm, I feel all the pleasure of loving, And striving to shield him from harm.
He runs up the tree to my window To tap with his paw on the pane And plead, in his sweet coaxing language, For comfort and shelter again.
Each movement of gentle contentment, Replete with luxurious grace, Proclaims him at once and forever The king of the feline race.
DECORATION OF HONOR.
L.E. STREET.
“You—ow—w!” said Blitzen. “What are you doing on my premises?”
The other cat looked up from the plate before him. He was enjoying the good breakfast which had been placed upon it.
“I’m visiting here with my mistress.”
“What is your name?” further inquired Blitzen, still waving his tail, though in a somewhat less warlike manner; “and why is that blue ribbon tied on your collar?”
“My mistress calls me Herculo. I’m a pure-blooded Angora, and that blue ribbon is for a prize I took in a cat show. I’ve taken four.”
“Humph! Well, my name is Blitzen, which means lightning. I’m called that because I can scratch with my claws just as quick and sharp as lightning can strike. I’m just a plain cat, and never took a prize in my life; but I can catch mice and sparrows and climb a tree like a squirrel.”
Again the tail waved. Herculo looked duly impressed.
“Gr-r-r!” continued Blitzen, beginning to eat the breakfast which lay on another plate close by. “Don’t you dare touch any of my breakfast. Keep to your own plate.”
This was the way the two cats began their friendship. It did not take Blitzen long to grow quite amiable, especially when he saw how respectfully Herculo watch his exploits.
One morning Blitzen started off before daylight on an expedition, which kept him longer than he meant it should.
“Plates empty, eh?” he mused as he reached the kitchen door. “Now, what a good thing it was that I caught that mouse. Where can Herculo be, I wonder.”
“Meow-ow! Meow-ow!”
Blitzen pricked up his ears.
“That sounds familiar!”
“Me-ow-ow!”
“Herculo, as sure as I’m a cat! He must be in some scrape. Now, which direction—ah, front lawn, I guess.” And Blitzen ambled away thither.
“Meow-ow!”
Blitzen looked up in the larch tree, high up in the branches of which clung Herculo. Just beyond his reach sat a dozen sparrows twittering with bird laughter at the terror and discomfort of their would-be enemy.
“Hullo!” said Blitzen calmly. “Why don’t you come down?”
“Ca-an’t—it’s so hi-igh! I’ll fall.”
“What made you climb up there, anyhow, if you were too scared to come down again?”
“To hunt the sparrows. Meow!”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the sparrows. “Chee, chee!”
“Well, you just swing your hind feet off to the next branch below, can’t you?” said Blitzen.
Herculo tried, but was too frightened to succeed.
“I can’t,” he wailed again. “Yow-w-w!”
Blitzen walked around the tree and viewed him critically from all sides. Then he started for the barn. Herculo felt himself deserted, and yowed despairingly.
Blitzen trotted on. At the barn he found John, the man, and rubbing persuasively against his legs, said, “Meow!”
John stooped and petted him. Acknowledging the stroke of the friendly hand, Blitzen repeated firmly, “Meow!” Then he went a few steps toward the door and turned to see if John understood.
“What’s up, Blitzen, ye sinner?” asked John.
“Meow!” replied Blitzen, trotting ahead.
“Sure, he’s a knowin’ animal. He do be wantin’ somethin’. I’ll go with him,” was John’s conclusion.
And then Blitzen triumphantly led him to the tree where Herculo still clung, and still howled dolefully.
“Av coorse, I’ll get him down fer ye, Blitzen,” said John, taking in the situation. “Ye’re a clever feller entirely!”
By help of a ladder and John’s strong arms, Herculo was landed on the ground very much tumbled-up-and-down in his mind.
“Blitzen,” said his mistress, “you shall have a blue ribbon, too. You may not have any blue blood, but you’ve common sense; and that’s a trait worth having in man or beast!”
CAT’S THANKSGIVING DAY.
“Give me turkey for my dinner,” Said a tabby cat. “Before you get it, you’ll be thinner, Go and catch a rat,” Said the cook, her pastry making, Looking fierce and red, And a heavy roller shaking Over pussy’s head.
Hark! her kittens’ shriller mewing; “Give us pie,” said they, To the cook, amid her stewing, On Thanksgiving day. “Pie, indeed! You idle creatures! Who’d have thought of that? Wash your paws and faces neater, And go hunt! Scat! Scat!”