Part 10

Punch and Judy were obliged to stay in the basement all day, because mistress feared they might go away in search of their home. I really don’t think it was necessary to keep them indoors because they would stay where their basket is when once they got used to the place; but, of course, mistress did not want to take any chances. Poor Punch and Judy! They complained bitterly at having to be housed in during that beautiful, sunshiny weather. We used to peep in at the basement windows, and it was pitiful to see how they would shift their position so as to get the full benefit of the sun’s rays that for a little while during each day meagerly brightened their gloomy abode. To be sure, mistress left them a nice lunch each day, and balls and spools to play with; and she tied strings in various places to tempt them into amusing themselves. But a homesick cat does not care much for these things. We were all right glad when Teddy came to take them back to their home, and I hope that hereafter when they go to the Lake Shore they will take Punch and Judy with them.

Among our new neighbors were Marjory and Doris, two dear little girls who often came over with their doll buggies to take my kittens out to ride; and after a nice outing they would generally sit on the porch and hold the kittens on their laps a while. Doris’ little brother George used to come over too, and sometimes he would try to hold a kitten on his lap, but the poor little thing would slide right through between his legs, which always made George feel very badly, and caused him to cry.

One evening George’s mother called, and mistress told her about the children’s play with the kittens, and how George cried because he could not hold one in his lap. At this Mrs. Gafney laughed heartily. “That explains,” said she, “why George teases me so much lately to dress him up in Doris’ clothes and make a girl of him.”

So you see we have found some very delightful neighbors in our new house.

XXVIII

BOOKER T. WASHINGTON AND ADMIRAL DEWEY

Just before we left Maple Road the kind Providence had sent me five kittens; but one day upon awaking from my nap, three were missing. I knew they could not have crawled out, for they were only a few days old, and as I looked for them I smelled the odor of that same medicine that mistress gets for homeless and sick cats. I suppose she thought I had too many to take care of; and knowing that whatever she does is for the best, I gave myself over wholly to those that remained with me.

One of my kittens was black with white toes and a white breast which mistress always called his “white shirt.” The markings on his face were so irregular that it made him look as if he had a crooked nose. But he was clever and energetic. His full name was Booker T. Washington, and I used to hear mistress say that he was every whit worthy of it. His immaculate white shirt front, together with his dignified bearing, gave him a real preacher-like appearance.

[Illustration: BOOKER T. WASHINGTON]

My other kitten was a Maltese, with white markings. When still very small he was promised to Miss Gracie Jones, one of our new neighbors on Elmwood Place, who came over every day after school and played with him. She named him Admiral Dewey. But Booker was the great favorite, and mistress would not promise him to anybody, although many asked for him.

Soon after we became settled in our new home, both my kittens were taken very ill. They seemed to be in great pain at times, and they would moan and cry out in their helplessness so that it was pitiful to see them. At last they became so weak that they were no longer able to walk from the basket to their box; but mistress bore with them very patiently, as did also Bettie. She would scald milk for them and when it had cooled, feed it to them from a spoon, with a napkin tied around their neck. With such excellent nursing the two invalids began gradually to improve, and Miss Gracie was overjoyed, thinking she would soon be able to take Dewey to her home. But all of a sudden her mother was taken very ill, and the Doctor said they must go to Denver to live for a long time. Then Miss Gracie had to give up Dewey because Denver, they say, is very far away.

For several days after Miss Gracie’s departure Dewey sat on the window-seat almost constantly looking for his friend; and when at last he despaired of her coming he refused to play or to eat, and thus he pined away, until one morning he did not rise at all. When Bettie went to his basket to see what was the trouble, Dewey lay there dead. He had died of a broken heart, I verily believe.

And right here let me relate a story that Guy read to his mother one evening about a little waif of a kitten that a boy found in the basement of his school building in the great city of San Francisco. He was a kind little lad, and anxious to help the kitty, so he took her up to his teacher.

When Guy had read that far he turned to his mother and said, “I know what my teacher would do, if I should bring a cat into the schoolroom; she would put the cat out and make me stay after school.”

“Well, read on,” said his mother, “and let’s see what this teacher did.” So Guy read the piece through, while I lay perched on his shoulder and listened. The story went on to say how the teacher took the kitty in and fixed her a comfortable place behind the stove; how for many days she carried her home for the night and brought her back in the morning; and how she was such a well behaved kitty and always stayed dutifully in her corner, during study hours. But at recess and after school kitty played at marbles with the boys, and caught spools and strings for the girls. By and by some of the children asked permission to take the kitty home, and the teacher allowed them to take her by turns as a reward for good conduct. One morning on the way to school, a saucy dog frightened the kitty, and she escaped from the arms of the boy that was carrying her. But he succeeded in getting her again, and after that somebody sent a fish-net shopping bag to that school for the kitty to be conveyed in. And now she has a different home and a new master or mistress every day; yet she is just as happy with one as another.

Now does not this refute the wicked slander that cats have no love for people, but only for themselves and for their comfortable homes? And is it not true that those who say this are usually the ones who never gave a cat any affection, and consequently don’t deserve any in return?

The loss of little Dewey was indeed a hard blow for Booker, but, fortunately, about that time he made the acquaintance of a new cat in the neighborhood named Molly Scott, a handsome tiger, and his remaining days at mistress’ house were really love’s young dream.

But even love’s young dream is of short duration, if a cat may be allowed to express an opinion on such a matter. One evening mistress wrapped up Booker and took him out in the Switzerland bag to visit a friend, and when she returned it was without him.

“They would not let me bring him back,” said mistress when Bettie inquired after Booker. “But I am sure he couldn’t find a happier home anywhere, for not only is every member of the family perfectly in love with him, but even the housekeeper begged me to let him stay, and promised to give him the kindest attention.”

After Booker’s departure, for more than a week his friend Molly came over every morning to look for him. She would meow first at the back door, then at the front door, and not receiving any response, would climb up on the different window ledges and call for her friend. But after a while she fell in with a new cat by the name of Goldie, and he, in time, came to fill Booker’s place in her affections.

A word about Goldie: One cold winter evening mistress brought home in a bag a yellow tiger cat, which I thought from his appearance must have come from the very slums of catdom. He was all bedraggled with mud, and his face resembled that of a sore-eyed poodle. But after a bath, oh, what a difference! Then it turned out that the stranger had a beautiful fluffy coat of sunshiny yellow and white, with brown stripes intermingled, and the name “Goldie” was thought none too nice for him. The very first neighbor that saw him was ready to adopt him, and this was Mrs. Gafney, the mother of our little friends George and Doris. And there Goldie is to-day, a delightful playmate, and an all-around household treasure.

I noticed during the first few days Goldie was with us that he would not allow any one to touch his tail, and would claw and scratch whoever attempted to touch it, even in a friendly way. Mistress tried her best to teach Goldie better manners by scratching him on the head and gradually going farther down his back. But just as soon as she got near his tail, Goldie would begin to eye her suspiciously, and indeed poor mistress’ hands were a network of scratches before she had gained Goldie’s confidence enough so that he no longer dug his fierce claws into her flesh.

I was very curious to know what caused Goldie to act so, and at the first opportunity I asked him the reason.

“Reason enough,” said he. “If you had had your tail pinched and twisted as mine has been by a cowardly sneak of a boy, you would be wary too. But I finally tired of such a life and started out in search of a better home.”

“And how were you so fortunate as to fall into the hands of our mistress?” said Budge, who had come to hear Goldie’s story.

“Fortunate, I should say it was fortunate,” said Goldie. “I will tell you all about it. After tramping from door to door for several days, and sleeping under barns and coal sheds, one evening I followed two ladies up to a beautiful house. But evidently they had not noticed me, for as soon as they entered, the door was shut, and I was left behind. I felt very badly, especially as I had learned from their conversation that they were friends of cats. As I sat there on the porch-rail wondering what next to do, I noticed that it was not a very great distance to a brilliantly lighted window, and being anxious to attract the attention of those ladies I made a bold leap and landed safely on the window-sill. There in that beautiful room sat four ladies, and a gentleman, and one of the ladies came at once to the window and begged the gentleman to open it. He did so, and I heard him say something about a ‘poor apology for a cat’ as he took me in and set me on a rug. Then one and another began talking about me in a way that was anything but complimentary, while the lady that had asked to let me in sat on the floor beside me, looking me over, and occasionally rubbing my nose and head.

“I felt that I had at last found a friend, and sure enough, when it was time to go home, she asked for a laundry bag to carry me in, saying she would give me a bath and prepare me for a home because I was a very nice cat. And that is how I was brought here that evening.”

Before Goldie went to live with George and Doris, he spent some very happy days with us. He was a fine mouser, and was always rummaging around the barn over in the corn-field. Of course he never succeeded in catching any mice for the simple reason that the barn is too close to our premises, and no mouse could exist there for a single day.

And now speaking of mice, let me say right here: never expect a poorly-fed, ill-treated cat to catch them, because such a cat in time loses her sense of smell so completely that she is unable to scent mice at all. But on the other hand, the better you treat her, the more she will do for you in return.

XXIX

TWO FAR JOURNEYS

I suppose you have wondered why I never mention Guy any more. Well, he has gone away off to Boston to attend school. I well remember when a new trunk was brought into the house, and mistress packed all of his things into it so carefully. When it was very nearly filled to the top, she tucked in a box of candy and four little pictures; one of herself, one of a darling little girl, one of a beautiful lady with a baby in her arms that had a white circle around his head, and one of a group of kittens all standing in a row. On top of the pictures and the candy she laid a new silk muffler, and a beautiful soft, fluffy bath-robe, and before she could put in any more she had to go down-stairs to see a caller.

I had been with mistress all the morning, watching the different things she put into the trunk, and I felt myself getting quite sleepy; so while she was down-stairs I crawled into the trunk to take my morning nap, and I found a very cozy little place between the folds of that beautiful robe.

I was just getting nicely settled, when I felt Budge crawling in from the other side. “Isn’t this fine,” said he, as his nose touched mine; and in less time than it takes to tell it, we were fast asleep in Guy’s new trunk.

This was very pleasant, but imagine my feelings when I was rudely awakened by being squeezed so hard that it is a wonder my body has not ever since been flat instead of round; and as for making an outcry, it was utterly impossible. But thanks to the kind Providence, in an instant I felt the pressure released. Just then I heard mistress say something about the trunk being too full, and before I got myself out of the folds of the robe, her kind hands were upon me. As she pulled me out of my hiding-place, she said, “For mercy sakes! cats! did you want to go to Boston, too?” Then without another word she quickly locked the trunk, for the expressman stood ready to take it away. So you see how near we came to going to Boston with Guy.

After Guy had gone, some of mistress’ friends advised her to break up housekeeping and to board.

“Just think how much cheaper it would be for you,” said Mrs. Cotton one day; “and with no housekeeping to bother with, how much more leisure time you would have.”

“I don’t know how I would employ my leisure more profitably,” said mistress, “than in maintaining the dear home on which my boy’s tenderest thoughts are centred, and around which cluster those sacred memories that form the very ground-work of a wholesome and rugged life. The very first letter he wrote me started out: ‘I am seated by my window as the sun is setting over my dear western home.’ Now, would he have such fond thoughts of his home, and would he be likely to connect it with the beautiful spectacle of the setting sun, were it reduced to a room in a boarding-house?”

“Again you have convinced me that your way of thinking is right,” said Mrs. Cotton.

And so now, although Guy is no longer with us, we are still in our dear home on Elmwood Place.

When the pleasant weather came again, mistress began to make ready, as usual, for her summer outing. Of course, we did not expect her to take us along this time, because we had heard that she was going way off to her “dear Switzerland,” as she always calls it; and judging from what they say, Switzerland must be even farther off than Denver. But we knew that Bettie would be at home with us, so we were content.

Just before mistress went on her long journey, a lovely young lady came to help her get ready, and the very first day they got to talking about us cats.

“You ought to get acquainted with Mrs. Bolton,” said Miss Cummings, “for she is just as great a friend of cats as you are and her home is a perfect haven for strays.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” said mistress. “Do please tell me about her cats.”

“Yes,” said Miss Cummings, “Mrs. Bolton has fitted up a little shed at the rear of her house, which is filled up in cold weather with loose straw. Into this place stray or homeless cats and dogs crawl through a small opening and find shelter. Moreover they are fed and made to feel welcome. I have known her to have so many of these transient boarders there that it takes several pounds of meat a day to supply them; and as soon as they look sleek and plump Mrs. Bolton generally finds good homes for them.”

“What you say is encouraging,” said mistress, “because I am often criticised, and told that I would do better to lavish my attentions on some neglected child, than on cats. But children have a hundred friends where cats have none.”

“That’s just what I have heard Mrs. Bolton say,” replied Miss Cummings.

“And furthermore I have found,” said mistress, “that my interest in cats has increased my love for human beings, and indeed for all living creatures.”

But to return to the journey. When mistress went away to Switzerland three lovely young ladies came to live at our house, and Bettie kept house for them. Toddy was living with Mrs. Smith and Budge and I stayed at home. But if you should ask me how we spent the long summer, I should have to tell you that we passed a good share of it sitting on the front porch railing, where mistress had placed a shelf behind the vines for our accommodation. There we sat day after day, looking longingly up the street; each wanting to be the first to tell the others the happy news of mistress’ return. At last the robins had sung their good-bye songs, and the grasshoppers had taken their departure. The leaves were beginning to fall but we did not find any pleasure in chasing them, as we had other years. Our days were passed wearily and sadly, till one morning the joyful news came that mistress had arrived in New York. Oh! how it thrilled us with delight. Budge ran across the street to tell Toddy, and we all went to work to sleek ourselves up so as to look our very prettiest. I had at this time three little kittens just ten days old, and they had that very morning opened their eyes. They, too, had to come in for their share of grooming.

The next morning after breakfast a carriage drove up to the curb, and in it was our mistress. Toddy recognized her from way across the street, and came over mewing a hearty welcome. Budge gave vent to his feelings by means of the graceful curves and spirals of his tail, and as for me, I welcomed her with a succession of winks.

As soon as mistress had greeted us all, she inquired after my kittens just as if she knew all about them, and, of course, I showed them to her with great delight and pride.

“Poor, dear Meow,” said she, “you tried to have a pleasant surprise for my home-coming, didn’t you?”

I winked assent, and then she proceeded to name my babies. The dainty little gray with white breast, she called Lady Jane Grey; the tiger Patsy, and the black one Hiddigeigei, after a famous black cat that lived many years ago in a beautiful castle on the Rhine, and in a German book[3] you can read what an honorable and useful cat he was.

When mistress took a second look at Toddy she seemed visibly affected by the sad plight he was in, for he had been in failing health all summer. His once beautiful body was flabby and wasted, and the once bushy tail stringy, and almost bare. For several days Toddy received mistress’ most lavish attention; then all of a sudden he disappeared, and not one of us had any idea whither he had gone, till one evening Mrs. Smith came over and inquired for him.

“I took him to the hospital,” said mistress, “but it was too late to save him; and he has gone to the other side of Jordan.” Mrs. Smith said she was very sorry to miss him, but that, after all, she thought that was the best place for him.

So now, of course, although I don’t know where Jordan is, still I am satisfied it must be a very good place for cats, if Mrs. Smith and mistress think so; and perhaps I ought to have made the title of this chapter read “Three Far Journeys” instead of two.

About the time mistress returned from Switzerland a lady and a gentleman came to live across the street from us, and they brought with them a white cat. Of course, after the way Nellie had treated us we were in no great hurry to make the acquaintance of Snowdrop, as they called him; but we used to watch him from our shelf on the porch as he would have his ups and downs with Goldie, and we soon discovered that he was very much like the rest of us in his daily conduct. True, there were times when he would sit on his mistress’ sewing-table by the front chamber window, and groom and primp himself just like Nellie, and try to look pretty; but the very same day perhaps he would be rolling in the gutter as if he thought a dust bath the very best thing to improve his appearance. Then also he was a great fellow to explore the neighborhood, and after he had nosed around in every nook and corner on his own side of the street he came to our side one afternoon and went over into the corn-field. Budge and I followed him, and after the formal greetings common to cats, we lay down in a sunny corner and had an interchange of views.

[Illustration: SNOWDROP]

“It seems to me you have a pretty lonesome time of it, alone all day,” said Snowdrop, sprawling himself out on the sun-warmed earth as he spoke.