Part 4

One of my favorite places used to be on top of the wash-stand in the bathroom. One day after Guy had finished washing he left the water running just a little tiny stream into the wash-bowl. I thought it was a string, and in trying to catch it I fell, and in an instant I was flat on my back in the bottom of the bowl. I struggled to get on my feet again, but it was of no use; the side of the bowl was so smooth, there was nothing that I could get hold of to pull myself up on, and Guy just stood there laughing, and calling everybody in the house to come and see the plight I was in. At last when he had had all the fun he wanted at my expense, he pulled me out, and I have steered clear of wash-bowls ever since.

One of our dearest sports during those mirthful days was playing hide-and-seek behind the portières, and chasing each other from one room into the other. But the race was usually of short duration, for first thing we knew we were all in a heap in the middle of the floor, and we were generally in the midst of our frolic when the horrid bedtime came and we had to go to our basket. Sometimes we hid behind the bookcases so that Guy couldn’t get us. But I know this wasn’t nice, and I feel ashamed even now for ever having done it.

X

OUR HAPPIEST DAYS

On Saturdays mistress comes home earlier than usual. Then we get our coats brushed, and wiped off with a damp cloth, and we put on the finishing touches with that dexterous little scrubbing brush which every cat carries between his jaws. Then mistress changes the covers of our cushions and gives us clean pads.

I always purr when mistress brushes me, to let her know that I like it; and Budge likes it so well, he keeps turning himself so the brush will strike him at every point. I believe the brushing and the good food we get make us have such soft and glossy coats, and such fine bushy tails.

One day after Budge had been thoroughly groomed he concluded that he would go on an exploring tour, and, being so nice and clean, he was permitted to go wherever he pleased.

First he went on mistress’ desk, and pretended to read a letter from grandpa; then he played a tune on the piano. But nothing seemed to satisfy him till he mounted the book shelves, his favorite resting-place, and finding a nice shiny piece of paper there he proceeded to lie upon it and purr himself to sleep. But something was evidently wrong about that shiny paper. He arose to go elsewhere but the paper went with him. You see, it was a sheet of fly-paper, and the fluttering noise it made so frightened poor Budge that he ran from one room to another in his frantic efforts to get rid of it.

As quickly as mistress was able to get hold of the poor creature, she pulled the paper off, but with it came also a portion of Budge’s coat. This was such a brand new experience for Budge, he concluded to go to a quiet place to think it over; and finding an old grape basket in the yard he crawled in and fell asleep.

[Illustration: “HE CRAWLED IN AND FELL ASLEEP”]

Speaking of Budge’s favorite resting-place on the book shelf reminds me of a story I have heard mistress tell about “Röteli” a red tiger cat away over in Switzerland that was fond of taking his naps in the oven. One day the oven door was shut without the cat being noticed, and a fire made in the stove, for the housekeeper wanted to cook dinner. She heard some dreadful, agonizing cries, but as she could not see the cat around anywhere, and being busy with her work, she paid no further attention. The roast was soon prepared, and as the housekeeper opened the oven door to put it in, behold there was poor Röteli lying almost lifeless with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Immediately the housekeeper knew just what to do: she sprinkled Röteli with cold water and dropped water on his tongue till he revived, and with the good care he received, regained his health and lived many years more. I hope that all housekeepers who have cats will take warning, and always look into the oven before they close it.

Sunday I like best of all, because then mistress and Guy are at home all day, except a little while in the morning. The first thing on Sunday morning each of us gets a fresh ribbon tied around his neck and, of course, then we make ourselves very clean. Mistress ties the ribbon very carefully, so that it does not pull our hair, and she cuts the loops. The reason for this is, as I heard her tell Guy, that once a cat was jumping across a fence, when a loop of her ribbon was caught in one of the pickets; and the poor cat hung there and miserably strangled to death, before any one came to her rescue.

On pleasant Sunday afternoons Guy brings the porch rug and cushions out in the yard, and then we have what we look forward to during the whole week, a long visit from our mistress.

Sometimes mistress takes us for a walk, and I never shall forget one pleasant moonlight evening when we went out with mistress and another lady. It was on a street that had no houses on it, only tall grass and catnip, and we were playing a game of hide-and-go-seek, when suddenly mistress called us to her and picked up Toddy and me. She tried to get Budge, too, but he was a little stubborn; instead of coming to her, he ran to the middle of the street, where a gentleman was riding, accompanied by a big dog. In an instant the air was full of howls, hisses, growls and fur, and Budge and the dog were all mixed up in a cloud of dust. I wanted to go too, but mistress held me so tightly I could not get away.

The gentleman alighted from his wheel and called “Hector,” but the poor dog could not get away just then. When he finally became disentangled he drew his tail very tightly between his legs and ran away as fast as he could, still howling piteously.

Mistress was evidently pleased with Budge for his courage in so fearlessly attacking a dog much bigger than himself, but she was also sorry for the poor vanquished dog, and said so to his master. But the gentleman said that the dog merely retired because he was too noble to attack an animal smaller than himself, and not at all because he considered himself vanquished.

But however that may be, I’m afraid it wasn’t very nice for Budge to engage in such a skirmish on a Sunday.

XI

BETSY WHITEFOOT

Some time after Beauty’s death, one day an old gray cat with white toes came on our back porch, and helped herself to a drink of water. She had a distressed and hungry look, and I am sure she had not had a bath or a brushing in a long time, for her coat was very rough and soiled.

Budge and Toddy were afraid of her, and ran back of the ash bin; but I stayed to see what mistress would do.

I noticed that in spots the hair on the cat’s body was entirely gone; the flesh was covered with bleeding sores, and her tail had scarcely any hair on it.

Guy called us cats together and sent us into the kitchen, but we could look through the screen door and see what was going on. He gave the poor creature a big saucer of fresh warm milk, which she lapped up very greedily, asking for more till she had finished three saucers full.

When mistress came home she looked at the cat, but did not touch her. She gave Guy some money and a bottle and sent him to the drug store for some medicine.

The poor cat was so tired she did not even wash after eating, but lay right down on the old door-mat. I think she had walked a long while before she found a place where she was allowed to rest. Before Guy returned from the store she was fast asleep.

Mistress poured some of the medicine on a small cotton pad, and placed it by the cat’s nose. Then she quickly covered her up with a tub, and Guy sat on top of it.

The cat whined and struggled for a few seconds, then gradually her breathing became heavier, but in less than a minute she was perfectly quiet. She had gone to her long and peaceful sleep, and I have no doubt that if she ever sees mistress in that beautiful place they tell about, where there are no homeless and hungry creatures, she will thank her for the kind act which ended her wretched existence.

The tub was not removed till the following morning, when Guy improvised a little casket for the body and buried it by the side of Beauty, marking the spot with a stake on which he wrote:

“SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF THE UNKNOWN DEAD,”

and mistress planted some heliotrope upon it.

Meanwhile one of our neighbors was sitting on her kitchen porch in full view of the whole proceeding, and I expected every minute that she would say something sarcastic about a “cat funeral” or a “cat hospital,” as she had done before. She was busily plying the needle on her beautiful fancy work. As soon as mistress had finished planting the flowers, the lady came to the fence and said:

“I should think you would have your cats wear black ribbons when they are attending a funeral;” and without waiting for a reply, she held up her fancy work and asked mistress how she liked it. It was a doily stamped with a group of kittens playing ring-around the rosies, and several of the figures had already been worked in beautiful colored silk.

“It must be pleasant, no doubt,” said mistress, “to work beautiful figures of happy creatures upon canvas; but I prefer to give joy and happiness to the living. And as for the emblem you speak of, to my mind flowers symbolize the transition of life far more fitly than do the time-worn weeds of mourning.”

The lady made no answer to this at all, and mistress went into the house, leaving her alone with her fancy work.

Before we were allowed to go on the porch again, it was thoroughly scrubbed with boiling water; the tub was scalded, and the old mat was burned.

On the following day a neighboring cat, whom I have since learned to know as Jack, came into our yard, and I noticed that he persistently sniffed around the little fresh mound.

“What is in there?” said he, after he had visited it for the third time.

I told him about the sad occurrence of the day before.

“Was it a gray cat with white toes?”

I told him it was.

“Poor Betsy Whitefoot,” said Jack, in tones of real anguish. “I have shared my meals with her ever since the Mortons went to their summer house in the country. A better mouser never lived than Betsy, and how they could so cruelly desert her is more than I can understand.”

I could plainly see that Jack was filled with wrath and bitterness toward the people who had caused his friend so much sorrow, and I suggested to him that we go up in one of the poplar trees where we could talk over the matter quietly, and without attracting attention.

Jack readily assented, and when we had found a nice comfortable place he went on telling me more about the Mortons.

“Last winter,” said he, “during that dreadfully cold spell some kittens came to Betsy, and they made her stay in the cold shed without even a box or basket, and all that she could find to lay the kittens on was some straw in a corner of the floor. Of course the poor little things all got dreadfully sore eyes; two became completely blind; and one by one they drooped and died, till even Betsy herself told me she was thankful they were out of their misery, and that she hoped she would never have any more. And by the way, there goes Will Morton now,” said Jack, pointing down to the sidewalk. “Take a good look at him, and always avoid him if he comes your way.”

It was unnecessary for Jack to administer the caution, for the lad was no stranger to me; indeed he was the very boy who pelted me with stones on that hapless day when I strayed away from my mother. I never forgot him, for from time to time I would see him pass our house, usually puffing away at a cigarette, and accompanied by rough looking hard-faced boys.

Jack could not restrain himself from telling all that was in his heart about the dreadful Mortons. Said he: “Last winter Will went on a journey with his uncle, and he promised faithfully to write to his mother twice a week. But during four weeks he never wrote her even a postal card. And many a Sunday when his mother thinks he is in Sunday-school, I have seen him out in the alley with his companions, smoking and listening to rude stories. It all goes to show that he has as little respect for her feelings as she has for those of her cat.”

I was strongly tempted to tell Jack my own experience with Will Morton, but I felt that he had enough of heaviness on his mind, and I tried my best to think of something pleasant. I told him how kindly mistress had received Betsy, and how gently she put her to sleep, and it seemed to lessen somewhat the grief which he felt for his departed friend.

“I am thankful,” said he, “that there are some people in this world who realize that even a poor sick cat has some rights, and I hope that the day is not far off when every town and city will have a place where dumb animals that are deserted or lost or sick, can be taken in for protection and care.”

I told him that I hoped so too, for I knew that only a short time ago, mistress had had an experience which made us all feel the need of such a place. I heard her tell Guy of a poor sick and homeless pug dog she saw on the street, and how she stopped to put a court-plaster over a raw spot on his ear. Of course, the dog felt that she was his friend, and he followed her to her office. But she had no place to keep him, so she sent word to the Dog Hospital about it. She might have called the Humane Agent to come and shoot the dog, but she thought he was a nice animal and worth saving.

Well, the hospital man came and examined the dog, said he was old and sick, not worth trying to save, and that the only thing he could do for him was to chloroform him and take him to the glue factory. Mistress told him to do that; but she had to pay him two dollars before he would do another thing for the dog. A hospital of that kind is all right for an animal whose master is able to pay; it does not as a rule help poor homeless creatures. My idea of a hospital is one where any animal, no matter how poor or sick or unsightly, is welcomed, and either nursed back to health or put out of its misery. I have heard that in some large cities kind-hearted people have founded such asylums. But we must hope and pray that good people may be found in every town and city, willing to devote a portion of their means to the relief of suffering animals.

XII

SUNSHINE AND SHADOW

One pleasant Saturday afternoon I was awakened from my nap by a sound as of rustling foliage, and the room seemed to be suddenly filled with the odor of fresh violets. I opened my eyes and saw a very stately-looking lady, dressed in a beautiful silk gown and a hat that was covered with gaily colored birds, all having their wings spread as if about to fly away. She was seated in the high-back chair, and I quickly climbed up on it from the rear, and was just ready to spring upon the birds, when she gave a dreadful scream and ran out onto the porch.

At this, mistress came rushing down-stairs, and the lady told her with frantic gestures and loud exclamations what a dreadfully rude thing I had done to her. Mistress led her back into the parlor, and got her quieted as well as she could, but presently Budge and Toddy, who had been napping in the bay-window seat, also came into the parlor.

“Are all of these cats yours?” said the lady, with apparent astonishment. “I should think they would be a dreadful nuisance.”

I could see that mistress was annoyed by the remark, but she answered her very gently, and said: “It depends on your treatment of cats, Mrs. Cotton, whether they will be a nuisance or a pleasure. I have always found them a pleasure, and besides, I have a special purpose in keeping pets.”

“A purpose in keeping cats!” exclaimed the lady; “do tell me what it is.”

“It is to teach my boy to be tender and humane toward all animals; and as we cannot afford expensive pets like dogs and horses, we are satisfied with cats.”

“You are the first person I ever heard speak of a purpose in keeping cats,” said Mrs. Cotton. “I always supposed that people had cats because they just happened to come to them.”

“That is not the case with these cats,” replied mistress. “We formerly lived in a flat where we could not keep pets, and that is one of the reasons why I went to housekeeping.”

“But do you not find it very expensive to keep house for just you two?”

“We do,” said mistress, “but it is the money that is wisely expended, after all, that brings the largest returns. To many people, no doubt, our modern flats are a great boon, affording comfort and safety that they could not possibly secure elsewhere. But to my mind, the landlord who banishes children from his flat is a public benefactor, however selfish may be his motives. A child should have a home in the truest sense of that precious word, a home with lawn and garden, with room for pets and tools and playthings, affording him ample opportunity to give wholesome expression to his feelings. It is the life lived day by day in the home that moulds and fashions a child’s character, rather than any training he receives in school. Spend your money right now in _forming_ correct ideas, and encouraging expression of them, rather than save it by ignoble economy, only to be spent later in the vain attempt to _reform_ a character perverted and dwarfed through narrow and contracted living.”

“I have never before had my thoughts turned to this subject,” said Mrs. Cotton, looking very earnestly into mistress’ face, “but I believe what you say is true. I am so thankful my children are still young, that I may profit by your excellent ideas. And as for cats, I never before thought they were good for anything, having been brought up to think of them as uncanny creatures, something to be abhorred and dreaded. But as my little boy has written Santa Claus to bring him a kitty for a Christmas gift, I suppose I will have to give up my prejudice.”

“It is the superstition of a by-gone age,” said mistress; “but a happier day is coming, when the cat will be given her rightful place as a household pet; and through gentle treatment her nature will become still more refined and ennobled. Notwithstanding all that has been said about their selfish disposition, my cats have at times shown great consideration for each other. For instance, once I gave them their milk in a narrow dish, where only one could lap at a time, and to my great surprise they took turns. On another occasion I had prepared a plate of meat for them, arranging each cat’s portion by itself. Budge and Meow were not present, so Toddy ate his portion and left theirs untouched.”

“That is certainly remarkable,” said Mrs. Cotton. “I shall no longer object to having one in our house. But I fear we shall no sooner have become attached to her before she will leave us. My neighbor has had three very pretty kittens given her during the last six months, and not one stayed longer than a week.”

“Where does she keep them?”

“Oh, they stay around the yard, and when it’s cold they crawl under the barn, or if they get a chance they go up in the haymow.”

“No wonder,” said mistress. “A cat, with her domestic instincts, in order to become attached to a place, must have a cozy, comfortable corner somewhere in the house that she can call her very own. It may be nothing more than a basket with a pad or a cushion in it, but it must be permanently located in a retired corner of a comfortable room. A cat thus provided will become attached to her own peculiar furniture, and even should the family remove to another place, if she is carefully transferred to the new home, and her corner is at once fitted up in a quiet room where she can be kept indoors for a few days, she will not go away.

“And while we are talking on this subject, I trust you will pardon me if I mention something that may seem very trivial to you, but which I consider of great importance. A cat should have a name, because it adds to her dignity, and commands respect for her. Moreover it enhances her commercial value to be thus individualized, and lifted above the general mass of her kind.”

“I am very glad to know all these things,” said Mrs. Cotton. “You certainly have interested me in this subject as I never have been before in all my life.”

Before Mrs. Cotton went away that afternoon she actually came over to the window-sill and gave Budge several gentle strokes. I suppose she chose Budge because he is the smallest.

“How docile and confiding,” said she; “they seem to know no fear at all; and such soft and glossy coats I never saw before.”

“Their confiding and docile nature is due to kind treatment,” said mistress, “and the soft and glossy coats are the result of good food, plenty of fresh water and clean pads.”

As Mrs. Cotton took her departure, it seemed as though her face wore a far more kindly expression than it did when she came in.

Of course, I was delighted to hear all these good things, and especially that we cats are useful, and serving our dear mistress such a good purpose. May the time be near at hand when the sunshine of love and good-will shall chase away every shadow of hatred and cruelty!

[Illustration: JACK]

XIII

JACK