Part 5

Jack was a large black Manx cat that lived on Poplar Avenue, the friend of Betsy Whitefoot, as you will remember. His tail was only about an inch long, and his hind legs were higher than his front ones.

One day when jack’s mistress called at our house he followed her, and, having known him since the death of Betsy, I gave him a hearty welcome.

“Where did you get this beautiful cat?” said mistress, the moment she saw Jack.

“My husband brought him home one bitter cold day last winter,” said Mrs. Vandervere. “He saw some boys chase him through an alley. The poor creature was so thoroughly frightened that for several days he stayed almost constantly behind the cook-stove, refusing to come out. We thought the boys had cut off his tail, but when I came to wash him I discovered that he never had one. When he recovered from his fright we found him to be a very affectionate cat, and now we feel as though we could not do without him. Often when I am sewing he sits on my shoulders, and he used to have a fashion of pulling pins out of my waist with his teeth and drop them on the floor. But one day he pulled out a crooked pin and swallowed it, and by the way he acted we thought Jack would not be with us much longer. A raw egg, however, seemed to do him good, and in a few days he was all right again; but he has never pulled out any more pins.”

Jack and I with Budge and Toddy had been lying in our sunny bay-window, but while his mistress was still talking we two got up and went out into the yard. Jack went straight to Betsy’s grave and sniffed around a while, then he mounted the fence and showed me the shortest cut over to his house, and he also invited me to visit his catnip bed, in which he turned several somersaults. Then he led the way through the cellar window up into the house, and in the library beside the fireplace was his basket, a beautiful willow trimmed with red ribbons, and a soft cushion inside. Jack told me that was his “corner.” After a while we went outdoors again, and he showed me how far he could jump. It was from the top of the porch railing to the ground; and when I am a full-grown cat I expect to be able to do the same.

[Illustration: “HE TOLD ME AN INTERESTING STORY”]

After that day Jack came to see me quite often, and he seemed especially to enjoy our beautiful sunny porch, which, with its pads and cushions and baskets, looked very much like Miss Virgie’s playhouse.

Whenever I visited Jack, we used to sit on a garden bench that stood in his yard, and upon which his mistress always left a blanket for Jack’s special comfort.

Jack was a great fellow to talk about old times, and one day when we were enjoying a sun bath on the bench he told me a very interesting story. He said that his ancestors came from an island across the ocean, and that he hoped some day to visit that country.

I described to him my journey last summer on the steamboat, and our visit on the farm, and it made him even more anxious to go.

Continuing his story, Jack said that he was a lineal descendant of the famous cat that made a fortune for Richard Whittington, who was “Thrice Lord Mayor of London.”

At this point I interrupted Jack to have him explain to me the meaning of “ancestor,” and “lineal descendant.” Jack was so friendly with me, I did not mind asking him, and he willingly explained it to me.

He said that the cat that lived with Richard Whittington very many years ago had a son named Tom; Tom had a son named Toby; Toby had a son named Jack, and so they kept on having sons till it finally came down to him, and that made Tom his ancestor, and him a lineal descendant.

Jack then told me of some of his experiences. He said that his ability to catch rats used to be quite as good as that of his early ancestor, but that since he lived in his present home, he had not much practice, there being no rats in the neighborhood, except an occasional one around the ash barrel.

I asked him where he learned the business, and he told me that he used to live in a down-town boarding-house, where he sometimes killed as many as twenty rats in one day. But the cook caught one alive one day, and tied a string around his neck with a little bell attached, and let him go back to his hole; and the ringing of the bell so frightened the other rats that they all went away. Said Jack: “My occupation was gone, and as the boarding-house keeper had no further use for me, she got some boys to chase me away.” And then he added with some bitterness: “That was the way she rewarded me for my services.”

I told Jack that I thought the treatment he received was very cruel. Indeed, I think a dose of chloroform administered to a cat one has no further use for, is much more humane than chasing him away, especially in cold weather. Of course, I didn’t tell Jack so; and indeed I am glad it was not done in his case. But not every cat is so fortunate as to be picked up by a kind-hearted person and taken to a good home.

Continuing our conversation I said to Jack: “Don’t you think your present beautiful home and kind mistress came to you as a reward for your industry in the boarding-house?”

He said he had never thought of it in that light before, but that he believed it must be so, and that he would forgive his former mistress for her unkindness.

At this time Jack’s mistress called him into the house, and I returned to my home, thankful that I had such a genial fellow as Jack for a neighbor.

XIV

CHRISTMAS

I shall never forget the delightful time we had on Christmas Day.

Imagine my surprise when on a beautiful winter morning we were decked out the first thing with bright new ribbons. I knew it was not Sunday, so I thought it must be Christmas, having heard Guy say that Christmas was just like Sunday.

After we had our ribbons tied, we were called into the library, and there on our bay-window seat was a beautiful lily plant with seven snow white bells on it, which filled the entire house with their fragrant odor. On the table stood a tree, like some I have seen in the country, and under the tree were three beautiful new pads, one orange, one blue and one pink, and a large willow basket with a soft cushion in it. Hanging on the branches of the tree, instead of apples or cherries as in grandpa’s orchard, were rubber balls, spools, and white muslin bags filled with popcorn. The spools had little tufts of bright colored worsted sticking out at each end, and they were suspended on narrow ribbon long enough to reach nearly to the table, which made it handy to play with them. The balls had something inside, which, when we squeezed them, would come out and tickle our noses, but we could never see the thing that came out. We used to try to catch it, but how could we catch a thing we couldn’t see?

After we had admired the beautiful tree for a while, Guy took down a bag for each of us. The muslin of which the bags were made was so thin that you could see the popcorn that was inside. The bags were tied at each end with pretty colored ribbon, which made them look just like little white sausages; but how to get them open and get at the popcorn was what puzzled me. But cats know just as well as people, that “in union there is strength,” so all three of us took hold of the same bag. It was tied with blue ribbon and belonged to Budge. For a while we played with the bag, each one pulling in a different direction, and in a few minutes the whole floor was littered over with popcorn. For a while we were very busy helping ourselves, and I am sorry to say that each growled at the others while eating, for fear they would get the most: it tasted so good.

While we were busy eating the popcorn, Dennis came in, wearing a beautiful new silver collar with his name and address: “Dennis Hilton, 129 Poplar Avenue,” inscribed upon it, and a yellow satin bow in the ring. Of course, we invited him to have some popcorn. But Dennis was more interested in our new pads and basket than in the popcorn, and after smelling of them all very cautiously, he stretched himself out on my pad at full length and took a nap. I was so glad he was too big for the basket.

I wondered all the morning why Jack didn’t come over, but in the afternoon we met accidentally on the fence ledge, and he told me that they had also had a Christmas over at his place; and he invited me to go over with him.

He said that on the night before when he was out in his poplar tree, he saw an old gray-haired man with a long, white beard, and wearing a furry coat and cap, drive down our street in a chariot drawn by reindeer, and that the chariot was loaded with the most beautiful toys and bonbons, such as children like, and that he stopped at every house in the neighborhood except Eddie’s.

Said I: “May be that’s Santa Claus, that we hear so much about; but they say he always travels in a sleigh.”

Jack said he guessed not, unless there was snow on the ground.

By this time we had reached his yard, and he invited me in and showed me his presents. He had a beautiful new brass collar with “Jack Vandervere, 111 Poplar Avenue” inscribed upon it. He also had a box of sardines which tasted perfectly delicious.

Mistress sometimes gives us salmon and it is very good; but I like sardines better because they are whole, and it is such fun to toss them around and play “catch” with them. If they would only wiggle a little, it would be still more fun to play with them.

Jack had many other presents, but the one that interested me most of all was a little box that sings when you pull a string. His mistress pulled the string for me, and the very first song that came out was one I have heard mistress sing, about an Owl and a Pussy Cat that went to sea and got married. Another song that came out of the box was “My Pussy has gone from her Basket.” It seemed to be gotten up on purpose for pussies. Perhaps if I am a real good cat, the little old man will bring me a song box some time. Next Christmas eve I shall watch for him from my poplar tree.

While I was admiring Jack’s presents and listening to the lovely music, in came Willie Cotton, carrying in his arms a beautiful jet black kitten with amber eyes and a white “breastpin.” It had a yellow ribbon around its neck, to which was fastened a note, as follows

“LABRADOR, Dec. 25.

“DEAR WILLIE:

“This will introduce to you Nicodemus. I have sent him to you because you belong to the Band of Mercy, and want some animal to love and care for. Fix him a comfortable place in some room where he will be obliged to be neat and orderly in his habits. He will make you no trouble, if you will take him out into the yard every morning, noon and evening, and always take him to the same place.

“Your faithful friend, “MRS. SANTA CLAUS.”

As Nicodemus was a Manx cat, Jack treated him very kindly, and invited him to have some sardines with us. While we were eating, the box played a song that I have often heard about some little fishes that asked their mother if they could go and play. I can’t repeat the song but I will tell you what I remember of it. Their mother said no, but the little fishes went anyhow; and the result was that they got so far away from home they could not find their way back again. At last they were caught in a net with a lot of other fishes, and taken to the cannery.

“Perhaps these are the very ones,” said Jack, as he pointed to the box that was fast becoming empty. I don’t know whether Jack’s object was to save his few remaining sardines or not; but, anyway, I did not care for any more just then; and as the sun had gone down, I bade Jack and his guest a very good-evening.

And so ended our Christmas.

XV

OLD BLACKIE

I had often wondered how it happened that a busy woman like mistress was so much interested in cats, till one evening the mystery was cleared up. A lovely lady whom Guy called “Aunt Minnie” was staying with us at the time--and by the way we cats are very happy whenever she comes to visit us, because then somebody always sends such beautiful flowers.

I had climbed up into mistress’ lap to listen to a story she was reading about some Cat Club. But as it was only about Angoras and Persian cats, and not a word about Maltese and tigers, it did not interest me very much, and I curled up and took a nap. When I awoke, mistress was talking, and the first I heard was:

“When I was a little girl in Switzerland, we had horses, cows, dogs, cats and rabbits, and I was very fond of them all. I suppose the reason I have become so fond of cats is because I have for many years been deprived of the other pets, and for some time while boarding, I didn’t even have a cat. But just before Guy was born we started housekeeping in a down-town cottage, and on the very first day an enormous black cat came to the kitchen door, pleading for admittance. Having found that there were mice and rats in the cellar, I gladly let him in and from that day I never saw a rat or a mouse in the house. We fixed him a comfortable corner in the basement, and named him ‘Tom.’ From the first he acted like one thoroughly familiar with the premises, and no wonder: I learned afterward from the neighbors that he had lived in that house for many years with successive tenants.

“But one morning I heard some very queer noises in the basement, and when I went down to see what it was, I found Tom lying in his basket with four of the tiniest kittens I had ever seen, and looking up at me so pleadingly, as if to say: ‘You’ll be good to them, won’t you?’

“We knew then that ‘Tom’ was not an appropriate name for our cat, for whoever heard of a mother cat named ‘Tom’? So we told Guy’s nurse to find a new name for her, and because she was so black, Emma named her ‘Old Blackie.’”

“What has become of Old Blackie and her kittens?” said Aunt Minnie.

Mistress continued: “Blackie raised her family, two tigers and two Maltese; the Maltese were named ‘Jumbo’ and ‘Fritz,’ the tigers ‘Meow’ and ‘Peggy.’ Jumbo and Peggy were adopted by the doctor who attended Guy; Fritz was taken home by our milkman, and I kept Meow. But the following year Guy’s health was not good, and we went to my father’s to spend the summer on the farm. In the meantime some more kittens had come to Blackie, and I arranged with my neighbor’s little girl to take care of the whole family during my absence, and to find homes for the little ones, if she could. Meow we took with us, in a large bird cage covered with a cloth.”

As I listened to the story of Old Blackie, I was reminded of old Peter, a cat that was deserted by his people who left him in the cellar. He was nearly drowned when the landlord found him, and took him to his own beautiful home; and he named him Peter, because he had found him walking in the water.

Aunt Minnie had by this time become so interested in mistress’ story, that she asked her to also relate the history of Meow.

“That was my first experience traveling with a cat,” said mistress. “Emma took care of Meow, and I held the baby.

“On the farm Meow became very popular, and she and grandpa were the best of friends. I well remember how at meal-times she would always sit on the broad window-sill in the dining-room, and as soon as grandpa finished, and began to lean back in his big armchair, she would spring on his shoulder and caress him. Then he would prepare her a dainty dinner and carry it out to the kitchen with her perched on his shoulder. I also remember that when her first kittens came she was determined to put them into my bureau drawer. But I took her out into the kitchen and made her a nice soft bed in an old cheese box, where she raised her family and became a very good mother.”

“But where is Meow now?” said Aunt Minnie.

“When the summer was over and the time approached for our departure,” said mistress, “grandpa had become so attached to Meow, he invited her to stay with him; and as she had a family I was glad to let her remain.”

“And is she there yet?” asked Aunt Minnie.

“No,” said mistress. “She lived there seven years, and then grandpa went to live on another farm. On the day they moved he put her into a bag to take her to the new house; but, instead of putting her into a closed room until she recovered from the excitement caused by the removal, he opened the bag in the yard, and she ran away as fast as she could.

“Some months later grandpa learned that she had gone back to the old place; for on the morning after the new family moved in, they found her lying in her cheese box, very ill and unable to move, and on that same day she died. She had traveled three miles and crossed a wide creek in order to reach her old home.”

When I heard this story I remembered mistress’ remark on that first morning, that I looked like “Meow,” and it dawned upon me why I was given that name. And having become acquainted with grandpa I was glad to be named after an animal that had given him so much pleasure, and I was more determined than ever to be a good and useful cat. That’s why I never beg when I sit at the table, and very often when mistress has finished I jump from my chair up to her shoulder and kiss her cheek. Sometimes I can hardly wait till she gets through.

But I am very sorry that Meow left grandpa in such a hasty manner, and no doubt the good old man thought she was a poor homeless cat until he heard of her death. I would not be afraid at any place to which Guy or mistress might take me, as long as they were with me.

Having heard the history of Meow, my namesake, Aunt Minnie wanted to know what had become of Old Blackie.

“Old Blackie,” said mistress, “came to a very sad end. During my absence I had my milkman leave milk for her every day, and my butcher brought her meat regularly; I also left a dozen cans of salmon so that Blackie and her kittens could have one every week. After we had been gone about two months, the little girl wrote that Blackie had died, and that she had found homes for all the kittens but one, which she would like to keep herself. Upon my return home I learned that Blackie’s death was due to gangrene poisoning, caused by eating salmon that had been left in the can after opening.”

“This is a very sad ending to a most interesting story,” said Aunt Minnie; and I thought so too. I think we cats ought all to feel very grateful to Old Blackie, because it was she that got mistress interested in cats again, after she had been so long a time without any, and in this I am sure Blackie did all cats a great service.

XVI

MY GREAT SORROW

One evening when we cats had had our usual frolic in the library and bedtime was drawing near, I went to the door, as usual, and gave mistress the look which told her that I wanted to go out. She opened the door in the kindest manner, and as it was a beautiful moonlight night I mounted the fence and went over to Jack’s house, for I had something very important to tell him. I had heard Guy tell mistress that very evening not to let us stay out much evenings, because he had been told that it was the fashion in schools and colleges to dissect cats, so they can see how we are put together. He said that one of the boys had told him that they just go out nights and get any cats they can catch, or that will come to them; and that the majority of cats gathered up in this way are somebody’s pets because they are so much more tame than others, and more easily caught.

When I told this to Jack, it made him very indignant. “The idea of such an outrage perpetrated on us poor unsuspecting cats,” said he. “Where is the Humane Agent? Why don’t he arrest the thieves?”

I told Jack that from what I had heard, one might steal all the cats in Christendom, except the highly favored Angoras and Persians, and he could not be arrested, because the law does not protect cats.

When Jack heard this he could hardly contain himself for anger, and he invited me to go over to his yard and sit on the bench with him, where we could talk the matter over quietly. But just then his mistress called him, and being a very obedient cat, he went right into the house. I went over toward my poplar tree, and as I neared my house I heard my mistress calling me also. But it was such a pleasant evening, the moonlight was so beautiful and the stars shone so brightly, I really could not bear the thought of going in. Even the whetting of the carving knife did not tempt me, and I did not heed my dear mistress’ call. It seems as though I could hear even now that tender voice falling softly on the night air: “Come, Meow, come,” before she finally closed the door. How dearly I paid for my disobedience, I will tell you.