Daisy Part 11

And I never did. But oh, how good that steak did taste! I had heard it said that "stolen fruit is sweet," and I found it so. I had worked hard over it, and I enjoyed it.

I was not very unhappy that my mistress had to pay for it; for I had a friend who gave me pennies enough to buy all my extra food, and I said to myself, "She can take the money from that." So that afternoon I went to the table where my little tin bank was kept, and just pushed it off, and out came the pennies.

The noise aroused my mistress. How they did laugh, saying, "Daisy is paying for her meat." But they put them all back and kissed me, saying I was a very honorable cat. I wished I could speak and ask my mistress if that "philanthropist" was a church member. If so, did they allow extortion?

I think "Oliver Twist" was a free-thinker, for he seemed to grasp everything as his own, recognizing no law; certainly he did not favor our church. Perhaps, like the cat that a smart boy tried to sell, she represented the belief of the person to whom the boy offered her. When this enterprising boy had offered his cat to a member of every other denomination, he came to an Episcopalian. He was asked why he called her an Episcopalian, when he had just said she was a Baptist. "Oh," he answered, "but her eyes are open now."

I think "Oliver Twist" and his mistress were born with their eyes open.

This little item has run in my silly head ever since Miss Eleanor read it.

I must tell you before I forget it about the friend with the high-stepping horses. It was not quite six months after her visit to us that I wrote about that she was taken very ill and sent for my mistress to come and see her just before she died. She said to her:--

"Milly, I have never known one moment's peace since you gave me such a lesson on my cruelty to my horses. I seemed to realize, after you had spoken, just how foolish I had been in following a wicked fas.h.i.+on. My husband has promised me that Aunt Mary shall have them, and she is so devoted to animals she will never allow any abuse. Though I cannot restore their tails, they will be made comfortable. Old Mike, her coachman, will make them happy if any one can. I realize all they suffered, and think I deserve to lose all I misused so thoughtlessly."

Is not this an ill.u.s.tration of the good one brave word can do? If my mistress, fearing to offend her wealthy friend, had not spoken, the poor horses would never have been released from their suffering, and the conscience of her friend never awakened. If every one who is witness to an act of cruelty would remonstrate against it, there would be some chance of reform.

Many people say, "It is no business of mine if people ill-treat their own animals." But it is the business of every one with Christian feelings to speak for the poor dumb animals, for they cannot speak for themselves. Children, if taught when young, would never be cruel.

Miss Eleanor saw a little boy carry three little kittens into a lot where a house was being built. The boy was sent on this cruel errand by his mother. Their cries made Miss Eleanor's heart ache, and she had decided to go over for them and see what could be done to keep them, when a poor woman came along, who could not turn a deaf ear to their piteous cries, but went to them. They were so glad to see her, she said, though she was poor, she could not leave them alone. Miss Eleanor gave her some money, and the woman said she would find them good homes.

This is only one instance of what is going on day by day. Is there no help for it?

XIV

RELIGIOUS ASPIRATIONS

One ambition of my life has never been gratified. I have always had a desire to attend church. I have never been able to understand why restless children, who have no understanding of sermons, who are wretched when obliged to keep still, and are only kept quiet by a promise of something nice or a threat of punishment, should be taken to church and the family cat left at home.

What if we _do_ sleep all through the service--we have a precedent for it. How often we hear people say, "Mr. So-and-So might as well have remained at home, for he slept all through the sermon," or, "Mrs.

So-and-So had to pinch herself to keep awake. She dare not sleep, fearing to crush her new bonnet."

If we can believe all we hear, ministers all have voices "like old cows"

or "dying calves." They never speak plain, and deaf people remain at home rather than look like fools when they cannot hear one word. Cats hear all these speeches, and wonder why they cannot go and judge for themselves. I know in our church, with the boy choir singing so lovely, one could not sleep.

When I was young I brooded over this question. I did want to be a Christian cat, and, like most ignorant people, I thought I could not be good unless I went to church. Of course I know better now. I can be just as good at home. Like all young things, I wanted to try my wings and see a little of the world.

Karl and Will were choir boys, and I was very proud of their voices. I did not understand why I could not march in the processional, right behind Karl and Will, even if my voice was not trained to sing.

I thought it all over, and out of a mult.i.tude of thoughts came forth an act. Not one of the "Acts of the Apostles." Had it been, I might have been successful.

One Sunday I made up my mind to try my luck. I had a hearty breakfast, washed myself all over, and cleaned my nails, for I had heard that "cleanliness is next to G.o.dliness." I did not mean that in my cat vocabulary there should be one such word as "fail."

I hid myself when Karl and Will were ready for church, and after they had left the house I crept out after them. I followed them on the opposite side of the street, without being discovered, when, just as I was feeling sure of the situation, a dog must needs bark and make for me.

Karl and Will turned around, and then my church-going was ended. Before I could run away Will caught me up in his arms and carried me home.

I was very angry over it, and refused to be comforted. I wished I had been a heathen; then they would have taken the trouble to convert me. I tried to find a rat to kill, and crept all around the cellar. But no; rats must not be killed on Sunday. I was very unhappy. Six days of the week I could do very well, but oh my, the _seventh_!

That day was a poser to me. All the family had gone to church. What could a poor cat do? I could not sleep, and, to cap the climax, a plate of beans and a saucer of milk had been put out for me, in case I wanted something before they returned.

Now I love my beans Sat.u.r.day night and Sunday morning, but to be expected to make a dinner of them, in place of the nice little lamb kidney that was served up for me every Sunday, was adding insult to injury.

I dragged the beans out on the floor and threw over the milk saucer; then, as I could do no more mischief, off I went in a huff to look out for their return home.

I did feel a little ashamed, for I remembered that Karl could not get a kidney. The man at the store told him they were all sold, adding, "If that cat of yours will not feed on anything but kidneys, he will die of kidney disease." It was not their fault, and I did feel mean.

Every Sunday Karl and Will studied their lesson. They would sit at the table with their books, while I had a ha.s.sock in front of them, with my little Bible open on it. Here I would pose for an hour, with my paws folded on the open book, looking from one to the other, for I loved them dearly.

This Sunday I would not look at my book. The boys tried to make me, but were obliged to give it up. I behaved just like a bad boy, running after imaginary b.a.l.l.s, jumping over the ha.s.sock, sitting on the Bible, till at last Will said: "I will call Aunt Milly. We shall never get our lesson if she does not take Daisy away."

This did not please me. I just picked up my book, and when my mistress came in I was sitting at my ha.s.sock, my claws clasped over my Bible (though it was upside down), looking as innocent as possible.

All this naughtiness because I wanted to be a choir boy and walk in the processional with the rest of the boys. I think it would have been better if they had taken me to church.

One thing always gave me great pleasure: I never could tire of cat stories. I think it may be a help to the understanding of cat nature if I give the most interesting ones for people to read.

With the horrors of vivisection and other cruelties practised upon animals, it is time for them to a.s.sert themselves. Even a cat's voice may be heard. Children can be taught to respect the rights of animals if their parents will interest themselves in their dumb servants.

My mistress met two very nice ladies one summer while in the country.

They were cat-lovers, and gave many nice anecdotes of cats they had known. I will tell you one I particularly liked.

A friend of theirs had a great many cats, and as their number increased she felt the necessity of giving up some of them. She found homes for all but one; and one day, when her friends were visiting her, she asked them if they would take the cat and drop her near some nice house, where they had no doubt she would soon make a home. It was not a very pleasant commission, but they could not very well refuse.

p.u.s.s.y had evidently heard their conversation, for she tried to hide from them. She was very quiet, never responding to their coaxing, covering her face with her paws in great sorrow. They drove many miles into the country before they could think of parting with her.

At last a large and finely situated farmhouse attracted them by its homelike aspect. It was a low, rambling house painted red, and the barns and outbuildings were in keeping. Everything looked inviting. The large kitchen-garden at the back of the house seemed just the place for cats to enjoy. An opening in the trees gave them a glimpse of a small stream meandering through the country, reflecting the rustic scene in its clear depth.

"Here," they said, "we will leave her. Surely no one in a place like this could turn away from a poor cat."

They coaxed her, and in spite of her clinging to them, put her down very gently. She stood like one dazed. Then she turned and surveyed the house and its surroundings. She looked long at the clear, bright water, as if in deep thought. She then looked up at the sky, and after giving them a reproachful glance, she walked slowly toward the river. Reaching it, she paused one moment, then deliberately walked in. Twice she rose to the surface, then the waters closed over her forever.

They could make no effort to save her. Knowing cats' strong dislike of water, they had no idea she would go near it. It was, they said, a clear case of suicide. Homeless, friendless, and wretched, she preferred death, even in the element a cat usually dreads, to seeking a new home.

The people were very unhappy about it. They said they felt like murderers, and never had believed before that cats could think and suffer. They said that they should ever after do all they could for animals, particularly cats, in atonement for their share, though unintentional, in the death of poor p.u.s.s.y.

It made me appreciate the care I had had all my life, when I heard such sad stories of cats.

Cats are fond of mischief, and I fear I never thought of the sorrow I should cause when I saw a good opportunity for fun.

We made a visit one summer in a family where the old grandfather, from Vermont, was spending a few weeks. He was an original character, and we were entertained by his quaint speeches and his old-fas.h.i.+oned manners.

He thought Boston was one of the biggest and wickedest places in the world. I was the only one he seemed to be at home with, though I never could tell why, for I disliked him from the first sight I had of his horrid little eyes, with a real wicked expression, and his flesh looked just like an over-baked apple.

The wonder of all to me was his head, which was the part I could not understand. It was covered by uneven, red-brown hair, with no seam in it, and it looked just like a cocoanut.