The Domestic Cat Part 8

Why do cats often pa.s.s other people by, and come up to me on the pavement, requesting me to ring the bell, that they may get in out of the wet? There are two strange cats who sleep in the sun almost daily in a corner of my front garden. If any one comes along they bolt at once, but when I pa.s.s up and down, they merely look at me and lie still; and I never speak to them, unless, perhaps, just a pa.s.sing word. But, what is still more strange, Theodore Nero walks up and down past them without causing them the slightest alarm. Yet, what a tremendous monster he must appear to them! They just look at him, wonderingly, as much as to say: "Oh, you great, good-natured-looking brute, however you can catch mice and sparrows enough to fill your enormous stomach, I can't tell?"

I know a lady who is very fond of cats, and when out walking or shopping in town, it is quite a usual thing for her to be accosted by some poor half-starved waif or stray, and very often she goes into a shop and buys food for them, for which, no doubt, they are grateful, and for which, no doubt, she will one day receive her reward from Him who careth even for the humble sparrows. This lady was pa.s.sing a house one time where a poor cat was confined, the usual occupants having gone to the seaside, and left p.u.s.s.y shut up in the empty house. As soon as she stopped at the door of the house, the cat's cries were quite pitiable to hear. As soon as this lady left the door, the cries ceased, only to be renewed whenever she returned. But p.u.s.s.y did not make the same noises when others stopped in front of the door.

_A Cat deserting one Home for another_.--A tortoisesh.e.l.l-and-white cat, belonging now to a friend of mine, came into his possession in rather a singular way. The cat was originally the property of a neighbour of my friend, whose house was on the opposite side of the street, and about thirty yards off. There she stayed, apparently perfectly contented and happy, until she became the mother of four kittens. Then, for some reason or other known only to herself, she determined to s.h.i.+ft her quarters, and one day my friend was astonished to see Kate, as she was called, march into his house with a kitten in her mouth, which she deposited in a safe and comfortable corner, and then set off for the others, which she brought one by one. Remember this, the cat had never been in my friend's house before! Kate's kittens were taken back again to her old home, and Kate marched them all over again to the home of her choice. And this was done every day for a whole week.

"It's no earthly use, you know," Kate seemed to say. "What I says I means, and what I does I sticks to."

And so my friend had to adopt both Kate and her family, previously having failed in an attempt to starve her out, for Kate had adopted a system of house-to-house begging, but always came home in the evening.

This cat for fourteen years used to sit patiently on the arm of her master's chair until dinner was done and she was helped.

It is exceedingly rude, I know, to doubt a lady's word, but _can you believe_ what follows? 'A lady a.s.sures me that she has such an inexplicable and innate antipathy to cats, that if she enters a strange room she can tell at once if there is a cat there, whether she sees it or not. And if a cat is carried suddenly into a room where she is, she "faints dead away."

Another lady friend of mine, who is very fond of animals of all sorts, while living down in Brighton last October, was hastening home one evening just about dusk, when she suddenly found that she was not alone, but accompanied by some little black creature, which, immediately she came under the gas-lamp, she found was a poor little stray kitten. As this wee puss bounded into the house as soon as the door was opened, of course she believed it belonged to the house. Going to her bedroom to dress for dinner, there was little Miss Puss sitting on the bed singing, and apparently perfectly satisfied with her new quarters, for the lady soon found it did not belong to the house.

p.u.s.s.y was treated to a saucerful of milk, and then sent adrift out into the street, chased out with a broom, in fact, for the housemaid hated cats. This kitten didn't mean to be put off like this, however. She stopped out all night, certainly, but quietly came in with the charwoman at five o'clock in the morning, and came directly to my friend's bedroom. There is no getting rid of a cat when it once concludes to board itself upon you, and this little waif soon established herself for good at Ashburnham House. But here is the strange part of the business.

She seemed to know that my friend Mrs W. was only a visitor here, and constantly showed great discretion, by sticking close to her apartments and back-yard. Just once she ventured down to the kitchen, and the old residential cat bit a piece out of her ear. "If that is how you treat visitors," said kitty, "I'll stick to my own rooms in future." And so she did.

It is sometimes rather a difficult thing finding suitable apartments when you are accompanied with pets. It takes considerable tact, I can a.s.sure you, to convince Mrs 'Arris, or whatever is the name of your intended landlady, that your Newfoundland is so clean that you never can see even a hair on the carpet; that your Pomeranian is an angel in canine form; that your Persian cat wouldn't steal, if surrounded even by the most tempting viands; that your macaw doesn't scream loud enough to give all the terrace "an 'eadache;" and that your white rats never escape and run all over the house. Mrs W. had some difficulty about her kitten when she went to the lodgings she had taken at Norwood.

"I certainly did expect," her landlady observed, "a lady with birds, and a mouse, and a very large dog; but a cat I couldn't have, because I've one of my own."

Mrs W. of course promised all sorts of impossibilities regarding her pet, and her landlady finally gave in.

But, strange to say, this very house became the kitten's future home, for the landlady's grandchild struck up a friends.h.i.+p with the wee p.u.s.s.y, and when the child fell sick, the kitten would hardly ever leave her little crib, nor would the child bear Miss Brighton, as she called her feline favourite, out of her sight for a single moment. Who shall say how far the simple companions.h.i.+p, of this loving and affectionate wee kitten, might not have tended to the child's restoration to perfect health?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

LOVE OF CHILDREN AND AFFECTION FOR OWNER.

There is hardly a domestic animal we possess that is not fond, to a greater or less extent, of children. How carefully a horse will pick his steps if a child happens to fall amongst his feet! I saw a bull one day escape, wounded and furious, from a killing-house, and dash madly along the turnpike road. He knocked down and injured several people, who could not get quickly enough out of his way; then there stood, paralysed with fear, and right in the wild brute's path, a child of tender years, which everyone who saw it gave up for lost; but the bull, who did not hesitate to attack grown-up people, suddenly veered to one side, and left this child unhurt!

My large Newfoundland dog is in the habit of careering along the street with a speed which, considering his size, is quite incompatible with the safety of the lieges. Policemen, especially, very often find themselves in the line of his rush, and Nero never hesitates to run clean through these men, so to speak, leaving them sprawling on the ground with heels in air; but the other day this dog, on suddenly rounding a corner, found himself confronted with four little toddling infants, who, hand in hand, were coming along the pavement. There was no time to slacken speed, and to proceed was certain death to one or more of the poor children, and what do you think this n.o.ble fellow did? why lifted himself clean off the pavement, and sprang high and clear over their heads.

The same dog was once in a hotel, when a friend of mine offered him a biscuit. Master Nero wasn't hungry; he would neither eat the biscuit from my friend's hand nor from my own, but when the landlord's pretty little daughter came running in, and threw her arms about his neck, and caressed him, he hadn't the heart to refuse the biscuit from _her_ hands, and even accepted several from her, although still refusing them from us.

But the domestic cat is, _par excellence_, the playmate and friend of childhood. What is it, indeed, that p.u.s.s.y will not bear from the hands of its little child-mistress? She may pull and lug p.u.s.s.y about any way she pleases, or walk up and down the garden-walk with it slung over her shoulder by the tail. If such treatment does hurt the poor cat, she takes good care not to show it. It is amusing enough sometimes to watch a little girl making a baby of her favourite p.u.s.s.y. They are wearied with gambolling together on the flowery lawn, and playing at hide-and-seek among the shrubbery, and p.u.s.s.y "_must_ be tired," says little Alice. p.u.s.s.y enters into the joke at once, and seems positively dead beat; so the basket is brought, the little night-cap is put on, the shawl is carefully pinned around its shoulders, and this embryo mamma puts her feline baby to bed and bids it sleep. There is always two words, however, with p.u.s.s.y as regards the sleeping part of the contract, for little Alice never can get her baby to close more than one eye at a time. p.u.s.s.y must see what is going on. Anon the baby "must be sick,"

and p.u.s.s.y forthwith appears as if she couldn't possibly survive another hour. Bread pills are manufactured, and forced over the poor cat's throat, she barely resisting. Then lullabies, low and sweet, are sung to her, which p.u.s.s.y enjoys immensely, and presently, joining in the song herself, goes off to sleep in earnest.

And Alice, p.u.s.s.y's friend, although at times she may use the furry favourite rather roughly, is kind to her in the main. Doesn't p.u.s.s.y get a share of Alice's porridge every morning? doesn't she sup with Alice every night? and do you think for one moment Alice would go to bed without her? Not she. And still this cat, may be as savage as a she tiger, to every one else in the house save to her little mistress. Just let you or me, reader, attempt to hold her up by the tail--well, I would a hundred times rather you should try it than I.

The very fact, I think, that faithful p.u.s.s.y is so fond of our innocent children, and so patient and self-denying towards them, is one reason why we should be kind to her, and study her comforts a little more than we do.

But probably one of the most endearing traits in the character of the domestic cat is her extreme attachment to, and love for, the person who owns her. If you once get your cat to really love you, no matter how fond she may be of the home where she was born and reared, she will go with you, if you but say the word, to the uttermost parts of the earth.

My poor old favourite, m.u.f.fle, has travelled many, many thousands of miles with me by sea and land, and always watched over both me and my property _with all the care_ and fidelity of a Highland collie. Been lost, too, she has, many a time in the midst of big bustling cities which were quite strange to her--been lost, but always turned up again.

I know of many instances in which cats have so attached themselves to their owners, that, when the latter have died, they have refused all food, and in a few days succ.u.mbed to grief, and gone, I fondly hope, to meet the loved one in a world that's free of care.

"But the largest cat," writes one of my numerous correspondents, "I ever saw belonged to my mother's mother, and was wise and sedate in proportion to its size. Its good mistress was often distressed with palpitation of the heart, and during the silent hours of night paced the bedroom floor in pain--but not alone, for the faithful creature would walk slowly at her side, seeming by his look to pity her condition, and when she lay down he would still stand sentinel at her head. He never could be persuaded to leave the house while she lived, yet a few hours before her death he suddenly took flight, but only to the lower apartments, which my parents occupied, and from which he never stirred again."

I never think, somehow, that a fireside has the same cheerful look of an evening unless there be a cat there, to sit on the footstool, and sing duets with the tea-kettle.

And I do not wonder at old women, whose friends have all long since gone before, and who have no one left to care for them, getting greatly attached to a faithful p.u.s.s.y; for people must have something to love.

"But, fancy loving a cat!" I think I hear some churl remark.

Yes, cynical reader, and I have, myself, before now, often shared my heart with stranger pets than cats; and I don't mind betting you that what I have left of it is bigger than yours now.

Figuratively speaking, I think a man's or a woman's heart is like a blacksmith's arm--_it grows with use_.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

HINTS UPON BREEDING AND REARING CATS FOR EXHIBITION, AND A WORD ABOUT CAT-SHOWS.

At nearly all the cat-shows which I have visited of late, I have been invariably impressed with this one idea: here, in these shows, we see p.u.s.s.y as she is in the present day--the live mouse-trap, the barn cat, at best the fireside favourite--but, at all events, the animal, of all our domestic animals, that is least cared for, and the only animal we possess, whose improvement in condition and species we have never cared to study. What this animal--the domestic cat--can become, the perfection to which she may attain through judicious selection and careful breeding, it is for future years to show.

Other nations--such as the Persians and different other Asiatics--know far more about the domestic cat than we do, and quite put us to the blush with their splendidly-bred and high-blooded animals.

It is one of the many popular fallacies current in this enlightened land of ours, that there is in the cat a certain number of bad qualities--a certain spice of the devil, so to speak--that never can be bred out.

This is simply absurd, for there is no animal that lives and breathes on G.o.d's fair earth but is susceptible of improvement, both physically and morally; for, remember, a cat, little as you may think of her, has a mind _and a soul_, as well as you have. She has thought, and memory, and reasoning powers; she can love and she can fear, can be happy and gay, or sad and sorrowful, and she knows something too of the mystery of death.

With all these qualities will you tell me that she cannot be improved?

I say she can; even as to race; for what can be accomplished with individual cats, may be accomplished with the whole race. I can introduce you to dozens of cat-fanciers in this country, who have made the peculiarities of p.u.s.s.y's nature their study, and who find that they can, at will, not only improve the physical condition of their cats; but even, by careful training, occasional gentle correction, kindness, and good-feeding, raise them from good to better, and wean them from the ways which are so objectionable in other, or merely half-domesticated cats. And, look you, the progeny of such animals--by a law well-known to all breeders--take after them, or inherit the good qualities of their parents. Hence, I repeat, if you can improve the individual cat, through time you may improve the _genus_. That time may be long in coming--granted; but that the lovers of cats, in this country, have boldly seized the bull by the horns, and are taking a step in the right direction, is a positive fact which admits of no denial.

Now, to those who are fond of cats, and would fain improve the particular breed they have a fancy for, and probably win prizes at our great shows, I beg to offer the following hints:--

_First_. Having made up your mind as to what particular breed you mean to go in for, stick by that breed for a time, at least, and go in for no other.

_Secondly_. Be careful in your selection of parents. For instance: we will suppose you mean to breed pure white Angoras; well, purchase at a first-cla.s.s show a Tom kitten and a queen kitten _from different litters_. Choose the liveliest, biggest, and most healthy-looking kitten of each litter, not, as in choosing pups, the heaviest and sleepiest-looking. The funny kitten turns out the best cat, and is more easily trained than a sulky or frightened one.

Having gotten your purchases home, remember that the royal road to a kitten's affection is straight through its stomach. Be, yourself, then, the first to present p.u.s.s.y with a saucer of warm, creamy milk.

_Thirdly. How to get size_. This is accomplished by the quant.i.ty and quality of p.u.s.s.y's food, and the regularity with which she gets her meals. Whatever you give a young cat, and a growing cat to eat, do not let it be too abundant. Never let her gorge herself; give her little and often. Don't let her want for a saucerful of pure water, to which she can always find access. Let her allowance of milk be put down to her and taken up again when she has had all she wants; what she leaves had better be given to the pigs. Bad milk is a fruitful source of diarrhoea, dysentery, and some forms of skin disease. A little sulphur--about as much as will lie on a fourpenny-bit--should be given at least once a fortnight, or half that quant.i.ty once a week.

Train your cats early to habits of cleanliness. Don't forget the flower-pot saucer; and remember that, if the cats you wish to take prizes with, belong to any of the finer breeds, they _must_ be parlour cats, and not kitchen-bred brutes.

If you want your cats to grow large, let their food be nouris.h.i.+ng but not stimulating; boiled cow's or sheep's lights they can eat their stomachs full of; but avoid beef, it is too gross and heating, and don't patronise the cat's-meat man.

Kittens and growing cats, in order to grow large, must have plenty of exercise and fun. Leaping exercise is best. Teach them to jump through a hoop, and keep them at it. They ought to have a ball as a toy, or a hare's foot; and ridiculous as it may seem to many, it is a positive fact, that cats--especially queen cats--thrive best who have a looking-gla.s.s conveniently placed to admire themselves in, and to wash and dress in front of.

"Ilka little maks a mickle," is a good old Scotch proverb, and believe me it is attention to little matters, to minutiae, which makes one successful in properly rearing any animal.

_Fourthly. How to get Good Pelage on a Cat_. The feeding of course has much to do with the length and gloss of the coat. Fish I have found is good for the coat, and a mixed diet generally, with not too much vegetables to scour them. But your sheet-anchors, after all, are the brush and the comb. The comb must be fine, and not too close in the teeth, and it should be used gently, after which brush the coat briskly all over with a long-haired soft hair-brush--a baby's brush in fact.

The comb is not only a gentle stimulant to the skin, but it prevents matting, while the brush removes dust, and gives a nice glitter to the pelage. Both together act as a charm.

_Fifthly_. In cats other than white you will find that certain kinds of food strengthen the colours of the pelage. I am convinced, for instance, that boiled bullock's lights do, and so does sheep's blood.

This fact is perhaps worth knowing. I am making experiments with other foods and some condiments, but am not yet in a position to state results.