Part 5

De Black Cat am prone to ebil, as de spahks fly up’ards. He am a lubber ob de back fence, de telegraph pole, an’ de midnight serenade. Bootjacks, pistols, policemen’s clubs, an’ missiles kin not stop his rapturous ditty to de pale-face moon. He am a genamun! He am de mahvel ob de nations!

You mout ax me whut de Black Cat hab done foh sufferin’ humanity. I answer: He am de inventer ob de watermillun, co’n pone, sweeten ’taters, liquor, an’ ’possum; an’ wuz de fust man to teach de cullud race de advisability ob eatin’ po’k chops when you’s flush an’ libber when you’s hahd up.

Oh, de Laud will provide! Dat’s why he gib us our ole black cat Mesmerizer here to bring us good luck whahevah we goes in de United Snakes of Americy, while some ob our good ole mothers is a-ben’in’ ovah de wash-tub, ’way down yondah in Dixie-lan’, sheddin’ briny tears an’ a-sighin’—“Whah’s ma won’rin’ boy to-night?”

’N’ while she’s wo’kin’ ’n’ frettin’, hah trifflin’ son’s down on de co-nah, sunnin’ hisse’f an shootin’ dice, an’ a-singin’:

“Bells am a-ringin’ in Memphis— Bells am a-ringin’ in Cairo— De sun’s done sunk, an’ de alligatah’s Dreamin’ in de deep bayou; De ole folks done gone to chu’ch, De little folks done gone to sleep— ’Way down on de ole homestead. I ’speck dey’s grebin’ ’bout me; But dey’s got to do widout me, Tho’ I wuz de sweetes’ blossom In de ole homestead.”

De Black Cat hab allus bin somebody. Look, whut a pull he had wid ole Isis, one o’ de riches’ men in Egypt, thousands o’ years ago: Cat come along one day, he did, an’ crossed Mr. Isis’ luck, an’ dat fellah didn’t do a thing but beg de cat’s pawdon, an’ build a sacred temple to him. Dat’s all he done to _him_! An’ don’ you think he kin take keer o’ _us_?—his needy an’ faithful chillun? All we’s got to do is to wo’k our rabbit’s foot, an’ say nothin’, an’ thaings’ll come our way.

WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?

“Pussy-Cat, Pussy-Cat, Where have you been?” “I’ve been to London To look at the Queen.” “Pussy-Cat, Pussy-Cat, What did you there?” “I frightened a little mouse Under the chair.”

KITTENS’ PROMENADE.

Whitefoot, Malta and Pussy-cat Gray Went to walk together one summer day.

Never before had they passed the gate, And they walked with pride, with tails up straight.

“It’s very charming,” Miss Whitefoot sighed, “Who would have thought the world so wide?”

A toad and a grasshopper sat in the way— “What giants we are!” said Pussy Gray.

“Mother told of danger outside the gate— There’s nothing to harm us,” said Malta sedate.

Pussy Gray said, “You see, I suppose, How very foolish of late she grows.”

Just then a dog jumped over the wall— And spit and a cloud of dust were all

That was left. The kittens brave and sedate Had vanished through the open gate.

ROBIN REDBREAST AND PUSSY-CAT.

Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree, Up went Pussy-Cat, and down went he; Down went Pussy-Cat, and away Robin ran; Says little Robin Redbreast, “Catch me if you can.”

Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall, Pussy-Cat jumped after him, and almost got a fall; Little Robin chirped and sang, and what did Pussy say? Pussy-Cat said, “Mew,” and Robin flew away.

PARTNERSHIP.

MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.

[_Little girl addresses the mother of her pet kitten._]

You need not be looking around at me so; She’s my kitten as much as your kitten, you know, And I’ll take her wherever I wish her to go.

You know very well that the day she was found, If I hadn’t cried she’d surely been drowned, And you ought to be thankful she’s here safe and sound.

She’s only just crying because she’s a goose; I’m not squeezing her—look now—my hands are quite loose, You may as well hush, for it’s not any use.

And you may as well get right down and go ’way, You’re not in the thing we are going to play, And remember it isn’t your half the day.

You’re forgetting the bargain we made, and so soon; In the morning she’s mine, and yours all afternoon, And you couldn’t teach her to eat with a spoon.

So don’t let me hear you give one single mew, For you know what will happen right off if you do, She’ll be my kitten mornings and afternoons, too.

THE PACE THAT KILLS.

Counted on a tortoise’s back, Pussy Feathertail Cries, “Next time I take a ride I will try a snail.”

PUSS IN MISCHIEF.

_Action Poem._

[1]Where are you, kitty? [2]Where are you?—say. I’ve scarcely seen you At all to-day.

[3]You’re not in mischief, I hope, my dear; Ah, now I have found you! How came you here?

[4]That’s mother’s knitting, [5]You naughty kit! Oh! such a tangle You’ve made of it!

[6]’Twas _that_ which kept you So very still; [7]Mamma will scold you, I know she will.

[8]So, puss, come to me, You rub your fur Against my fingers, And say “purr, purr.”

[9]I know you mean To say, “Don’t scold,” So close in my arms My puss I’ll hold.

[10]And now, I’ll tell you, My little pet, That mother’s knitting You must not get.

[11]The wool will never Be wound, I fear; [12]But mother’ll forgive My kitty dear.

DIRECTIONS.

[Footnote 1: Enters, looks all around, and recites first line.]

[Footnote 2: Recites second line little more emphatically.]

[Footnote 3: Walks to stage L, and looks, while she recites in anxious tone; suddenly face brightens.]

[Footnote 4: Discovers that kitten is playing with her mother’s knitting, and in surprised voice speaks.]

[Footnote 5: Shakes finger at kitten, picks up knitting and examines it.]

[Footnote 6: Turns and looks at kitten, who seems to be at her side.]

[Footnote 7: Somewhat anxiously. Sits down and looks at kitten.]

[Footnote 8: Kitten climbs into lap and apparently rubs against her fingers. Girl looks down as if to scold.]

[Footnote 9: Looks into kitten’s eyes; hugs kitten close.]

[Footnote 10: Shakes finger warningly at kitten, which she holds up before her. Shows kitten knitting; puts knitting down.]

[Footnote 11: Looks sorrowfully at the hopelessly tangled wool.]

[Footnote 12: Turns suddenly to kitten, as if the dearness of her kitten will cause mother to forgive her; finishes hugging the kitten.]

DAME TROT AND HER CAT.

Dame Trot and her cat Led a peaceable life When they were not troubled With other folks’ strife. When Dame had her dinner Near Pussy would wait, And was sure to receive A nice piece from her plate.

THAT CAT.

BEN KING.

The cat that comes to my window-sill When the moon looks cold and the night is still— He comes in a frenzied state alone With a tail that stands like a pine tree cone, And says: “I have finished my evening lark, And I think I can hear a hound dog bark. My whiskers are froze ’nd stuck to my chin, I do wish you’d get up and let me in.” That cat gets in.

But if in the solitude of the night He doesn’t appear to be feeling right, And rises and stretches and seeks the floor, And some remote corner he would explore, And doesn’t feel satisfied just because There’s no good spot for to sharpen his claws, And meows and canters uneasy about Beyond the least shadow of any doubt That cat gets out.

OLD NURSERY RHYME.

Poor pussy-cat mew Jumped over a coal And burnt a great hole In her best petticoat. Poor pussy-cat mew Can’t have any milk, ’Till her best petticoat’s Mended with silk.

FALSE KINDNESS.

The softest little fluff of fur! The gentlest, most persuasive purr! Oh, everybody told me that She was the “loveliest little cat!” So when she on the table sprung, And lapped the cream with small red tongue, I only gently put her down, And said, “No, no!” and tried to frown; But if I had been truly kind, I should have made that kitten mind!

Now, large and quick, and strong of will, She’ll spring upon that table still, And, spite of all my watchful care, Will snatch the choicest dainties there; And everybody says, “Scat, scat! She’s such a dreadful, dreadful, cat!” But I, who hear them, know, with shame, I only am the one to blame. For in the days when she was young, And lapped the cream with small red tongue, Had I to her been truly kind, I should have made that kitten mind.

TURN ABOUT.

AUNT MARY: Nora, you’re a cruel child. Let that cat go at once.

NORA [_banging cat_]: But she’s been naughty, Aunty, an’ I’m punishin’ her. I told her it was for her own good, an’ it hurt me more’n it hurt her.

THE SECRET TOLD PUSSIE.

_Romantic Pathetic Monologue for a Young Lady._

All gone to the opera, Pussy, but me; We are alone in this rambling old house. Afraid? Not I! Come, sit on my knee, And tell me your stories of dog and mouse. Do you hear the wind—how it sobs and grieves? And the rain falling down on the moss-grown eaves?

Let us turn off the gas and sit on the rug; How the firelight brightens the long old room, With its scarlet fancies! Puss, are you snug? You know in one’s youth one should never know gloom. That is what mamma told me to-day When I sighed, and forgot one should always be gay.

Do you see any pictures in the fire, Pussy, my dear, with your solemn eyes? Pictures of river and castle and spire— Or only of milk and a mouse’s surprise? I see, ah, Pussy, eyes of brown, And a brow that is royal enough for a crown.

I see a smile that is sweet and rare, A hand that is gentle and strong and true; I see a summer-tide swift and fair, With golden sunshine and skies of blue. Oh, what shall I do with the long, long years? Pussy, forgive me, you don’t like tears.

The firelight flickers on picture and wall, On book-case and bracket, and statue white— Pussy, do you remember a ball That happened a year ago to-night? One little year! How the seasons bring Changes that only blight and sting!

“Sorrow is sorrow to the old But death to the young,” ah, Pussy, I’ve read; Perhaps, if these curls were gray and not gold I wouldn’t wish to-night I were dead. Not twenty yet—and all joy o’er, Oh, Pussy, Pussy, for evermore!

There, there, Pussy! No more tears. Let’s have a romp in the firelight glow; Other hearts have beat on through the years When love and faith were lying low; Mayhap, in soothing another’s pain We forget our own. Just hear the rain!

But to-morrow, I doubt not, the sun will shine, And the clouds be only a dream of the night. Why should we cherish a woe divine? Let us hide it away from the sun and light. Forgetting one’s self is hard, I fear; But we’ll each try bravely, Pussy, my dear.

Let us say “good-bye” to the dreams of the past— And, Pussy, my comfort, never you tell Of the chat that has made these hours fly fast. One more frolic—oh, there is the bell! I hear them laughing upon the stair— Eternal secrecy, Pussy, swear!

A NOCTURNAL SHOT.

He threw his small clock at a cat— He missed her, you can bet; The clock it stopped at half-past three, The cat is going yet.

MOTHER TABBYSKINS.

[Music:

1. Sitting at a window, In her cloak and hat, I saw Mother Tabbyskins, The _real_ old cat! Very old, very old, Crumplety and lame; Teaching kittens how to scold— Is it not a shame?]

Kittens in the garden, Looking in her face, Learning how to spit and swear, O what a disgrace. Very wrong, very wrong, Very wrong and bad; Such a subject for our song, Makes us all too sad.

Old Mother Tabbyskins, Sticking out her head, Gave a howl and then a yowl, Hobbled off to bed. Very sick, very sick, Very savage, too; Pray send for a doctor, quick— Any one will do!

Doctor Mouse came creeping, Creeping to her bed; Lanced her gums and felt her pulse, Whispered she was dead. Very sly, very sly, The _real_ old cat, Open kept her weather eye— Mouse! beware of that!

Old Mother Tabbyskins, Saying, “serves him right,” Gobbled up the Doctor, With infinite delight. “Very fast, very fast, Very pleasant, too,— What a pity it can’t last! Bring another, do.”

Doctor Dog comes running, Just to see her begs; Round his neck a comforter, Trousers on his legs. Very grand, very grand, Golden headed cane Swinging gaily from his hand, Mischief in his brain.

Ah, Mother Tabbyskins, Who is now afraid? Of poor little Doctor Mouse You a mouthful made. Very nice, very nice, Little doctor he: But for Doctor Dog’s advice, _You_ must pay the fee.

Doctor Dog comes nearer, Says she must be bled; I heard Mother Tabbyskins Screaming in her bed.

Very near, very near, Scuffling out and in, Doctor Dog looks full and queer, Where is Tabbyskins?

I will tell the moral Without any fuss; Those who lead the young astray, Always suffer thus! Very nice, very nice, Let our conduct be; For all doctors are not mice— Some are dogs, you see.

TOPSY.

I have the dearest kitten Your eyes did ever see, And oh! such merry times she has, My kitty dear, with me.

Her coat is soft and silky, And just as black as ink, That’s why I call her Topsy: A good name, don’t you think?

Where did my pussy come from? You cannot guess, I fear. Why, Father Christmas brought her, Now, wasn’t he a dear?

Just by my Christmas stocking A little hamper stood, And when I lifted up the lid, My darling kitty mewed.

It was as if she said to me, “Please take me out, dear May,” And so I took her in my arms, And quietly she lay.

But soon some lovely romps we had, My kitty dear and I, All round the room, upstairs and down, To race me she did try.

And when each morning comes again, And I get out of bed, I run to feed my kitty With nice, new milk and bread.

But one day, oh, my Topsy! A sad, sad tale I heard, Tom says you scampered up a tree, After a little bird.

I’m sure I don’t know how you could, Birds are such pretty things; I hope you did not catch it, puss, I’m glad that it had wings.

Perhaps it flew away from you, So I will scold no more, But love my Topsy, every day, Just as I did before.

MY LITTLE GRAY KITTY AND I.

When the north wind whistles round the house, Piling snowdrifts high, We nestle down on the warm hearth-rug— My little gray kitty and I. I tell her about my work and play, And all I mean to do, And she purrs so loud, I surely think That she understands—don’t you?

She looks about with her big, round eyes, And softly licks my face, As I tell her ’bout the word I missed, And how I have lost my place. Then let the wind whistle, for what to us Matters a stormy sky? Oh, none have such jolly times as we— My little gray kitty and I.

PUSS AND HER THREE KITTENS.

TOM HOOD.

[_Give in an animated style and tone of voice_.]

Our old cat has kittens three— What do you think their names should be? One is tabby, with emerald eyes, And a tail that’s long and slender, And into a temper she quickly flies If you ever by chance offend her. I think we shall call her this— I think we shall call her that; Now, don’t you think “Pepperpot” A nice name for a cat?

One is black, with a frill of white, And her feet are all white fur, too; If you stroke her she carries her tail upright, And quickly begins to purr, too, I think we shall call her this— I think we shall call her that; Now, don’t you fancy, “Sootikin” A nice name for a cat?

One is a tortoise shell, yellow and black, With a lot of white about him; If you tease him, at once he sets up his back; He’s a quarrelsome Tom, ne’er doubt him! I think we shall call him this— I think we shall call him that; Now, don’t you fancy “Scratchaway” A nice name for a cat?

Our old cat has kittens three, And I fancy these their names will be: “Pepperpot,” “Sootikin,” “Scratchaway”—there Were there ever kittens with these to compare? And we call the old mother—now, what do you think? Tabitha Longclaws Tidleywink.

NOBODY DID IT.

“Nobody b’oke it! It cracked itself, It was clear ’way up on the toppest shelf. I—p’rhaps the kitty-cat knows!” Says poor little Ned, With his ears as red As the heart of a damask rose.

“Nobody lost it! I carefully Put my cap just where it ought to be, (No, ’tisn’t ahind the door), And it went and hid, Why, of course, it did, For I’ve hunted an hour or more.”

“Nobody tore it! You know things will Tear if you’re sitting just stock-stone still! I was jumping over the fence— There’s some spikes on top, And you have to drop Before you can half commence.”

Nobody! wicked Sir Nobody! Playing such tricks on all about thee. If I but set eyes on you, You should find what you’ve lost But that to my cost, I never am like to do!

THREE MAIDENS FAIR.

_Concert Recitation and Pantomime._

STANLEY SCHELL.

_Written expressly for this book_.

[Three girls in elaborate gowns. Each gown has a long cat-tail attached at back, and each girl wears a cat-mask suited to color of cat she represents. On each girl’s head, just back of ears, is a lady’s hat, with three plumes drooping forward. The hat is kept in place by white-lawn streamers, tied in big bow beneath chin. One girl wears chain, with lorgnette, which she uses occasionally; another girl carries fancy parasol over shoulder; the third girl carries very showy fan, which she uses at different times. Gloves should be worn by all girls. Girls enter from stage rear with mincing steps, and trip to stage front, doing all sorts of things with lorgnette, parasol and fan until stage front is reached. Then all stand still and look at audience, then look sad a moment, and recite in concert the following:]

Many years ago there lived Three of us maidens fair and bright; But to sorrow we were doomed, All through a fairy’s spite; For she wanted us to wed Three sons of hers, we wot; But we maidens all refused, And hence this weary lot. Pity, friends, we ask of you, Doomed for years to cry me-you!

In this castle were we shut, Many years ago; Here for weary days and nights, Our pearly tears did flow. Each a handsome lover met Within the garden fair; But that fairy changed them all To mice, and kept them there— Changed them into three white mice, And then devoured them in a trice!

Then not satisfied with this, While we poor maidens sat Side by side, that fairy came, And changed us into cats! Here we must stay to pine and mope, In feline misery, ’Till three princes come to woo, And wed, and set us free— Me-you! There come three princes true! And now again we’ll happy maidens be.

KITTENS’ BLIND-MAN’S-BUFF.

Blind-man’s-buff is my name. Do you know how to play the game? First shut your eyes, then open me, And you shall see—what you shall see!

TATTERS, THE CAT.

MRS. FREDERICK W. PENDER.

_Written especially for this book._

I will tell you a story of Tatters, the cat, Who was good, if not handsome, and sleek, and so fat, And his coat it was ragged [which caused his queer name], Did not lessen his value—he was loved all the same.

Now, one day he was longing to go on the street, Just to see the fine sights, it would be such a treat; He was clever, he thought, as he planned it all o’er, And he said, “I’ll be gone but an hour, and no more.”

Oh, he never meant wrong, he was seeking some fun, And to have his own way, why, he skipped out and run. He was foolish, like children so often, you see, That he got unawares in some bad company.

He was easy and free, and, I’m sorry to say, How he went at the call of some boys from his play. Now, they coaxed him at first till he thought each a friend, All so trustful was Tatters, he dreamed not the end:

For he looked in their faces and purred his soft way, And the shame of those boys when they scat him away; And so timid he grew, and so wild in his flight, That ’way down a dark alley he stayed all the night.

And his eyes, they shone bright—like two coals in his head. It was damp, and so cold, and the ground was his bed; How he crouched all in fear, tho’ no harm he had done, From those wicked young boys, who were friends, no, not one.

He was far from his home, and his coat it was rough, And more tattered it grew from the kicks and the cuffs He would get from the boys as he sought food to eat, So he stayed in the alley and avoided the street.

And his life was so sad, that he soon pined away, From the day he had run to the street just to play; And one morning those boys threw a stone at his head, It could not hurt Tatters, for the poor cat was dead.

JUST PLAIN CAT.

JENNIE PENDLETON EWING.

Our neighbor’s cat is Persian, the Jones’s cat Maltese; Aunty’s big Angora has feathers to her knees (At least they look like feathers), and a tail so big and white, When that kitty meets a puppy dog, I tell you it’s a sight! But when I ask, “What breed is mine—my pussy, sleek and fat?” They laugh and pull my curls, and say, “I fear—just plain cat.”

It’s true her eyes aren’t yellow, her tail is rather small, I don’t know if she ever had a ped-i-gree at all. (That big word means her mother, her grandma, too, they say, That they all took prizes at a show, were marked a special way.) What do I care for markings, for prizes and all that? My kitty’s just as precious if she is just plain cat.

She is the dearest kitten, all scamper and all fur! Not one of all my other pets can make me laugh like her. She may be very common, but I know she’s good and true, For she meets me when I come from school with loving little mew; And when she’s round we never see a teenchy mouse or rat, And I b’lieve I love her better ’cause she’s just plain cat!

PUSSY’S DREAM.

Dame Puss fell asleep in the great arm-chair, And she dreamed a dream that was strange and rare. She dreamed that the mice were to give a grand ball, And begged her to come and dance with them all.

Pussy said, in her dream, with a curtsy low, “With pleasure, dear friends, to your ball I’ll go.” But she said to herself with a sly little mew, “I’ll dance with you, yes,—but I’ll eat you, too.”

When Pussy arrived at Castle Mouse She really could hardly get into the house; For the house it was small and the crowd it was great, And besides Madame Puss was a whole hour late.

When she reached the great hall, which was really quite high, The mice placed before her a huge, mammoth pie; And they said, “Lady Puss, you are hungry, we fear, So the best of our dainties we’ve brought for you here.”