Part 7
“I don’t keer. It’s comfortin’ to have live creatures about you, an’ I ain’t never hed anything like other women. I ain’t hed no folks of my own sense I kin remember. I’ve worked hard all my life, an’ hed nothin’ at all to love, an’ I’ve thought I’d orter be thankful all the same. But I did want as much as a cat.”
“Well, as I said before, I’ve nothin’ agin cats. But I don’t understand any human bein’ with an immortal soul a-settin’ so much by one.”
“I can’t hear what you say.”
“I don’t understand any human bein’ with an immortal soul a-settin’ so much by a cat.”
“You’ve got folks, Mis’ Stone.”
“I know I hev; but folks is trials sometimes. But, Ann Millet, I didn’t think you was one to sink down so under any trial. I thought the Lord would be a comfort to you.”
“I know all that, Mis’ Stone. But when it comes to it, I’m here an’ I ain’t thar; an’ I’ve got hands, an’ I want somethin’ I kin touch.”
Then the poor soul broke down, and sobbed out loud like a baby.
“I ain’t—never felt as ef I orter begrutch other—women their homes an’ their folks. I thought—p’raps—I could git along better without ’em than—some; an’ the Lord knowed it, an’ seein’ thar wa’n’t enough to go round, he gave ’em to them that needed ’em most. I ain’t—never—felt—as ef I’d orter complain. But—thar—was—cats—enough. I might a hed—that—much.”
“You kin git another cat, Ann. Mis’ Maxwell’s got some real smart kittens.”
“I don’t want any of Mis’ Maxwell’s kittens; I don’t never want any other cat.”
“P’rhaps yourn will come back.”
“No, he won’t. I’ll never see him agin. I’ve felt jest that way about it from the first.”
“Hark! I declar’ I thought I heard a cat mew somewhar! But I guess I didn’t. Well, I’m sorry, Ann. Why, Ann Millet, whar’s your squashes?”
“I throwed ’em away out in the field. Willy can’t hev none of ’em now, an’ I don’t keer about ’em myself.”
Mrs. Stone looked at her in horror. When she got home she told her daughter that Ann Millet was in a dreadful state of mind, and she thought the minister ought to see her.
The next day the minister called on her. He did not find her so outspoken; her awe of him restrained her. Still, Ann Millet was for the time a wicked, rebellious old woman.
In the course of the call a rap came at the kitchen door.
“Nothin’ but a little gal with a Malty cat,” said she. “The children hev got wind of my losin’ Willy, an’ they mean it all right, but it seem as ef I should fly! They keep comin’ and bringin’ cats. They’ll find a cat that they think mebbe is Willy, an’ so they bring him to show me. They’ve brought Malty and white cats, an’ cats all Malty. They’ve brought yaller cats, an’ black, an’ there wa’n’t one of ’em looked like Willy. Then they’ve brought kittens that they knowed wa’n’t Willy, but they thought mebbe I’d like ’em instead of him. They mean all right, I know; they’re real tender-hearted; but it ’most kills me. Why, they brought me two little kittens that hain’t got their eyes open jest before you came. They was striped and white, an’ they said they thought they’d grow up to look like Willy.”
He went away without saying much of anything; he was so afraid that what he said might be out of proportion to the demands of the case.
Going out the door, he stopped and listened a minute; he thought he heard a cat mew. Then he concluded he was mistaken, and went on. He watched eagerly for Ann the next meeting night, but she did not come.
The day after the meeting, she had occasion to go down cellar for something. The cellar stairs led up to the front part of the house. Ann went through her chilly sitting-room, and opened the cellar door, which was in the front entry. There was a quick rush from the gloom below, and Willy flew up the cellar stairs.
“Lor’ sakes!” said Ann, with a white shocked face. “He has been down there all the while. Now I remember. He followed me when I came through here to git my cloak that meetin’ night, an’ he wanted to go down cellar, an’ I let him. Lor’ sakes!”
She went back into the kitchen, her knees trembling. She poured out a saucer of milk, and watched Willy hungrily lapping. He did not look as if he had suffered, though he had been in the cellar a week.
Ann watched him, the white, awed look still on her face.
“I s’pose he mewed an’ I didn’t hear him. Thar he was all the time, jest whar I put him; an’ me a-blamin’ of the Lord an’ puttin’ of it on him. I’ve been an awful wicked woman. I ain’t been to meetin’, an’ I’ve talked, an’—them squashes I threw away. It’s been so warm they ain’t froze, an’ I don’t deserve it. I hadn’t orter hev one of ’em; I hadn’t orter hev anything. I’d orter offer up Willy. Lor’ sakes, think of me a-sayin’ what I did, an’ him down cellar!”
That afternoon Mrs. Stone saw Ann slowly and painfully bringing in squashes one at a time. The next meeting night Ann was in her place. After meeting, the minister hurried out of his desk to speak to her. When she looked up at him, her old cheeks were flushing.
“The cat has come back,” said Ann.
THE KITTENS’ FRIGHT.
_Action Poem._
Little Kitty Cotton-tail [1]Rubbed her sleepy eyes; [2]Went out for a morning walk— [3]Stared in wild surprise!
“_Meaow!_” cried Kitty Cotton-tail, To her sister calling; [4]“Poppy, Poppy, let us hide! [5]See, the sky is falling!”
[6]Cotton-tail and Poppy ran Down the yard together; Baby Jimbo met, and stopped To talk about the weather.
“_Meaow!_” said Kitty Cotton-tail; “_Meaow!_” said Baby Jimbo; [7]So they all ran on again, With their arms akimbo.
[8]Mother Tortoise-shell they met: “What means this?” she cried. [9]“Skies are falling,” answered they; [10]“Come with us and hide!”
[11]Mother Tortoise-shell was wise, And her speech was slow; [12]“Foolish little cats!” she said— “_That_ is only snow!”
DIRECTIONS.
[Footnote 1: Pass hands over eyes as if just awakening.]
[Footnote 2: Extend hands at right angles to chest, and move them to and fro.]
[Footnote 3: Hand by side, head erect, and look straight in front, as if astonished at something.]
[Footnote 4: Beckon with finger, and nod head, as if calling in haste.]
[Footnote 5: Raise hands and arms vertically, and then, with hands at right angles to arms, lower them quickly.]
[Footnote 6: Move hands quickly to right.]
[Footnote 7: Point as if directing attention to the three kittens running to right.]
[Footnote 8: Raise forefinger of right hand, and gesticulate as if to emphasize.]
[Footnote 9: Imitate action 5.]
[Footnote 10: Imitate action 4.]
[Footnote 11: Imitate action 8.]
[Footnote 12: Shake head, and speak very deliberately.]
THE WARNING
[Music:
Good morning, Mister Mouse; We’ve nothing for you here. You’d better run away, For Kitty Cat is near! Run! run! run! run!]
MY CAT.
CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.
My pretty cat to my heart I hold, My heart ever warm to her; Let me look in thine eyes of agate and gold; Thy claws keep sheathed in fur.
My finger strokes thy head, and thrills Thy back that arches higher; My touch with quivering rapture fills Thy veins’ electric fire.
I dream of my love; her eyes like thine, Profound and cold, sweet cat of mine, My soul like dart-wounds fret.
A subtle air, a deadly sweet Breathes round her, and from head to feet Envelopes my brunette.
CAT-EGORICAL COURTSHIP.
I sat one night beside a blue-eyed girl— The fire was out, and so, too, was her mother; A feeble flame around the lamp did curl Making faint shadows, blending in each other. ’Twas nearly twelve o’clock, too, in November. She had a shawl on also, I remember. Well, I had been to see her every night For thirteen days, and had a sneaking notion To pop the question, thinking all was right, And once or twice had made an awkward motion To take her hand, and stammered, coughed, and stuttered, But somehow nothing to the point had uttered. I thought this chance too good now to be lost; I hitched my chair up pretty close beside her, Drew a long breath, and then my legs I crossed, Bent over, sighed, and for five minutes eyed her. She looked as if she knew what next was coming, And with her foot upon the floor was drumming. I didn’t know how to begin or where— I couldn’t speak; the words were always choking, I scarce could move—I seemed tied in my chair— I hardly breathed—’twas awful provoking; The perspiration from each pore was oozing, My heart and brain and limbs their power seemed losing. At length I saw a brindled tabby-cat Walk purring up, inviting me to pat her; An idea came, electric-like at that— My doubts, like summer clouds, began to scatter; I seized on tabby, though a scratch she gave me, And said, “Come, Puss, ask Mary if she’ll have me?” ’Twas done at once—the murder now was out; The thing was all explained in half a minute; She blushed, and, turning pussy round about, Said, “Pussy, tell him, yes!” Her foot was in it! The cat had thus saved me my category. And here’s the catastrophe of my story.
TOMMIE.
The elephant has greatness, The little pug has fame, The cat they call just Tommie, But he gets there just the same.
HODGE, THE CAT.
SUSAN COOLIDGE.
Burly and big his books among Good Samuel Johnson sat, With frowning brows and wig askew, His snuff-strewn waistcoat far from new; So stern and menacing his air That neither “Black Sam” nor the maid To knock or interrupt him dare— Yet close beside him, unafraid, Sat Hodge, the cat.
“This participle,” the Doctor wrote, “The modern scholar cavils at, But”—even as he penned the word A soft protesting note was heard. The Doctor fumbled with his pen, The dawning thought took wings and flew, The sound repeated came again— It was a faint reminding “Mew!” From Hodge, the cat.
“Poor pussy!” said the learned man, Giving the glossy fur a pat, “It is your dinner time, I know, And, well, perhaps I ought to go; For if Sam every day were sent Off from his work your fish to buy, Why—men are men—he might resent, And starve or kick you on the sly— Eh! Hodge, my cat?”
The dictionary was laid down— The Doctor tied his vast cravat, And down the buzzing street he strode, Taking an often-trodden road, And halted at a well-known stall; “Fishmonger,” spoke the Doctor, gruff, “Give me six oysters—that is all; Hodge knows when he has had enough— Hodge is my cat.”
Then home; Puss dined, and while in sleep He chased a visionary rat, His master sat him down again, Rewrote his page, renibbed his pen; Each I was dotted, each T was crossed; He labored on for all to read, Nor deemed that time was waste or lost Spent in supplying the small need Of Hodge, the cat.
That dear old Doctor! Fierce of mien, Untidy, arbitrary, fat, What gentle thoughts his name enfold! So generous of his scanty gold, So quick to love, so hot to scorn, Kind to all sufferers under heaven— A tenderer despot ne’er was born; His big heart held a corner even For Hodge, the cat.
PUSSY AND THE MICE.
Some little mice sat in a barn to spin; Pussy came by and popped his head within; “Shall I come in, and bite your threads right off?” “Oh, no! kind sir, you’ll snap, instead, our heads all off!”
BAD PETER, BAD JOE.
I suppose you’ve heard tell of those frolicsome kittens Who covered their paws with some bright woolen mittens, And behaved so politely in every way. Well, we’ll never mind them, for they died long ago. And I now want to tell you of Peter and Joe, Two troublesome kittens who live at Herne Bay!
They are always in mischief, and leave nothing alone! Run away with my knitting or dear doggie’s bone! Roll over and over the clean kitchen table, Climb up to the very tip top of the stairs, Then race to the bottom as mad as wild hares, Rush out to the garden and hide in the stable.
You never can catch them unless they are sleeping, And e’en when they scratch you they don’t mind your weeping; But stare at you boldly and stiffen their tails, These very sad kittens, bad Peter! bad Joe! And the worst of it is, one never can know Any way to improve them, for every plan fails!
There are two little boys just like Peter and Joe, For they’re always in mischief wherever they go. Till the people say, “O what a bother they are!” No! I won’t print their names, for perhaps they’ll be good; Perhaps behave, for the future, as gentlemen should; So instead of their names, why, I’ll put a big X.
Yes! and if very soon they’re behaving no better, Why, their names _must_ be printed—every letter.
* * * * *
What is it that looks like a cat, walks like a cat, but isn’t a cat? _A kitten._
THE KIND BOY.
MRS. FREDERICK W. PENDER.
_Written especially for this book._
The boy who strives To honest be, And shows a dog Or cat that he Will be their friend, In want or woe, Why _that’s_ the boy I honor so.
He never tries By act to do What oft will make Some kitten mew; But he defends Her with his might And takes a stand That’s brave and right.
To see a creature Suffer much From some rude hand His heart will touch; And he will shun A wicked mate Who tortures pets For pleasures’ sake.
In all this land, How grand ’twould be A mighty band Of boys to see Who make a point At home or play To treat all pets In kindly way.
A bird or dog A horse or cat, Will grateful be For kindly pat In friendly way; And thus you’ll do Some good each day, I know ’tis true.
Then, too, a boy With heart so warm Will nobler grow As years roll on; And his strong arm Will oft be sought To check some wrong That mischief wrought.
LITTLE PUSSY.
TAYLOR.
I like little pussy, her coat is so warm, And if I don’t hurt her she’ll do me no harm; So I’ll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, But pussy and I very gently will play.
THE KITTEN AND THE FALLING LEAVES.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
See the kitten on the wall,[1] Sporting with the leaves that fall[2] Withered leaves—one, two and three—[3] From the lofty elder-tree![4]
Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair,[5] Eddying round and round, they sink[6] Softly, softly. One might think, From the motions that are made,[6] Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or fairy hither tending,[7] To this lower world descending,[8] Each invisible and mute,[9] In his wavering parachute.[10]
But the kitten, how she starts,[1] Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts![11] First at one and then its fellow,[12] Just as light and just as yellow: There are many now—now one;[13] Now they stop, and there are none.[14]
What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire![15] With a tiger-leap half-way Now she meets the coming prey,[16] Lets it go as fast,[17] and then Has it in her power again;[16] Now she works with three or four,[18] Like an Indian conjurer; Quick as he in feats of art,[19] Far beyond in joy of heart.[20] Were her antics played in the eye Of a thousand standers-by,[21] Clapping hands with shout and stare,[22] What would little Tabby care[1] For the plaudits of the crowd,[22] Over-happy to be proud, Over-wealthy in the treasure[23] Of her own exceeding pleasure![20]
DIRECTIONS.
BY BERTHA L. COLBURN.
[From “Graded Physical Exercises,” by permission of the Publishers.]
[Imagine that you really see the kitten playing with the falling leaves; then, as you point to her and illustrate her movements, your gestures will be natural and expressive instead of awkward and mechanical.]
[Footnote 1: Point to right.]
[Footnote 2: Same, with circular movement of hand.]
[Footnote 3: Point to three leaves in same direction but slightly different places.]
[Footnote 4: Point higher.]
[Footnote 5: Raise arms front to shoulder level and carry outward to half sides, turning palms upward.]
[Footnote 6: Turn palms down, and move arms in circles, lowering slowly.]
[Footnote 7: Arms extended at front shoulder level, palms up.]
[Footnote 8: Turn palms, and lower to low front.]
[Footnote 9: Peer forward.]
[Footnote 10: Extend arms at front shoulder level, palms down, and wave hands slightly to sides.]
[Footnote 11: Bend forward; extend arms; move hands downward, and give leaping movement with arms.]
[Footnote 12: Point left, then right.]
[Footnote 13: Point outward with both hands; lower right.]
[Footnote 14: Lower left.]
[Footnote 15: Look up eagerly.]
[Footnote 16: Give leaping movement with arms, and close hands.]
[Footnote 17: Open hands.]
[Footnote 18: Movement of leaping and catching leaves.]
[Footnote 19: Carry left arm out to half side mid line, palm up.]
[Footnote 20: Clasp hands joyously.]
[Footnote 21: Carry both arms out to mid line at half sides, palms up.]
[Footnote 22: Clap hands.]
[Footnote 23: Lift forearms to mid line at half sides, palms up.]
* * * * *
What does a cat have that no other animal has? _Kittens._
DE BLACK CAT CROSSED HIS LUCK.
J.D. CORROTHERS.
[From “The Black Cat Club,” by special permission.]
O de Black Cat cotch ole Sambo Lee, As he come home f’om a jamboree! De cat sot up in a juniper tree, Shakin’ ob his sides wid glee. De moon was sailin’ oberhead— Sam’s h’aht felt lak a lump o’ lead. Black Cat grinned an’ wonk one eye, Licked his paws an’ gib a sigh, An’ den he cried: “Me-ow, me-ow— Upon ma soul ah’m got you now! Fall down an’ pray, po’ cullud man, Foh de ole Black Cat done call yo’ han’.”
Sam los’ his job de very nex’ day; An’ when he went to git his pay, Got bit by a po’ man’s dog— Policeman beat him wid his log— Got arrested, put in jail— Had to hustle hahd foh bail— Lost his lawsuit, sprained his jaw Wranglin’ wid his mother-in-law— Lost his best ob lady lubs— Got knocked out wid de boxin’-glubs— Got hel’ up an’ lost his roll— Robber almose took his soul! Sam went to de hospital— Three weeks passed ’fo’ he got well. Played de races—got broke flat; An’ all because ob dat Black Cat!
Den to de cunjah-man Sam sped, An’ dis am whut de cunjah-man said: “Black Cat am a pow’ful man; Ruinin’ mo’tals am his plan. Ole Satan an’ de ’Riginal Sin Am de daddy an’ mammy o’ him. He’s got nine hundred an’ ninety-nine libes— Nineteen thousan’ an’ ninety-nine wibes— He’s kin to cholera an’ allied To smallpox on de mammy’s side; An’ all de ebils on de earf Stahted at de Black Cat’s birf!— Jes’ stop an’ die right whah you’s at, Ef yo’ luck bin crossed by de ole Black Cat!”
An’ den Sam read in history Dat a cat crossed Pharaoh by de see, An’ burried him, as sho’s you bo’n, Too deep to heah ole Gabriel’s ho’n! An’ dat de cat crossed Jonah once, An’ made him ack a regular dunce. Crossed Bonaparte at Waterloo, An’ got Jeems Blaine defeated, too. “Oh, Laud a-mussy now on me!” Cried Sam, “an’ on his history!” An’ den Sam went an’ killed de cat— Swo’e he’d make an end o’ dat:— Burried him in de light o’ de moon, Wid a rabbit’s-foot an’ a silver spoon. But de Black Cat riz, an’ swallered him whole— Bu’nt his house an’ took his soul!
* * * * *
“I know where there is a catbird’s nest,” said Jack, as he came in to dinner, “and it’s full of young ones.”
“Let me see,” shouted wee Bessie. “I want to see the kitty birds.”
BARON GRIMALKIN’S DEATH.
_A Parody._
WILL M. CARLTON.
O’er a low barn, the setting sun Had thrown its latest ray, Where, in his last strong agony, A dying tom-cat lay. One who had caught full many a mouse, By pantry, barn, and shelf, But now, by unrelenting Death, At last was caught himself.
“They come around me here, and say My days of life are o’er! That I shall snoop in pans of milk, And scratch and fight no more. They come, and to my whiskers dare Tell me now, that I, The oldest tom-cat on the place! That I? y-o-w! y-o-w! must die.
“And what is death? I’ve braved him oft, Before the poker’s thrust; I’ve fought full many a cat and dog, For many a bone and crust; I’ve met him, faced him, scorned him, When the fight was raging hot! If he comes here I’ll scratch his eyes, Defy and fear him not.
“Ho! sound the signal from the barn, And raise a mighty din! Go round to every house and farm, And call each tom-cat in; Away, and do my bidding, now, My every order mind! Bring hither every rat and mouse That you can catch or find!”
A hundred cats were busy then; A feast of rats was spread; And everything was done in haste As the old cat had said; While, through a crack, the rising moon Lit up the novel scene, And shone on poor old Thomas cat Of sad but gritty mien.
Soon hurrying through the great barn door The neighboring pussies came; Some black, some white, some grizzly gray Some wild, and others tame. They gathered quickly round the feast, Each sitting firm and straight; While, at their head, the dying cat, With tail curled round him, sat.
“Let every one be filled, my cats; Eat all you can, to-night! And then, when we have done our feast, We’ll have a glorious fight! Are ye all there, my Thomas cats; Mine eyes are waxing dim; Now, wash your faces, bristle up, And get in fighting trim.
“Ye’re there, and yet I see ye not— Come, clinch together, now, And let me hear you scratch and fight; We’ll have a glorious row! I hear it faintly; louder yet! What clogs my breath, I say? Up, all, and scratch, and fight and yawl, And scare grim Death away!”
Teeth bit with teeth, cat fought with cat, And rose a deafening yawl, And scared the horses in that barn, And made the cattle bawl! “Ho! cravens, do ye fear him? Slaves, traitors, have ye flown? Ho, tom-cats, have ye left me, To meet him here alone?
“But I defy him! Let him come!” Down came his sharp, old claws; And rage and fury grimly clashed, Within his teeth and jaws; And with his staring, yellow eyes Protruding from his head, There, on a bunch of barley straw, Lay the old rascal, dead!
LITTLE KITTY.
_Action Poem._