Part 2

Dixie was now a happy little cat. She perched herself on the piazza railing and ran up the apple trees and played with the beetles and grasshoppers as much as ever she chose. When she wanted to come into the house, she jumped up on the sill of the piazza window, and there was always some one ready to let her in. When she ate her dinner, no other cat was there to growl at her, for was she not the one and only kitten of the house?

Of course the stranger cats had noticed what was going on, and sometimes they tried to come in and get a taste of the good things that smelled so tempting; but this Dixie would never permit. She did not growl or spit, but if any other kitten dared to take bite or sup from her dish, then a resolute black paw shot out quick as an arrow and struck the intruder with a hard little cuff that sent her scampering out of the door. Once or twice some one of the stranger cats slipped in first and emptied the saucer. Then Dixie was so angry that she dashed out of doors like a little black whirlwind, ran up the path toward the gate, and sat down with her back to the house. She swished her tail angrily and occasionally looked back over her shoulder reproachfully at Lady and Somebody Else, who had permitted such cruel things to happen.

Room after room, Dixie went over the house. She examined every foot of the cellar, for she hoped to find a mouse or two there. Early one morning she ventured upstairs for the first time. It was all new and strange and quiet, and Lady was nowhere to be seen. Dixie gave a faint timid mew, which meant, “I am lonesome and frightened. Lady, where are you?” Lady called, “Come, Dixie,” and Dixie sprang upon the great bed, the happiest little cat in the city. When Mistress came in, she often saw her kitten lying on the sofa or in Lady’s lap, or running about from one room to another, and she said, “You know she is only a barn cat, and she has never been taught how to behave. She may break things or get into the food.” But Dixie had pretty clear notions in her small head of how kittens should act, and she was a charming little visitor. Of course she made a few mistakes. One day Somebody Else found her on a shelf in the pantry having a fine time with a dish of corn. Dixie glanced at her with a look that seemed to say, “Of course this is all right, isn’t it?” and went on eating. Somebody Else set her down on the floor, saying, “No, Dixie, you must not touch that”; and Dixie understood that, no matter how tempting food might look, she must not touch it unless it was given to her. She learned her lesson so well that never again did she meddle with anything eatable, not even when she was shut into the storeroom by mistake one day and left there for half an hour. Here were corn and fish and milk, all on low shelves in plain view, and it was dinner-time; but not one mouthful did she take. When People sat down to the table, Dixie curled herself up on a cushion as if this business of eating was a matter with which she had nothing to do. Just once she broke through her rule of good behavior. There were guests at the table. They were busy talking, and it must have seemed a long, long time for a hungry kitten to wait for her supper. One of the guests had just said, “How well your cat behaves at meal-times,” and Lady was replying, “Yes, she never pays the least attention to us when we are eating,” when, behold, an impatient little cat made one bound to the sideboard and prepared for another to the table. This, however, was the only time that she ever did such a thing; and there are not many People who have not made at least one mistake.

DIXIE was very happy, but even the happiest little cat has her troubles, and Dixie had one great grief and disappointment. Every evening, just as she was having the most delightful nap that could be imagined, Lady began to straighten out the books and papers, push the chairs back, and fasten the windows. Dixie watched all this with her bright, round eyes, for she knew that the next thing would be, “Come, Dixie, time to go to bed”; and then she would be put out of the door and have to go back to the barn to sleep. It seemed very hard that while the soft cushion was to be there alone all night long, she could not be permitted to use it; but Lady always said, “No, Dixie, you must run home now”; and one night when it was snowing fast, Lady put on some rubber boots and carried her over to the hole in the barn door rather than let her lie on that warm cushion all night.

This, then, was Dixie’s one trouble, for a cat’s home is where her bed is, and Dixie did so want to make her home with Lady and not in that barn. The trouble became worse and worse, for Dixie was going to have some kittens of her own, and where should she make a cosy nest for them? She could not bear to have them in the barn, for she did not feel that she was a barn cat any longer, she was a house cat, even if she did have to go to the barn to sleep. In every pretty coaxing way that she knew she begged Lady to let her stay in the house. She picked out one corner after another that she thought would be just the place for baby kittens. One was on the padded cover of a shirt-waist box in Lady’s room. Another was in the deep drawer of an old-fashioned bureau that chanced to be left open a few minutes. Her favorite place, however, was in a big, round basket. She learned to push the cover off with her paw, and she would cuddle herself down in a little ring and look up at Lady pleadingly. “No, Dixie,” was always the answer to her begging, “you must not stay there.” She lay on the sofa much of the time. If Lady was near her, all was well; but when Lady went anywhere else, Dixie followed. When Lady sat down, Dixie seated herself directly in front of her, and made plaintive little moans and gazed straight up into her eyes so beseechingly that more than once Lady slipped out of sight and went away from the house rather than to have to say no again and again.

“She must think it is pretty hard,” said Somebody Else, “to be petted as long as everything goes smoothly, and then turned out of doors as soon as she is in trouble.”

“But,” replied Lady, “you must remember that she is not our cat. She is a dear little visitor, but she belongs to Master and Mistress, and we must not let her make this her home.”

Dixie seemed to understand that they were talking about her, and she pleaded more earnestly than ever. When Lady sat down upon the sofa, Dixie would snuggle up beside her as close as possible, she would touch Lady’s fingers with the tip of her tiny red tongue, she would purr and look up into Lady’s face more and more coaxingly every day. Still Lady said, “No, Dixie, the barn is your home, and you must make a nest there for your kittens.” She even carried Dixie over to the barn two or three times, but the poor little cat always hurried back again.

At length there came a day when Dixie was plainly suffering. “She must go to the barn,” declared Lady. “Perhaps if I pull down the shade of the piazza window, she will think we are away and will go back.” She pulled the shade down, but Dixie did not go; she only crouched down in the corner of the piazza nearest the window, and sat there looking sick and unhappy.

Lady was almost as unhappy. She wandered from one room to another, restless and miserable. Every few minutes she came back to the sitting-room, pulled the curtain aside softly, and peeped out; and every time she saw the poor little suffering cat curled up in the corner. At last she said, “I’ll carry her over once more, and perhaps when she is once there she will be willing to stay.”

Lady started to carry her over; but close to the door lay a big yellow cat. He crouched low, almost as if he was about to spring, and little Dixie trembled and clung fast to Lady. Then Lady carried her straight home and into the house. “I simply won’t let any animal be so miserable and frightened,” she declared. “Master is at his office and Mistress has a house full of company, so there’s no one to ask; but that poor little kitten shan’t suffer so, no matter whether she is mine or theirs. I’m going to make you a bed, Dixie,” she continued, “and a comfortable place for the kittens.”

Dixie certainly understood some of this at least, for when Lady hurried down cellar to look for a box and brought excelsior and a piece of blanket from the attic to line it with, Dixie followed, no longer moaning, but watching closely every motion. “We’ll put it into this quiet room off the kitchen,” Lady explained to Dixie; and she lifted the little cat and laid her into the soft, warm nest. Cats are not often willing to let People choose nests for them, but Dixie was happy and grateful, and she lay down at once. Lady made it all still and dark around her and went away for a while. When she came back, there lay Dixie in the nest, and beside her were four of the dearest little kittens. One was yellow, and one was black, and the other two were black and white. They were named then and there. The yellow one was Buttercup, the black one Topsy, and the other two were the Heavenly Twins. Lady brought Dixie some warm milk, and then left her to rest with her four little furry kitty babies.

DIXIE made the dearest little mothercat that was ever seen, and she was as happy as the days were long. At first she thought too much was going on in the small room off the kitchen, and twice she carried her babies off to Lady’s study and picked out a snug, shady corner for them behind the door. Lady carried them back to the little room, and Dixie understood that they must stay there, and she did not take them to the study again. She took the best possible care of her kittens, and taught them all that Mothercat had taught her. She washed them ever so many times a day; though as they grew older, they were so full of fun that if she did not keep fast hold of them with her forepaws, they would insist upon playing with her tail or jumping up to try to catch hold of her whiskers.

As soon as it became warm enough, a big box full of straw was put out of doors for the kittens. Dixie kept close watch of them, and never let them go out of her sight unless Lady or Somebody Else was near. Then she seemed to think that she had a good nurse-maid, and at such times she often ventured to slip away for a bit of freedom and a short run by herself. These many kittens needed more milk than the milkman could spare, so it had to be brought from the grocer’s. Sometimes it was rather late, and then they would all line up on the doorstep, stretch their little red mouths wide open, and call for their breakfast in a language that no one could fail to understand. All day long they played in the sunshine; or if it rained, they paddled their furry paws in the tiny streams of water like so many small children, for they were no more afraid of water than if they had been ducks. They had breakfast and dinner out of doors, but when it was supper-time, they were all invited into the house to drink their milk and have a good romp. They climbed over the chairs and the sofa, and frisked around the legs of the tables. They ran after balls and jumped after strings. They tore up newspapers, and knocked down the shovel and tongs, and sometimes almost burned their tiny noses trying to find out whether the fire in the fireplace was good to play with or not. Topsy was more slender and lithe than the others, and it was great fun for her to squeeze herself under a certain willow footstool. Then her smooth little black paws would dart out and the yellow paws and black and white paws would dart in, and the four kittens would carry on a merry little mock battle together. Sometimes one was tired of play before the others and slipped away to a corner of the sofa to take a nap. Then the others were as full of mischief as a nutshell of meat. One would take her seat on the arm of the sofa and stretch down her paw to give the sleeper a poke. Another would tickle her feet with a wicked little black nose; and sometimes the whole three would pounce upon her and roll over and over her until she gave up all hope of a nap and jumped up to have a paw-to-paw scramble with them. When the fun was over, they were ready to go out of doors to sleep in their box of straw. If it was dark, they slept all night; but if the moon was bright and Lady chanced to look out of her window, she was almost sure to see four little kittens frisking about and having the best time that any one ever dreamed of. Dixie rarely played with them. Indeed, even as a kitten she had hardly ever played, and when Lady had shaken a string or rolled a ball temptingly before her, she had only blinked at it gravely and looked rather surprised that she should be expected to do such undignified acts as jumping at strings or running after balls.

There were other kittens just across the fence, but they belonged to the stranger cats, and Dixie would not allow them on the lawn. One day a tiny gray kitten ventured to slip through the palings to play with Buttercup and Topsy and the Heavenly Twins, and they had a fine time together for a few minutes while Dixie was lying in the sunshine around the corner of the house. Pretty soon she awoke, however, and in two minutes the merry play had come to an end. Dixie went straight up to the stranger kitten and apparently told it to go home as fast as it could go. The stranger kitten stood its ground bravely. It sat up as tall as it could and looked Dixie squarely in the eyes. Dixie lifted up her paw and gave it such a hearty cuff that the little gray kitten really screamed with fright and pain. Then something happened that puzzled Dixie’s brain severely, for Lady came hurrying across the lawn and caught up the terrified little gray kitten. She soothed it till it fell asleep, and she sat quietly with it in her lap till it woke up and was ready to drink some warm milk. Then she put it down gently on the other side of the fence. This was something that Dixie could not understand. Why Lady, her Lady, should be so good to a stranger kitten was certainly a mystery. She had watched it all in amazement and anger, and now she sat down on the grass to think it out. Of course she swished her tail, for she was more than a little jealous and angry. Here was a fine plaything, the kittens thought, and in spite of her little warning growls, they had a great game with it, till finally their mother turned upon them and cuffed the one that chanced to be nearest. So they were all rather unhappy together, and just because of a friendly visit from one little gray kitten.

If Dixie had only known what real sorrow was coming to her, she would have looked upon this trifling annoyance of the visit from the stranger kitten as a very small matter. She had thought it was exceedingly hard when she had been sent to the barn every night instead of being allowed to sleep on the soft cushion in the warm, cosy sitting-room; and she had thought that no little cat was ever in worse straits than she when she was afraid that Lady would not let her make a nest for her kittens in the house; but a far worse trouble was on its way now, and poor Dixie’s little heart would have almost broken if she had known what it was.

OF course Dixie had not been with People so long without learning the meaning of many of the words that they used. She knew “come” and “go,” and “dinner” and “down,” and a number of others; but she did not know “buy” and “house” and “move.” She felt vaguely uneasy, however, for things began to happen that made her restless and nervous. Lady never sat on the piazza now; she was always going about the house and hurrying up and down stairs. Dixie had always fled to the study for quiet whenever too much was going on elsewhere; but now even the study was no refuge, for books were being taken down from the shelves and laid into wooden boxes. Quantities of papers were carefully packed away and great basketfuls were carried down cellar and burned in the furnace. The parlor carpet was taken up, and the room was filled with boxes of books and furniture closely wrapped up in white cloth. Pictures were taken down and set upon the floor against the wall. Much sweeping and cleaning were going on. The worst of it all, however, was when a strange man came and began to pack the china into barrels, and then left the barrels standing in the sitting-room,--her sitting-room, where the sofa with the cushions was, and where the kittens always had their evening frolic.

In all this confusion the kittens were not at all troubled. They thought it was great fun to have the sitting-room full of barrels, and they had the best time of all their lives in jumping from one barrel to another and pulling out bits of the excelsior packing. The little mother, however, was anxious and worried. All cats dislike change and commotion, and this grew worse and worse. She hoped it would soon be over, but it was worse than house-cleaning, and she had thought that was as much as any cat could endure.

At last there came a dreadful day when horses stopped at the gate and strange men went through the house and carried out boxes and barrels and furniture to load into great moving-wagons. Lady was nowhere to be seen, and Dixie fled. When it was dinner-time, she came to the piazza window, but Lady was not there. Somebody Else was not there, and Dixie was an unhappy little cat. After a while, Somebody Else set out a big saucer of fish for her and a big dish of milk for the kittens; but still Lady could not be found. The men had driven off with a load of goods, and Dixie ventured to creep up to Lady’s room. Something of hers might be on the bed, she thought; she would lie down upon it, and maybe Lady would come soon. She went softly up the stairs; but when she came to Lady’s room, it was all bare. The carpet was gone, the furniture was gone; there was nothing lying on the bed, for the bed itself was gone. Then Dixie gave one sad little moan. She was frightened and bewildered. What could have happened, and what was going to happen? She walked slowly downstairs and went out of doors. The kittens were playing in the grass. One of them jumped up and tried to catch her as she went by to persuade her to play with them; but she did not stop till she was in the darkest corner under the barn,--a wretched, despairing little cat. Just at twilight, Somebody Else set out a big dish of milk and another of meat and potatoes. Then she locked the door and went away, and all was dark and still and lonely. The kittens soon went to sleep, but many a time during the evening the little mothercat crept out to look up to the house. There was no light anywhere, not even in Lady’s room, where she had always seen it latest. After a while she went to sleep. Maybe things would be better in the morning; Lady would surely come back to her.

But when morning came, no Lady came with it, and the house was still shut tight. By and by the door was unlocked and opened; but it was a strange man who turned the key, and other strange men followed him. Dixie peeped in through the window. They were painting and papering and doing other things that she had not seen done before, and she jumped down from the window-sill and ran under the barn again. After a little, she heard some one call, “Dixie, Dixie!” and she hurried out. It was not Lady’s voice, but she hoped Lady might be there. It was Mistress. She had asked before what Dixie liked best, and now she had brought out a nice breakfast of it for her. She would have been glad to smooth the little cat’s head and try to comfort her, but Dixie would have nothing to do with any one. Lady had gone away and left her, and she was broken-hearted. She was angry, too, to think that her beloved Lady should have treated her so cruelly. Nevertheless, all that day she watched, and all the next, and the next after that, angry to think that Lady had left her, and still hoping and hoping that she would come back.

At twilight of the third day, something happened, for Lady came back. She came especially to see Dixie kitten. At the first sound of her voice, Dixie jumped joyfully; then she remembered how unkind Lady had been, and when Lady began to smooth the little black head, Dixie slipped out from under her hand and raised up her paw and struck her dear Lady with all her might; then she ran away and hid.

Lady was not angry, for she was one of the People who know how little cats and dogs and birds and horses feel. She understood how grieved and hurt the little kitten was; but there was nothing that she could do to help her just then. It would all have been right and comfortable if she could have explained matters to Dixie, but there was no way of making her understand.

IT was a great pity that Dixie could not have heard and understood the little talk between Lady and Mistress before Lady went to the new house. “Master says you shall have her if you like,” said Mistress. “But I know that he values her,” replied Lady, “and if she will only go back to the barn and be happy, I won’t take her. Suppose I leave her a few days and see if she won’t be friendly with the other cats and live with them comfortably. If she really won’t, then I will come for her.” If Dixie had known of this talk, she would not have been so hurt and angry; but she supposed Lady had abandoned her, and she was miserable. She did not forget, but grew more and more angry as the days passed. Lady came to see her again. Dixie was so glad that she could not help purring for a minute; then she remembered Lady’s unkindness, and she walked away up the path. She sat down with her back to Lady and looked over her shoulder at her reproachfully.

Lady meant to come for Dixie on the following day, but she was called out of town, and it was three weeks before she could set off with a rattan extension-case to get the kitten. When she came to the gate of the lawn, it was almost dark, and Dixie was roaming about close to the house, a lonely little shadow. The People who now lived in the house had been very good to the kittens. The Heavenly Twins had gone to live with a kind-hearted watchman, who wanted them to keep him from being lonely at night; but the other two were living with the People in their old home. “We wanted to be good to Dixie,” said one of the People in the house, “and we tried to pet her. Sometimes after dark, when the children had gone to bed, she would come in and wander about from one room to another. If we paid much attention to her or tried to take her up, she would run out again; but if we let her alone, she would sometimes stay half the evening.”

Buttercup and Topsy were running about and playing as if nothing had happened, for kittens have short memories, and they had quite forgotten Lady. Indeed, they had almost forgotten Dixie, for when kittens grow large, they forget their mothers, and their mothers forget them, too. People who are mothers always love their children, no matter how tall they have grown; but cats cease to care anything about their kittens as soon as the kittens are old enough and big enough to take care of themselves.