CHAPTER III

A SURPRISING CHANGE

Last night I thought I was in a queer place, but upon my word, to-night I am in a queerer; and I don't believe that in Boston there is a more puzzled or confused little cat than I am. Here I lie, curled up in a heap of soft, white fur and pink silk—I think it is an old opera cloak—that is carefully arranged in a big armchair near the bed where sleeps a pale, pretty little girl. I was the last thing that her eyes rested on before she went to sleep, and she wished me to be the first object before her when she awoke.

There is a dull fire burning in the grate with a wire guard before it. One of the windows is open, and soon the fire will go out and the room will be quite cold, but I won't mind it, wrapped as I am in this soft cloak.

Fixing my eyes on the few red coals, I am thinking over the events of the day. Let me begin from the first, for whenever we go out and come in again, my mother says, “Please tell me everything you have done since you left me,” so that she has got her kittens in the habit of relating things, and thinking them over in a orderly way.

Last night I went to sleep in the big room in the Cats' Home. I hadn't a very comfortable night of course, but still I slept a good deal, and whenever I woke with a start I was glad to find myself in a place where no one could chase me.

Early in the morning I went out in the roof-garden. It was rather hard for the kittens to get out, for two old cats stationed themselves each side of the swinging door and boxed the ears of every kitten that passed. One boxed the right side, and one the left, but after it was over we didn't mind it much.

The most of us drank our milk out there. Such nice big dishes of it, the woman called “Mercy” brought to us.

As soon as breakfast time was over, we began to have callers—mostly ladies and children. Some wanted to find an old cat, some to find a new cat, some to get rid of a cat, some to give money to the cats; but they all wanted to see us.

It was very interesting to watch the actions of the pussies. They would look narrowly at the visitors. Then if they liked a lady or a child, they would circle round that particular person, and beg to be taken away.

I was sitting apart, watching the various groups about the big room, when a little girl came right up to the corner where I was alone.

“Here is a lovely, little pussy,” she said in a sympathetic voice. “Pussy, don't you want to be adopted?”

“Meow!” I said doubtfully, for every minute I was hoping that Mrs. Darley would appear.

“Oh, mamma, mamma!” said the little girl, “I love this pussy with the black splash on her face. Mayn't I have her?”

A very pretty lady came up and looked at me kindly. “Certainly, Mary, if you are able to get her. There must be some good blood in her. See how long her fur is. I will speak to the secretary about her,” and she went away.

The little girl remained, and continued to stroke and caress me. I did not respond very much. I was uneasy and troubled.

Soon her mamma came back. “Yes, Mary, you may have her, if no one claims her, but the secretary thinks from her actions that she has been a pet cat, so we had better give the owner a chance of finding her.”

“Oh, mamma, I want this kitty, I want this kitty,” said the little girl longingly. “Her little sorry face just suits me. I think I could make her happy,” and she took me in her arms and petted me, until, for shame's sake, I had to purr a little, and rub my head against her.

Her mother stood looking at her smilingly. Then another person came along, a taller person, and stood gazing at us over her shoulder.

I gave a loud and joyful meow, and sprang forward. That was Mrs. Darley's lovely face.

Oh! how glad I was to see her! I went round and round her. I rubbed my body against her. I sprang on her shoulder. I just burrowed in the fur collar of her coat, till she laughed and put me down.

“Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Darley!” said the mother of the little girl.

“Why—Mrs. Denville!” exclaimed Mrs. Darley in surprise, “I did not see you. I was so taken up with my kitten. I lost her yesterday.”

Little Mary's face was a study. She was trying hard not to be disappointed, but, in spite of herself, she could not help it.

“Oh, mamma, mamma,” she said in an undertone, “I have lost my kitty.”

Her mother looked at her, in the way my mother looks at her kittens when they want something and she is afraid she can't get it for them.

Then this lady—this Mrs. Denville—turned to my dear mistress. “This is my daughter, Mary,” she said. “Your arrival has dashed her hopes to the ground. She was hoping to become the proud possessor of this kitten.”

“Was she?” replied Mrs. Darley in her good-humored way. “Come here, my dear, and shake hands with me. You are a kind little girl. I can see by your eyes. Now, suppose I were to give you this kitty?”

Mary's eyes danced with joy, but horror entered into my soul.

“You see,” said Mrs. Darley, caressing my ears as she spoke, “I have so many cats. I can easily spare one, but I am rather particular about my pussies. I only give them to persons who will love them and treat them sensibly. Now, I have heard of you and your love for animals, and I am sure a cat would do well in your hands, so I will give you my young Black-Face, if you like.”

Little Mary came slowly up to Mrs. Darley, and laid a hand on her arm. “If you give me that kitty,” she said solemnly, “and I don't take good care of it, I hope the Lord will punish me.”

Mrs. Darley smiled. “I don't think that there is any danger of your ill-treating an animal. Well, now I must go. I am glad that my wandering kitten was brought here. What a blessed thing it is, that there is this refuge for lost animals.”

“And are you not going to take away a cat?” asked Mary gently.

“I don't think so,” replied Mrs. Darley. “I have four at home. I suppose, though, I could take one, for five is my limit. I never keep more than that. Mercy,” she said to the woman who had just come into the room, “have you any hopeless cases?”

“Yes, ma'am,” said the woman, “there's that Jane,” and she pointed to a gray cat in the corner. “She's got to be killed with the old cats, I think. She's ugly looking, and she's lame, and she won't take any trouble to make herself agreeable to strangers, and she gives the young kittens a dreadful time of it. She don't enjoy life herself, and she won't let any one else enjoy it.”

“Jane,” said Mrs. Darley, “come here.”

Jane would not come.

“Poor Jane,” said Mrs. Darley. “I wonder if I could soften that unhappy face. Mercy, I'll try her. Just put her in a basket, and I will take her home—now good-bye, Black-Face.”

I was in a whirl of confused emotions. My dear mistress was going to leave me, and I was helpless. I was not strong enough to make her take me with her. I should never again see my dear father and mother and brother and sister. It seemed to me that my heart was breaking.

“Cheer up, Black-Face,” whispered Mrs. Darley, for I had climbed on her shoulder, and had my head close against her face. “Cheer up. Partings are hard to bear, both for cats and human beings, but they are sometimes for our good. You will have a lovely home with that dear child—Good-bye.”

She hugged me to her for a minute, then she resolutely put me down, and though I ran and cried after her, Mary and her mother held me back. Mrs. Darley went out of the room without me, and with that horrible Jane.

I was almost a crazy little cat, and Mary's eyes filled with tears as she listened to my cries.

“Perhaps, mamma,” she said, “we ought not to keep her.”

“She will get over her trouble,” her mother replied; “try her for a few days.”

They asked for another basket, and Mercy brought one, and I was put in it and carried out-of-doors.

Mrs. Denville's carriage was waiting for them, and we got in and were driven to their home—and let me think again how surprised I was when I found where their home is—scarcely a stone's throw from Mrs. Darley's. Mrs. Darley is on Mount Vernon Street, the Denvilles are on Beacon Street.

I know the whole neighborhood, and as soon as we arrived in the Denvilles' house, and little Mary took me up to her room and let me look out the window I was overcome with joy. Why, I could run home any day, and I began to be comforted.

“Now, Pussy,” said Mary taking me on her lap, and sitting down by the window, “I want to talk to you. I am going to tell you all about myself, and I want you to listen attentively. My name is Mary Denville, and I am not a very strong little girl. I have a very weak back.”

“Oh meow! meow! just like my mother,” I interrupted.

Mary smiled. “I see you understand me. To continue, Pussy, my father is what is called a banker. He was born in Maine, but he went to California as a young man. He married there, and we lived there until a few years ago, he and I, and dear mamma. Then we came 'East' as Californians say, for I had spinal disease, and I had to be taken to New York to see some clever doctors. Then I got better, and mamma took me to Europe. Papa bought this house, and when we came home we established ourselves here. Do you think you will like me, Pussy?”

Her little face was so sweet and so wistful that I could not help saying, “Meow!” very gently to her.

She stroked me, and turned my head toward the window and pointed out nice things on the Common opposite us. “You see, this is a beautiful situation for a home,” Mary went on, half to herself, half to me. “The snow has gone now, and one can see the grass and the dear little buds coming on the trees. Can you find that squirrel away over there on the tree branch, Pussy? His bright eyes are on me. All through the winter I fed him with nice nuts, and he is grateful. Some day I will carry you down to see him, but you must not chase him, Pussy.”

She talked to me a long time about the Common, and the people on it—it was noon, and a great many were hurrying up to the hill to get their lunch—until at last some one opened the door.

“Lunch is ready, Miss Mary,” I heard some one say, and looking round I saw an old woman.

“Very well, nurse,” replied my little mistress, and getting up, she slipped me in the chair by the window.

“I do not dare to take you down-stairs so soon, Black-Face, for you might run away, but I will bring you up something nice.”

I sat by the window, and watched the people outside, and dozed a while, until Mary came back with a tray for me. I jumped up then, and looked at it. It contained cream toast, a slice of chicken, and a saucer of milk.

I had a very nice lunch, then Mary said, “Now, what shall I do with you? My governess comes at three to give me some lessons. Would you like to go in the school-room, or would you rather stay here?”

I did not want to be left alone, so I mewed round her feet, and she took me up and carried me to another room.

There was a fire in it, and a table with books on it and some straight-backed chairs. I lay down on the fur rug by the grate, and soon went fast asleep, while Mary and a tall young lady talked about things that I did not in the least understand.

So our afternoon passed, then came dinner. I was dreadfully tired and sleepy by this time, and fell to nodding over my plate of turkey bones.

Soon after dinner, Mary's old nurse put her to bed. First, though, the little girl chose the most comfortable chair in the room for me, drew it close to her bed and wrapped me in this cloak. Here I lie, curled up comfortably, half asleep and half awake, and, as I say, very puzzled and confused. Am I going to be happy here, away from my parents? What shall I do to amuse myself all day? There is not another cat in sight. I thought I heard dogs in the basement. I smelt them, anyway. I hate dogs. Well, I must go to sleep. It won't do any good to lie awake bothering about the future. Oh, how comfortable I am! My poor old mother—I wish she could have had a nice cloak like this to sleep on, when she was a poor homeless cat, crouching in the shelter of a fence to keep herself from the cold rain. Why can't all cats have nice homes? Aren't there enough homes to go round? I saw a cat on the Common this afternoon—very thin, and dirty, and skulking from tree to tree looking for scraps. Why am I wrapped in a fur cloak, and why is she out in the cold? Am I a better cat than she is? Probably not. I am called a naughty kitten. My brain is quite tired from thinking about things. I will go to sleep.