Part 7

As the numerous rodents grew and began to take notice, they became quite troublesome to the anxious foster-mother, for they were wild little things, uncommonly healthy and uncommonly restless and rather fierce as well. Time proved however that they were the very best specimens of their kind, their baby coats bright and shining, their slim wee eyes clear, and their little noses alert with the most furious inquisitiveness. It was not long before the boldest of them could climb to the edge of the box on an investigating tour into the attractions of that little surrounding world of theirs, but Maida was ever on the alert, and in a twinkling would seize him and drop him in the box with a bump. Poor little ratlet would look scared to death and rather shaky, but Maida would gently lick him with her tongue, purring in the dulcet tones of a cooing dove, until she had him soothed.

The ratlets grew day by day into more independent and astonishing ways, and Maida's mistress decided that this rather frisky family had better be transferred to more commodious quarters. So the rather unique nursery and household was removed to a large empty room over the stable, where they could have plenty of room and still be confined. Mother-Maida, doubtless feeling that she had troubles enough before, did not appreciate this freedom of a wider range for her lively children, and would have been glad had her mistress been less generous. Now it required double the effort to keep her strange brood from the tempting space about, and her strenuous struggles to restrain them within the prescribed limits of the box were sometimes painful, but always very funny. At times, in a very frenzy at their confinement the small rodents would bound, all in a white streak, one after the other, over the edge of the box and all over the room. Then poor Maida's maternal excitement and her efforts to drive, carry or frighten them back to their home, made pandemonium, the ratlets running helter and skelter in all directions and Maida after them. Catching one, she would jump back into the box with it, leave it there and go for another, but before she could make a capture, the one she had left in the box would be scampering in gay frolic with the others.

This rather serious game for Maida of "in and out" would go on until her nervous system was a wreck and she was utterly exhausted. Finally realizing that her efforts to subdue her riotously indecent family were useless, she would drop breathless to the floor, stretch herself in a streak of sunshine near the box, and survey the incorrigible mites with disgust. No longer pursued, the fun ceased for the youngsters, and they would come to where she was having a little interval of peace, and nip and maul, challenging her into another contest, playing tag up and down her tail, and indulging in other tantalizing pastimes, until even her self-sacrificing, long-suffering patience could no longer endure, and she would indignantly shake every one of them off, spring to her feet with a contemptuous _meow_ of impatience, and seek another place for relief. Then the apparently conscience-stricken little rascals would meekly come, one by one, anxious and conciliatory, humbly begging her notice, scrambling solicitously over her, and by and by the four tired-out white beggars would be sleeping quietly with their sharp little noses snuggled in the soft fur of her body, all love and forgiveness.

Although animal children are generally supposed to be much better behaved and to cause their mothers less anxiety than human children, this poor foster-mother was kept very busy disciplining and training her strangely troublesome family. She truly mothered them, not as adopted aliens, but as the real thing, and taught them the proper things kittens ought to do and ought not to do, with much vigor and many a box on the ear; for generally what the rodents wanted to do, seemed to be just the thing they should _not_ do in the progress of their strange education.

One day the closet door having been left ajar, baby ratlets in their search for mischief, climbed way up to the ceiling and perched on the topmost strip that held the hanging hooks. Maida, on finding them so far above her reach, was painfully distressed, meowing and making the greatest kind of a commotion in trying to scramble up the smooth wall to their rescue, as she thought. The ratlets seemed to be heartlessly indifferent to her anxiety and had to be driven from their lofty roost by the mistress. The first one to land on the floor was grabbed by the enraged cat and given such a shaking that he wobbled about in dizzy unconsciousness for several minutes. The next one she caught with a firm paw, as he was scurrying back to the box, hoping to escape his punishment, and held him tight to the floor, in spite of his whimpering protest, till he was quite still. This one lay for a long time as if dead, but after a while he slowly lifted his giddy, swimming head and crawled patiently and sorrowfully back to his bed, and never again did any of these naughty babies attempt to break this strange law of a strange mother, by climbing in the closet.

Once a window of this room was lowered from the top, just a tiny way for air. Maida's mistress, happening to be in the barn, heard a great meowing and disturbance going on in their room overhead and rushed up to find her beloved cat racing about like mad, apparently frantic with grief and not a ratlet in sight. The lady was very much puzzled over this total disappearance of all four of the ratlets and imagined all sorts of things, even the worst, and started in to investigate. In her search, she happened to glance out of the window and there on the roof were the whole bunch, plainly going mad in their unusual freedom. The weather was splendid and they were all out enjoying it, jumping and running on the separating wall in mad frolic, apparently just for the sake of falling back in somersaults on the roof, scuffling and doing all sorts of nimble acrobatics in reckless stunts, and surely making the most of their glorious holiday in the sunshine. The window was no sooner raised from the bottom, giving Maida a chance, than she dashed out like a flash, plainly determined on revenge. The instant the naughty runaways caught sight of her, they could not get back into the room and their box quickly enough; they raced for their very lives, stumbling and knocking each other over in their eagerness to get there, fairly shivering in their fright. Maida selected one poor pink-eyed, trembling sprinter for a thorough shaking and let the others profit by his sorrowful example, saving herself further exercise.

The ratlets lived to be independent, well-behaved grown-ups, with wonderfully polished and silky coats, owing to their frequent and thorough grooming by their faithful foster-mother, who seemingly never grew weary of her maternal duties or their companionship. They were great successes as rats, though doubtless Maida had her own interior disappointment and cat wonder as to why, with such faithful bringing up, they were not animals of a more comforting nature. Now she has real babies of her own, and this time there is no mistake, for their fur is pure Maltese, so her mother instincts have been allowed legitimate vent. Her alien foster-children have the freedom of the whole country and, owing to their strange adoption and the zeal with which they were brought up in the way good kittens ought to go, they seem irreproachable in behavior.

A MEMORY

One frosty morning, by arguing, reproaching and beguiling in turn, we coaxed from under cover of a heap of rubbish in the alley, one of the dirtiest yellow and white gutter kittens ever seen; one that had been eyeing us timidly and insolently from the safe protection of his smelly hiding place for several days. Gaunt, miserably hungry and shivering with the cold, he did not respond to our overtures of trying to make him a mite happy on Christmas day, with the eagerness one would naturally expect. When he did condescend to come, his steps were very deliberate and he carried himself with a certain sad dignity as if he had found the cold world hopeless, and had shut his young heart against all trust. From his manner it was more to politely oblige us that he came at all, than because he wished a merry Christmas or even our acquaintance.

By dropping our air of patronage and assuming a respectful one, we were finally able to cajole him to the doorstep and at last to the warmth of the kitchen and a saucer of food. Although he was not a bit shy, it was plainly his first introduction into the interior of any house. He was a typical alley kitten, and probably a graceless one, born in the gutter with no pretensions to breeding or even good looks. But with all this, a lover of cats could plainly see that he was not a common "yeller cat" but had a superior strain of blood in his veins from somewhere. Young as he was, it gave him a distinct individuality which impressed us from the very first. His short life had in all likelihood been a hard one; probably he had been abandoned in infancy and obliged to make his own living by depredation, and knew only the cruelty and insult of a homeless alley existence.

There may still be people in the world--civilized people--who do not care for cats, but we, liking all cats and fancying the calm dignity of this one in particular, were at once in hopes he would forsake his back-door haunts and come and live with us as our very own. As he looked wise enough to solve life's problem on almost any lines, we tried to tempt him to think seriously on all the comforts our home afforded and the life of ease and luxury it would bestow. We gave him feasts and promised him all sorts of other good things, if he would only abandon his former dissipated ways and stay with us.

He was always such a very serious cat, never seeming to have a kitten's natural playfulness, not enough to even chase his own tail once in a while as most kittens do. We never could coax him even under the most alluring temptation to be otherwise than grave and tolerant of our levity and as we had our little romps with him we called him in laughing sarcasm, "Jiminy Christmas." We had no idea of giving one so dignified this trifling name permanently, but he so quickly learned to respond to it, and as no other was suggested more appropriate in its place, it was gradually established as the regular name by which he was known.

He surely was a most welcome addition to our household and we tried to make him feel this and to know that we were honored by his stay. Although he was growing fat and beautifully sleek and was most friendly, graciously accepting all that we gave, but giving very little in return, we noticed that he did not seem quite content and at ease, but was restless, as if some previous and neglected affair were on his mind and calling him elsewhere. There was nothing that we could actually complain of, still there was something comforting and permanent that was lacking in his presence. He was good--at least, part of him was good; but we had no idea, as we came to know later, of that other part that was, well--not so good. At the time all we could see was that something was plainly fretting him, something chafing him almost beyond endurance. After we were better acquainted we found that close beneath his gentlemanly exterior lay a veritable wild and vagabond nature, a vagrant ancestral strain that nothing could tame. His queer combination of inheritances was the cause of constant strife in his nature, and the vagrant germ was likely to break out at almost any time into attacks of "spring fever," which would force all ties of the gentlemanly part to the wall and inevitably he would fare forth.

We tried in every way to coax him into contentment and domestic ways, but the very fact that he was under surveillance and obliged to do things, even for our loving satisfaction, was irritating to him and made the "wild strain" chafe under the bondage. He seemed to try to please us as hard as we tried to please him, and appeared grateful and affectionate, but he could not hide that smoldering, hungry yearning in his eyes nor the fact that he was tugging continually at the chains of his restraint, waiting, listening and planning some sort of polite escape, respectability growing more and more irksome every day.

Afterwards, when we came to know his besetting sin more intimately, we gave him credit for manfully putting up a good fight this first time against that vagrant embryo that was stirring an almost irresistible desire in his breast. The migratory instinct grew more insistent day by day, doubtless restrained for a time by a sense in his gentlemanly nature of certain obligations due us for our hospitality, but at last it was too much for his politeness even and with a hasty "good-bye" and a "thank you, ma'am, for your goodness" off he scampered somewhere out where he could be free, and into the uncertainty of his former tramp existence, but with the exquisite joy of liberty speeding his heels.

We felt very sorry and really quite culpable in not having been able to offer sufficient inducement to hold this tantalizing little vagabond. Although we did not wish him any misfortune, we _did_ hope that if adversity should overtake him in the mysterious, hot, irritating madness of his desire, he would remember our hospitable roof, and come straight back to us.

He must have had an unusually good time and turned himself loose recklessly, for it was many months before we saw him again, and when he did appear he had grown to full and magnificent cathood. He came to our door as an undoubted friend, bubbling over with vitality, every fiber in his body, even to his tail, buoyant with pride and action. He was still rather superior in manner and quite sure of himself and his reception, not that he would intrude himself upon us, but if agreeable to all he would "bide a wee."

He looked as if the open road and the chase had afforded him more than a sumptuous living, for although well weathered by his tramp life, he was as chipper as ever and his muscles hard with a healthy well-fed leanness. Evidently, if we wanted this little savage at all we must accept him as a proposition and law unto himself. And we did want him, feeling sure that he was of the right sort, with merely a dash of mystery and adventure about him. He was made more than welcome, and his toes surreptitiously buttered according to ancient superstition, a process said to keep cats from roaming. He graciously settled into the old ways, accepting our love and forgiveness as freely as it was given, and this time was good enough to stay with us for several months.

As week succeeded week and he was still a contented member of our household, showing no signs of going his own way, we felt certain the talisman had worked and grew to be fairly sure of him. We really believed that the fleshpots of servitude had opened his eyes to the folly of his former disreputable ways, and that in pure physical content he would now settle down into the easy berth offered him and the tameness of domesticity.

But it seems that this was only the "gentlemanly part," for the time being having a holiday, and that our assurance was a creation of our own desire and doomed to disappointment. The time came all too surely when he began to show a decided weariness of walls and a diminished appetite for things cooked, perking his ears with a curious, listening look in his dark eyes, as of constant, waiting expectation, listening to something calling from afar. The roaming strain in his blood ever ran true on its glorious course, and it was not long before his days were empty and life too unbearably dull under the ease of our, perhaps too lavish, hospitality. Much to our chagrin he plainly showed that he was weary to death of having to account for days, and being locked up nights.

We recognized the signs and knew that this was one of his periods of utter revolt, when all clogging connection with civilization would prove too galling in comparison with the joys of the open, and knowing the nature of the sledge hammer that was pounding in his breast, stood by and watched the struggle with amused interest. We were certain that we had given him the sense of the restfulness of a settled home with its comforts, and were also sure of having gained his gentlemanly gratitude and affection. But "you never can tell," and so we waited and wondered in curious uncertainty as to the outcome.

Summer passed, and it was not until the leaves were smitten with frost and falling scarlet and gold in the autumn woods that Jiminy Christmas' vagabond blood tantalized him into faring forth. The free way in which the cheery chipmunks and the squirrels were scampering among the naked tree-tops, rattling the dry branches and sending a rain of nuts on his great playground, set the wheels of discontent to buzzing so fiercely in his roving nature that it actually hurt him to stay within bounds. We felt that if he were able to resist the merciless torment this time, he would indeed be a warrior worthy of laurel.

In the end the lure of life in the open won; or was it the old militant alley and chummy gutters? But whichever it was, the summons proved too enticing, and so one evening, half-apologetically, as if dragging himself away from an almost overpowering temptation to stay, he rubbed his "Aufwiedersehen" about our feet. We watched him fade like a ghost into the surreptitious joy of the blue gloaming, carrying his tail with an air of regret and shame, but resolutely, and quickening his pace with every step, never to be seen again until all hope had long been given up.

As the months and finally more than a year passed and no prodigal returned, we feared that he had shaken the dust from his paws and the memory of our home from his mind, forever, and gone the final way of all such vagabonds. We were honestly puzzled over this wild independent streak in his nature, and naturally rather indignant over his lack of appreciation. Still, his next appearance was anxiously waited for and there was never a day that we did not look and hope that out of the mysterious everywhere, somehow, someway, this ungrateful cat would come back to the warm spots in our hearts, and the empty spot on our hearth that were waiting for him.

One lovely morning, in the early spring, on going out on the back porch for a breath of the fresh morning world and a general survey of things blossoming, little did we dream of seeing our renegade. Yet there he was, sitting modestly on the very edge of the farthest corner, as if claiming nothing, nor asserting anything, but actually there, come back to us from the mysterious absence of a whole year.

"And is it you?" was the rather scornful welcome he received.

Naturally the feeble irony of this greeting was lost on him and he gave us a smiling "good-morning," with a "lovely day today" sort of expression, and our pleasure at renewing the acquaintance was as great as the surprise he had given us. We could scarcely believe our eyes, but by this time we were getting used to this cat's "dropping in on us" how and when he liked. He was quite self-possessed, making what we considered a polite apology but no unusual fuss, ignoring this huge blank in his record and pretending it was but yesterday that he had stepped out to "look at things." His superb air of having no recollection and being so stolidly calm over it, and having no consciousness of anything to account for, was exasperatingly characteristic. But with all this, there seemed to be at first a questioning, wistful look in his wide-open eyes as they met ours. Not that he was at all humble; it was rather as if he were trying to fathom the depth of his depravity in our estimation: a guilty, uncertain, uneasy, self-conviction, as if feeling his way back into our goodness and esteem.

Although he had made himself tidy, after the manner of cats, he looked as if this intervening year had not been entirely good to him. His disreputable appearance gave proof, that however gentle we had found him in peace, he must be terrible in war, for his glossy fur was soiled and shabby and in a pitiable state of rags and tatters, showing the scars of many a hard-fought battle, but honorable battles and honorable scars we were sure.

Older now, and as one who had experienced hard, his calm eyes held in their dark depths the mystery of many a bandit night under the stars. He was like the "shabby genteel," doing his painful best to make the most of a decidedly disreputable appearance, ignoring all things that were even suggestive of a blank page unaccounted for. He was still plucky and sublimely dignified in that impregnable reserve which even our kindness had never been able to penetrate, but there was something gone from his old-time militant buoyancy, and in its place a kind of desperate air, as of one who assumes a bravado of happiness he does not feel.

This time he manifested a decided gratitude for all the good things that came to him. As his hollow skeleton filled out with good and regular food, and his relaxed sinews stiffened, we thought that at last the days of roving and the vagabondage of lusty youth were over and that he had come to a realizing sense of what a comfortable old age would mean. Surely now he would accept a trifling bondage for the sake of peace, rather than yield again to the vague uncertainty of irresponsible freedom and the disastrous results he had plainly experienced. The old love for the prodigal came back and he was reinstated with joy. But alas, the straight and narrow path seemed to have no charms for this incorrigible, and his case seemed hopeless. Just as his hollow curves were filling out into decent plumpness and his thick glossy coat beginning to look like an aristocrat's the symptoms of the inevitable "parting of our ways" were again apparent. It was the usual attack, violent and urgent, leading him to dare and defy all, even death, in following the beckoning call.

It was mortifying to us that he should even occasionally prefer the low company of his alley associates, and the shame of being a skulking gutter shadow, dodging abuse, but that he should have these periodical spells of the "inevitable interval," unconscious of any restraint, wandering and living as a tramp for months away from us, his ways and life entirely shrouded in mystery, was too exasperating even for our loving forbearance. In our wrath, we determined that if he went this time from our home, it should be forever. We had lost all patience with his delightful weakness and had at last made up our minds that if he could not be contented to remain this time, we would depose him everlastingly from our hospitality and erase him from our hearts, for we felt that we were wasting our affection and anxious sympathy on false pretenses.