I did such wonderful things with Taffy. I think all that is needed is a great deal of patience and to understand cat language and have cats understand you.

Two years ago a neighbour’s black cat was determined to kill my canary Blondell, and I was just as determined she should not. I fought her for a year and a half, but it was simply impossible to keep her out of the house, as our doors and windows were opened nearly as much in winter as in summer, and she would be in the house hours before I knew it. I was not allowed by her owner to put bells on her, so as to warn Blondell and me of her approach, and the first thing I would hear was a crash and the cage fall on the floor. Often when lying down I would hear Blondell screech, and open my eyes to see the cat on top of the cage. As the cage always stood on a low table, it was very easy to reach.

We did everything we could to frighten the cat to keep her away, but I would not hurt her or let any one else. One day the woman who was cleaning for me gave her a dreadful beating with a wet floor-cloth, and said: “Now, I guess you will go home and stay there.” I came out just as the cat was going and said: “Poor kitty.” She turned and fairly flew to my side, and from that day to this she has been devoted to me.

When I found she had fully made up her mind to come here and live, and nothing would keep her away, I said: “I will teach her not to kill my bird.” My friends all laughed in my face and said: “The idea of your thinking you can teach an ill-bred cat, who has never had any bringing up, the same as you taught an intelligent cat like Taffy.”

I soon found the cat was very affectionate, and that she loved me, and that is the best beginning you can have. I named her Dona Marina, as she was black enough for a Spanish lady. Her coat was black and shiny and her head and paws very small. In a few days she knew her name, so I felt she was quick to learn. From the day I gave the name to her, she has never been called anything else, and always answers me and will carry on long conversations with me. If she is up in my room and I go to the foot of the stairs and say: “Dona Marina,” she answers me. If I say, “Dona Marina, are you up-stairs?” she answers twice. I always invited her to come into my room when she came up-stairs, and, if she went after Blondell, I closed my door, then punished her by slapping her paws and talking to her, but never sent her out of my room. She soon understood she could stay there as long as she behaved herself, and spent many hours without me there. Still I was not quite sure of her, and every one said: “She will kill Blondell some day.” When I went out of the house, I sent her down-stairs and closed the door. That went on for many weeks, when one day I went to my room about four o’clock. Dona Marina had been asleep on my bed since luncheon with Blondell and no one else. It seemed a pity to wake her and make her go down, so I thought I would take the risk, and went out and left her. Several friends said they would not feel sorry for me at all if, when I went home, I did not even find a tail feather. I laughed and said I had no fear, as I fully trusted Dona Marina, but I trembled just the same, and, when I reached home at six o’clock, I went to the stairs and called in a shaky voice: “Dona Marina, are you up-stairs?” and when the answer came, “I am here,” I fairly flew up the stairs, and there, to my great joy, was Blondell happy in her cage and my little black lady stretched out full length on my bed, greeting me with loving eyes and a sweet song. Since that day I never gave her a thought. She sits on the table by the cage and looks at Blondell, never putting up a paw, and lies down and goes to sleep by the side of her.

Dona Marina very seldom walks on the floor; she simply flies through the air. She comes on a run from the kitchen, lands in the middle of the dining-room table, then jumps into a chair by the back parlour door, into a chair in the back parlour, into another chair, then on top of the table. If she is on her way up-stairs, she makes one grand leap, which lands her in the front parlour by the door going into the hall. She never pauses, but on she flies up the stairs into my room, over the top of the bird-cage, on to my work-table, and sits down, as if it were the only way to enter a room.

She is a very intelligent cat, and I often wish she did not know so much. Like all my pets, she is spoiled, and does everything she wishes to. Last spring she had her first kittens, and I, of course, was the trained nurse, and such a time as I had. As four babies were too many for me to have up-stairs, two were taken away at once and put in a pail of water. Then my trouble began. She took on so, and seemed to think I could bring them back, and would not give me any peace until I fished them out of the water, dried them on a towel, and brought them into the parlour. She took them at once up to my dressing-room. She had her bed in a nice basket, with linen sheets, in an old-fashioned chest. After a few minutes, I brought them down and she came for them. After taking them back three times, she found she could not bring them to life, and gave up. When I had gotten into bed, she came to me, talked, then went back to her babies. After keeping at me for a half-hour, and I did not make any move to get up, she came and took right hold of my chin. After she bit me three times, I thought I had better get up and see what she wanted. She soon made me understand she wanted the basket taken out and put on my bed, so no one could get her babies. I did so, putting a kimono on the foot and covering the basket. She got into the basket, and there was no more trouble. I did that for two nights, and then she seemed to think there was no more danger and she stayed in the chest.

One night she insisted upon my getting up at three o’clock. I thought she must be hungry, and went into my dressing-room and saw that there was no milk in her dish. I also felt there was a great change in the weather and saw the ground was covered with snow, so I put down the windows, then went down-stairs after the milk. When I came back, I found Dona Marina in the basket with her kittens, looking very happy. I offered her the milk, and she said: “No, thank you. It was too cold for my darlings, and all I wanted was the window put down.” I could have choked her with a good will.

When it was time for her children to learn to get out of the basket, she lifted them out and put them on the floor, and asked me to take the basket. One was black as coal, and the other maltese. The black one we named “Ping,” and the gray one “Pong,” and they were very different in all their ways.

My trials began when their mother thought they needed something more than milk. Every one said: “You want to look out for Blondell, now Dona Marina has her kittens,” but she went outdoors for all of her game, and the dear baby birds she used to bring in almost broke my heart. She would bring them to me first, but, if they were not dead, they were wounded so they soon died.

One day she carried a large fish up to them just as the man brought it in the paper. When they were four weeks old, she thought they ought to sleep on the foot of my bed instead of in their basket. I was determined I would not give in to her, but, after keeping me awake until after two o’clock one night, I said: “Go bring your babies, and we will all go to sleep.” After that they slept on the foot of my bed until they were given to a very nice little girl when they were two months old.

Dona Marina mourned for them for two weeks, and would carry up food in mouthfuls and look all over for them.

Two months ago Dona Marina presented me with four more babies, which was a little more than I had bargained for. Two were taken from her before she hardly had time to count, so she did not make as much fuss as she did the first time.

A little girl came to see them, and said: “Why don’t you name them after their mother?” I said: “I do not think it would be nice to call them both Dona Marina.” She said: “Oh, no; call one Dona and the other Marina.”

Dona is twice the size of Marina, is black and white, and looks like a little circus pony. Marina is most beautifully marked. Her head, back, and tail are black, face black, also her legs, white whiskers, and a tiny white line between the eyes. Under her chin white about as wide as your finger, then broadens and goes half down the neck, broadens out again, narrows at the breast bone, broadens again, and goes all the way down. She has four white paws, so you see she has a very swell black and white costume.

Marina is full of mischief, but very affectionate. Dona is much more quiet and dignified, but is also affectionate, and loves to have me take him on my shoulder.

They were born in the same basket, and Dona Marina went through the same performance about taking them out when it was time to have the basket on the floor, also the same performance about sleeping on the foot of my bed, and, of course, I had to give in to her.

At the present time Marina is on my lap and Dona on my shoulder. They have full sway of the house, and what they cannot do is not worth doing.

One day when I came in, I thought there must have been an army of children in the parlours, by the sight that met my eyes. All the books from the lower shelf of the bookcase were on the floor. They had gotten up on the magazine table and thrown all the magazines on the floor. Sofa pillows were everywhere but where they ought to be. A large corn-cob in the front parlour, and corn-husks here, there, and everywhere, with scraps of paper in every direction, and Dona and Marina fast asleep in the empty scrap-basket, while their mother lay curled up in an easy-chair.

During the day they go outdoors and all over the house, but when the house is lighted, they seem to think up-stairs is the place for them.

We have had great fun catching flies. They come and ask me to help them. I take my handkerchief, and, when I get a fly in it, they come and take it out, and sometimes there is quite a fight to see which gets it.

I was in hopes to have had many interesting things to tell about Dona and Marina, but a friend came for them to-day, and I could not say “No” again, as I had promised them when they were wee babies, but I shall miss them greatly, and I feel very sad and lonely to-night without my baby pets.