LITTLE MITCHELL’S CAT NEIGHBORS

Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah,—these were the cats. Peterkin and the lady had been great friends. Peterkin was a very proud cat and a very handsome one, dark and tiger-striped. He used to come into the lady’s room a great deal, and sometimes he would sleep all night on the couch under the window.

When the lady got back from her visit to Mount Mitchell, Peterkin was glad, and ran up to her room; but, to his amazement, she did not invite him in. She even shut the door in his face.

Peterkin walked off with his tail in the air, and never came to see her again. She tried to explain, but it was no use; Peterkin never forgave her.

He was a very wise cat, and likely enough, if she had shown Baby Mitchell to him, he would have understood and been very good; but she was afraid to risk it, for Baby Mitchell was such a tender little dot that if Peterkin had not understood, or had not understood soon enough, there might have been a sad ending to the little Black Mountain baby. For, you see, no matter how sorry Peterkin might have been after it was all over, or no matter how well he might have understood after he had done it, that wouldn’t have helped Baby Mitchell any after he had been eaten up. So Peterkin was gently but firmly refused admittance; and, as I said, he never got over it.

Peterkin was a wise cat, but not so wise as his mother. Peterkin’s mother was called Grandma, and she was the wisest cat I ever knew. She was a little cat, striped like Peterkin, but not handsome like him, for she had had a very hard time when she was young, and that perhaps is why she was so wise.

She belonged to people who were not kind to her, and they often teased and hurt her, and they did not give her enough to eat. So she did not grow large nor handsome, because one must have the right kind of food and care when one is young in order to grow properly.

But she learned a great deal about people and how to look out for herself; so when she came to live with the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife and catch mice for them, she was a wise little cat as well as a homely one.

But they did not know she was homely, for they found out what a loving little heart she had, and how wise she was; and, you know, it doesn’t matter at all how homely you are if you are only loving and thoughtful and quick and kind. Indeed, you will seem quite beautiful to those about you,—more beautiful than if you looked prettier and were less kind and loving.

So the little Grandma soon won the hearts of her new friends. Jack and Hallet were her grandchildren, and fine fellows they were, so big and black and striped,—real tiger-cats.

It was strange that such a little cat as Grandma should have such large, handsome children and grandchildren; but then, you see, she might have been large and handsome herself if she had been properly cared for when she was young.

Well, Grandma’s daughter Ann was the mother of Jack and Hallet. Before Jack and Hallet were born their mother Ann was in great trouble, because every time before all but one of her kittens had mysteriously disappeared, and after a while that one disappeared too.

She seemed to know that the gentleman and the gentleman’s wife were somehow to blame for this, for she had always had her kittens in the house, and had taken great pride in showing them to her human friends as soon as they were born. This time she and Grandma were noticed having a great consultation together; that means, you know, that they seemed to be talking it over. Finally, she and Grandma went off, Grandma leading the way.

The gentleman wondered what it was all about, and watched them without their knowing it. Grandma led Lady Ann up the long hill back of the house to an old barn, way off where hay was stored. Into this barn they went, and in a nice soft bed of hay Jack and Hallet were born; and not a word did these two conspirators say to their human friends about the two handsome kits up in the old hay barn.

But when the kittens were half grown,—too big to disappear, you know,—their mother proudly took them home and showed them to the gentleman and his wife, who were also very proud of them, they were so handsome.

Well, they were Jack and Hallet, and they lived to be old and very well behaved cats, and they were always handsome. Little Goliah was Grandma’s own child; but he never was much of a kit, for Grandma was very old—that is, old for a cat—when he was born. She hid him away until he was a big kit, for she wanted to save him from disappearing; and because he was her youngest he was also her favorite. Even after he was grown up, she would wash his face and brush his coat with her rough tongue. She treated him as though he were a little kitten until she died of old age.

And Goliah was always a weak kit, and not nearly as large nor as handsome as the others, and not so very wise. But the gentleman’s wife took the best of care of him for Grandma’s sake.

The very funniest, cunningest thing Grandma ever did was to bring the kit that sat on the sticky fly-paper to her mistress. This happened before Grandma got to be so old. The kitten was very young, and it was her grandchild, the child of her daughter Sue.

One day the little fuzzy kit sat down on the sticky fly-paper that the girls who worked in the kitchen had left lying around. They had been forbidden to use it, for fear a kit might sit on it; and how they got the fly-paper anyway is a mystery. For the gentleman and his wife had built their pretty log-house away out in the mountains, thirty or forty miles from a railroad, and there were no shops in the mountains where one could go to buy things.

Probably the fly-paper had been sent by mistake with the things ordered from the far-away big city. Things were always being sent by mistake.

So the kit sat down on the fly-paper. Then it rolled over on it, trying to get loose.

The girls took it up as soon as they saw it, but it was a dreadful-looking kitten by the time they got it free. Its fur was all stuck together, and its paws and its ears and everything were terribly stuck up.

Then its mother and Grandma tried to put it to rights, and they licked and licked and licked, but the more they licked the worse it looked. There was no doing anything with it.

Finally the gentleman and his wife, who were in the sitting-room, heard Grandma crying very loudly at the door. They wondered what had happened, and opening the door saw Grandma on the step. She was talking very fast,—in her meow talk, you know,—and behind her stood Mother Sue with the kitten in her mouth.

They had done all they could, and now they had come for help to the gentleman and his wife.

The gentleman was very angry when he saw the fix the kitten was in, and the careless girls in the kitchen got a good scolding, which I am sure they deserved. But before he took time to do any scolding, the gentleman got something that would soften the sticky stuff, and he and his wife very carefully cleaned the baby kitten’s fur, and then washed it with warm water and soap, and rubbed it dry. It was hours before they got that kitten put to rights.

Well, those were the cats that lived around Baby Mitchell; and if he had only had a number of lives, no doubt the kittens could have been taught, after they had killed him a few times, that they must not hurt him. But as he had only one life, he couldn’t very well spare that; and so the kits had to be shut out of the room where he was.

I think they knew he was there, for they used to smell about the door and act as kits do when they think there is a mouse inside. Not that Baby Mitchell smelled at all like a mouse,—indeed, he was the sweetest, cleanest little dot that ever wore a fur coat,—never any unpleasant odor about him. But kits can smell so much sharper than we, that they no doubt knew there was some little chap in there, and they no doubt thought the little stranger needed their attention. For they were famous hunters, and caught all the mice on the place, as well as all the squirrels and birds they could, and even the rabbits.

Of course it was too bad for them to catch the birds and squirrels; but they were not really to blame, for they did not know any better. They thought all little animals ought to be eaten up by kits, if kits could catch them.

Not that they ever got very hungry, for they always had enough, and more than enough, in their plates around at the back of the kitchen. Every morning and evening, when the man brought the fresh milk, their dishes were filled, and when they heard him sing out, “Poos, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s,” they would come running out of the woods, or from under the house, or off the porch, or wherever they happened to be,—for no matter how many mice and squirrels and birds they had eaten they were always able to drink a little milk.

It was fun to see their heads close together in the dish; only Goliah would never eat with the others. He had to have his dish separate, and sometimes he would not eat at all unless his mistress took him in the house and let him sit by her chair. He would not even eat the nice meat and things the gentleman’s wife gave the kits every day unless she fixed a plate for him all by himself.

By this time you will have guessed that the gentleman’s wife was fond of kittens.

Long ago, when Grandma was young, there were twenty kits to take care of. They were all Grandma’s children or grandchildren, and they accumulated before the gentleman’s wife could harden her heart enough to cause some of them to disappear when they were first born. Those were great days for the cats! And it was a sight to see them come running when the man brought in the milk and called “Poos, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.”

It was a sight, too, to see them go walking with the family. When the gentleman and his wife would start for a walk in the cool of the evening, all the kits would go tagging on behind, with their tails in the air, as proud as you please. But as years passed, some of them died of old age or otherwise disappeared, until finally there were only Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah left,—a very harmonious family, all but Goliah, who was sometimes cross to the other kits, and would growl at them and slap their faces, which seemed to astonish them very much.

Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah were the only cats that belonged there when Baby Mitchell appeared upon the scene. Not that Baby Mitchell was seen much, for he stayed in his lady’s room, with the door shut, all the time.

But Billy came every day to drink the milk and eat the good things the other cats had. Billy belonged to the man who brought the milk, and he had plenty to eat at home. Still, he liked to come, and the gentleman’s wife let him, because he was related to Grandma too. He was a funny-looking cat, rather square in shape, and he had a way of scratching with his hind legs, like a dog. He was cross to Goliah and would cuff him when he got a chance.

Then there was Lady Jane. He had one white eye and a torn ear. He was a very dissipated-looking cat, and he had evidently fought a great many fights. Why he was called Lady Jane, I am sure I do not know. He was not related to Grandma, and nobody knew where he came from. He did not fight the kits that belonged to the gentleman’s wife, at least not when he came to get something to eat. And though she did not like his looks, the gentleman’s wife was too kind-hearted to drive him away.

When summer was over, the gentleman and his wife went away to their other home in a Northern city; but you must not suppose they left their cats to suffer. No, indeed! The kits had a warm house of their own to sleep in, and there was a little door left open at the back of it so that they could go into the kitchen if they wanted to. They were good neat cats, that never abused this privilege.

Every day, all winter long, the man came with fresh milk, night and morning, and called “P-ooo-s, p-ooo-s, p-ooo-s.” And two or three times a week they had fresh meat, or, best of all, canned salmon. The gentleman left a whole case of salmon for them every year, and they loved it better than anything else,—for you know cats are very fond of fish. Some cats will even go fishing for themselves if they live near the water.

Baby Mitchell’s lady once had a cat whose name was Little Man Friday, and he would catch his own fish out of a little bayou that came up from the Gulf of Mexico, on whose shore the lady lived. For Little Man Friday was a Florida cat, and perhaps some day you may like to hear his story, and how he got his name.

Grandma and the other kits knew perfectly well when the gentleman and his wife were packing their trunks to go North, and it made the poor kits very unhappy. It made Grandma so dreadfully unhappy toward the end of her life that they used to do it slyly, and not let her see the preparations for going away.

Well, there isn’t any more about Peterkin, Jack, Hallet, and Goliah. They came into the story only because they lived in Baby Mitchell’s house—no, Baby Mitchell lived in their house a little while, and they didn’t eat him up, although they were such near neighbors.

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