[See Note A, Addenda.]

CLASSIFICATION AND POINTS.

As the present work is not by any means intended to partake of the scientific, but is written solely with the view of gaining for the domestic cat her proper position in society, it will, I think, serve my purpose better to describe the classification of cats generally adopted at pussy-shows, instead of dividing them, as otherwise they ought to be, into the different species and breeds. Had I adopted the latter method, I should have felt bound to give a minute description of the cats of various countries and climates, such as those peculiar to India, China, Abyssinia, Russia, and Persia, as well as those inhabiting our own land.

The classification adopted at the Crystal Palace Show, and also at Birmingham, is—with one exception, to be mentioned further on—as good as any we can at present have. The cats are divided into long-haired and short-haired of both sexes, the latter being mostly English, the former including the various species of Angora or Persian.

Class I. And first on the list comes Tortoiseshell Tom.

For many a long year, this cat was considered a myth and an impossibility; and this belief seemed to receive confirmation, when, at the first Crystal Palace Show, no Tortoiseshell Tom put in an appearance. He was all there, however, at the second; and people scratched their heads, and stared as they looked at him and said, “Well, then, to be sure, who would have thought it!”

He isn’t a beauty by any means. I have seen some seals not unlike him about the head; and he looks as though he would take off his gloves on very slight provocation. This cat belongs to Mr. L. Smith, Clerkenwell, London; but I have no doubt there are many other Tortoiseshell Toms in the world. A friend of mine was telling me last week, that he had had one, but that it only lived for three months.

I myself know of one other; I sent a humble but enthusiastic friend of mine to treat for its purchase, but in vain—they would not part with the cat, although they have not the slightest notion of its value.

“By George, Doctor,” says my humble but enthusiastic friend, “if they won’t sell him I’ll steal him.”

“For shame, Fred,” say I. And I have suggested “cutting out”[9] as a more honourable expedient.

On the whole, nature seems to abhor a Tortoiseshell Tom as it does a vacuum, or a chicken with two heads.

Tortoiseshell cats are, as a rule, neither very large, nor very prepossessing. They have a sinister look about them, as though they would as soon bite you as not. I question too if they exhibit the same affection as other species. They are, however, excellent hunters, and brave to a fault. They will often fight with, and defeat, cats double their own weight and size.

Judged by: The comparative distinctness of markings, length and texture of pelage[10] (it ought to be longish and very soft and glossy) deepness of the shades of colour, entire absence of white, and general plumpness.

Class II. Tortoiseshell and White. Colour to be red, yellow, black, and white.

This cat ought to be, in size, rather larger than the former, not too leggy, with a round well-pleased head and bright eyes, with the patches of colour evenly and tastefully arranged, and the tints very decided.

Judged by: These qualities, and general condition of body and pelage.

Class III. Brown Tabby. Colour to be rich brown, striped and marked with black—no white. This is a class of very fine, noble cats. They are the true English cats, and, if well trained, possess all pussy’s noblest attributes to perfection. They are docile, honest, and faithful, fond of children, careful mothers and brave fathers, though seldom taking undue advantage of their great strength; and it is of them nearly all the best cat-stories are told.

Judged by: General size. They ought to be very large, long massive body, with shortish legs (especially fore-legs) and exhibiting great power with suppleness. Head ought to be large and round, with perpendicular stripes, converging rather towards the eye-brows, and branching off horizontally over the cheeks. The face ought to have an intellectual look—not sinister, and the ears—especially in the males—must be short.

The ground-work of brown, should be of a rich colour, and the markings on the body deeply black, and uniformly arranged. The pelage to be longer on the chest, and marked with one bar at least, giving the appearance of a Lord Mayor’s Chain. The legs also ought to be striped transversely with black. Tail long and moderately bushy.

Class IV. Blue or Silver Tabby. Colour to be blue, or silver grey, striped and marked with black. I do not know a more lovely cat than this same Silver Tabby. They are really quite elegant cats. Of a size rather smaller than the Brown Tabbies. They are more gracefully shaped, more lithe and quicker in all their movements. The head is also smaller and not so blunt, and the eyes piercingly bright; the ears too are a shade longer.

Judged by: General contour, and brightness of markings. Ground colour to be something like the grey of Aberdeen granite, and markings to be deep and well placed. Pelage close and glossy.

Class V. Red Tabby. Colour to be reddish, or sandy, marked with darker red, no white.

This splendid cat is, I am sorry to say, getting only too rare, and sadly needs encouragement, for if it is allowed to die out, where shall we get our favourite red and white cats? Where even our tortoise-shell? In some parts of the country, there is a very unjust prejudice against the colour of this cat. I beg then humbly to suggest to the committees of management of cat-shows, that they ought to give a little stimulant to the breeding of this beautiful animal, in the shape of a rather higher prize. Indeed I think it would be a good plan, to make the amount of prize-money, in all classes, bear some sort of relation to the comparative rarity of the breed. This sort of handicapping would, I am sure, tend to equalize the number of entries for each class.

The Red Tabby ought to approach in size, and shape, nearly to the Brown. They are the same kind-hearted, good-natured animals as their brown brethren, and as a rule are better hunters. They go farther afield, and tackle larger game, and seldom forget to bring home at least a portion of each day’s game-bag. They are often, moreover, very expert fishers.

Judged by: Size and general appearance; urbanity of countenance not to be overlooked. Markings—the ground colour to be a nice sandy colour, and the stripes a rich deep red, and in all respects the same shape as those on the Brown Tabby. The eyes deep-set and a beautiful yellow.Class VI. Red and White Tabby. Colour to be reddish or sandy, marked with white. These are very fine cats, although, perhaps not very fashionable, but some that I have seen were very beautiful; especially one I remember in Wales, a very large cat, the white ground was like the driven snow, and the spots about the size of half-crowns, spread prodigally all over, like those in a well-bred Dalmatian dog; I do not think that two spots in all his body coalesced.

Judged by: Size—you want this cat largish. Brightness of colouring, and regularity of markings. Tail is long and not very bushy, and eyes yellow mostly.

Class VII. Spotted Tabby. Colour to be brown, blue, or light or dark grey, marked with black or white. At most cat-shows, a good deal of confusion exists, about what this cat ought really to be like, even among the best judges. There is plenty of latitude given as to colour. I like the brown, and the blue, and light or dark grey, and the black, but I abjure the white; at all events we can very easily dispense with it. The cat I have in my mind’s eye at the present moment, comes, I think, well up to the mark of what a Spotted Tabby should be like. He was a large “sonsy” animal, with broad brow and chest, short ears, and well-pleased face, quite the cat to sing lullabies at the farmer’s fireside, or to romp in garden or on parlour floor with the squire’s bright-eyed English children. His markings were as follows. The ground colour was dark grey; a broad black band ran along his back and down his fine tail; and diverging from this band came dark stripes of colour down the sides, converging round the thighs, and swirling round his chest in two Lord Mayor’s chains; but the stripes had this peculiarity, they were all broken up into spots.

Class VIII. Black and White. Colour, black evenly marked with white. This is something more definite. The Black-and-white Tom cat is a large, handsome, gentlemanlike fellow, a sort of cat that you could not believe would condescend to do a dirty action, or would hardly deign to capture a miserable mouse; and his wife is a perfect lady. I have never seen a more handsome specimen than Miss F——n’s prize cat “Snowball.” His eyes sparkle like emeralds; his nose and upper lip are pure white, but his chin is black. His shirt-front is spotless as the snow. He wears white gloves, not gauntlets—gauntlets, he told me, were snobbish, and only fit for low cats—and beautiful white stockings. This cat knocks with the knocker at the area door when he wants admission.

Judged by: Evenness of the markings; not too much white. Miss F——n’s is a good example. Pelage to be thick and glossy, whiskers white, and eyes a deep sea-green.

Class IX. Black. Colour to be entirely black; no white. No, not a morsel of white can be here tolerated, not even on the point of the chin; although we often see pure black cats on whose coats Nature seems to have been amusing herself, by planting long single white hairs all over them. This is sometimes, but not always, the result of age.

This cat is, above all others, the best adapted for house-hunting; for his hearing and sight are extremely keen, and while seeing well in the dark, he is himself unseen. He is invaluable to those whose goods are liable to become a prey to vermin. He is a fierce cat when angered, but not naturally quarrelsome.

Judged by: Size. They ought to be large, but with more grace of motion than the Brown Tabby. Colour, all jet black, and pelage glossy and thick. Whiskers to be black as well. Eyes: green eyes better than yellow, but hazel or brown better than either.

Class X. White. Colour to be entirely white: no black. These cats make very pretty parlour cats when they are bright in colour. Millers often prefer them as hunters to black cats, thinking, perhaps with reason, that they are not so easily seen among the bags. A perfectly white cat is a very nice and affectionate pet; but they are often dull and apathetic. Some of them, too, are deaf.

Judged by: General condition of pelage and symmetry of body. Ought to be graceful, and not too languid-looking. Must be entirely white. Eyes: ought to be blue, although they are too often yellow. Eyes ought to be both blue. It is a defect to have eyes of different colours.

Class XI. Unusual Colour. Colour to be any remarkable hue not otherwise classified.

Judged by: Colour, shape, size, and symmetry. A very beautiful and graceful little cat, I saw at the Birmingham Show. It belongs to a Mr. S. Lawrence, and is called “Maltese,” although I never saw anything like it in that island. It was all of one colour—a strange sort of slate-colour or blue: even the whiskers were of the same hue. The nose was tipped with black, and the eyes were orange yellow.

Class XII. Any other Variety or Abnormal Formation. Any colour, but of singular form, such as Manx or six-clawed cats.

This class, I think, deserves but little encouragement. What do we want with cats with six claws? and—this is sarcasm—cats without tails ought to be ashamed of themselves. Besides, if you bring me young kittens, I shall, with the aid of a gum lancet, and a needle and thread, make you Manx cats as fast as winking; and I think I could do so less clumsily than has been done to some Manx(?) cats I lately saw at Birmingham. And, talking of Birmingham, there was one cat exhibited there in this class, which, as a Naval officer, I must be permitted to have a shy at. Was it a Manx? No; very much the reverse, for, whereas a Manx cat has no tail, this brute had no fewer than nine. It was labelled “Garotters back-biter,” and hailed from Millbank prison. I wish it were confined to that prison, or to any prison. By all means use it on the backs of garotters. Tickle them up with it three times a day if you choose. But why, in this civilized age, should this brutal weapon be still raised against our brave blue-jackets, who defend our coast and homes, and fight our battles both by sea and land. Soldiers are now exempt from the lash; are sailors less deserving? If not, why should a naval seaman be classed in the same catalogue, and used in the same way, as that most mean and cowardly of all creatures—the garotter? Ugh! the scenes I have witnessed in my own short time in the service, I would not chill the blood of the reader by describing. But this cat-o’-nine-tails has been, and is still, often used in the service, by officers in command, not as an instrument of punishment, but of wrath and revenge, against some poor fellow who may have unwittingly incurred their displeasure. Then look at the demoralizing effect it has on the mind and character. I have seen a brave honest man lashed up to the grating, and receive his punishment in silence, and I have seen the same man, pale and ghastly, cast loose—the blood from his bitten lips trickling over his neck—but how changed! good no longer, but reckless. And I’ve marked his future career, and seen him, in plain language, go posthaste to the devil. Can you conceive of anything more cowardly than to tie a poor fellow hand and foot, and make a brutal attack on his person? I have seen a commander—thank God such men are few: smirking to himself, as he looked on a strong man writhing in silent agony, and I have glanced from the one to the other and thought, “He is the hero—you, cocked hat, sword, and all—are the villain.” Discipline must be upheld, if we would continue to rule the seas; but banish the cat, it can easily be dispensed with; or, if it must be retained, let it be the terror only of thieves. If a man errs, punish him, shoot him where he stands if his crime deserves it, but, Avaunt dishonour! do not flog him.

On the judging of long-haired cats very few words will suffice.

The classes, are, Tortoiseshell and White, Tabby, Red Tabby, Pure White, Black, and Unusual Colour.

These classes must be judged by:—Markings, which are wanted as distinct and well arranged as possible. Size—they ought to be large cats. Pelage—ought to be very long silken, and glossy. The eyes should be of the same colour as in the short-haired classes.

The head of the male Persian should be very broad and characteristic; and the ears short, well feathered internally, and pointing downwards and forwards. In the female, the head is much smaller and sharper.

In the pure Black cats, the hair is not so fine; and it is at times parted down the centre like that of a well-bred Newfoundland dog.

Miss Hales’s Angora, “Selim,” is a very fine specimen—slate-coloured on the body, the face vandyked with white, and a beautiful snowy apron in front. His eyes are green and sparkling; and from his cage he glares out at you with a look of surly grandeur, highly characteristic of his noble breed.

The same lady’s “Zuleika,” a pussy imported from Smyrna, is a most lovely and engaging little thing—all white, with small round head, long hair, and pitiful eyes, as if it wanted so much to be petted—in fact just lived to be loved, and nothing else. It is a pet fit for a princess.

It is the classification of the “Cats of no Sex” which I think might be altered for the better. By the bye, what a ridiculous denomination—“cats of no sex”!

I think I see Lord Dundreary, after reading the catalogue, moralizing on his finger ends.

“Catth of no theckth—that ith, neither mathculine nor feminine,—let me thee,—why, they mutht be neuter catth—catth without life. Hi! Tham; I thay, old man, they’re going to hold a thow of dead catth.”

Children and ladies often ask ridiculous questions about these wonderful “cats of no sex.”

Why not boldly adopt the terms “Entire cats” and “Non-entire cats,” and stick to them? Honi soit qui mal y pense![11] Now “non-entire cats” are excellent hunters and good home pets; and, if well cared for, they become very large and beautiful, although they do at times become lazy and fat. Why then should they not have as many classes to compete in as the “entire” cats?

But there is a greater mistake still made in the judging. They are judged by weight only. The reader can easily see, then, that there is no encouragement given to any one to breed a beautiful cat; and at all cat-shows, you will be surprised to find very ugly cats labelled first and second prize, next cage to a perfect beauty, whose only misfortune was, that he had no appetite for breakfast that morning, and consequently lost the prize by two ounces—of beef-steak. No; these cats must be judged by their other qualities, of course giving a certain number of points for extra weight. Example—I happen to know a cat which I’ll back for ugliness, against any puss in the three kingdoms. He was originally white, but is now beautifully ornamented with cinder holes all over; his face is seamed with bloody scars, got in honourable conflict; and you ought just to see that cat throw back the remains of his ears and scowl. I ought to have entered him at last Birmingham Show—he would have been first; but, as the lassie said, I “didna like.” But, if there is no alteration by next year, Egad! he shall go to Birmingham and the Crystal Palace too; and I think for weight he’ll beat at both places.

Wild Cats. These animals are still to be found in some of the most solitary regions of Skye and Sutherland: and, I am told, they are sometimes seen in the mountainous parts of Connemara. Like the brown Tabby of domesticity, they vary considerably in their markings; but they can never be mistaken for any other. As a rule, the ground colour is yellowish grey, with dark stripes—the markings being at times, as even and beautiful as those of the Bengal tiger. The tail is shorter, and more bushy than that of the domestic cat; and the head, if once seen, or the voice, if once heard, can never be forgotten. Those I have seen killed, were all anything but fat, or even in very good condition, showing, I think, that their life must be rather a hard and miserable one.

On the north-west shore of the Isle of Skye, between Kilmuir manse and the romantic ruin called Duntulm Castle, stands a mountain,—or rather one half of a mountain, the other half, by some gigantic agency, is levelled to the ground, and lies spread over the sea-shore in acres of large boulders—the precipitous sides of the cleft mountain rising up at one side, and the waves of the Atlantic for ever thundering on the other. A road has been made straight over these boulders. Late one summer’s night I was coming home along this road, all alone with the exception of a little wire-haired terrier called Kooran. I was just about the centre; the moon was well down in the West, and cast my shadow far over the heaps of stones. I was gazing up at the beetling cliffs above me and wondering whether any one would ever find the hidden treasure of gold and precious stones which, they say, lies buried in a cave somewhere on this mountain’s side, watched over by a malignant fairy (see Note B, Addenda), when I was startled from my reverie by a sound which I should in vain attempt to describe. It was partly growl, partly scream,—angry, mournful, horrible. Kooran’s tail sought instant refuge between his legs; and although I had on a decent-sized Scotch bonnet, which might weigh somewhere over two pounds, I think my hair raised it; at any rate my legs seemed suddenly to become ethereal, and I did not feel the ground beneath my feet until I had rounded the distant corner, and left both cat and mountain a good mile behind me. The prey of the Wild Cat is principally rabbits, and game of different sorts; and in the month of May they sometimes commit great depredations among the young lambs. Of course the keepers trap and shoot them on every possible occasion. It is not very often, however, that they manage to get a shot at them, it being the habit of the wild-cat to lie perdu all day, coming out only at night to hunt their quarry, or at early morning. Several stories of adventures with these dreadful creatures could be told, if space permitted. I shall only mention one, which I do not think has yet found its way into print. (See Note C, Addenda.)

Liddesdale, it will do the reader no harm to know, is the southernmost parish in Roxburghshire. Some years ago a shepherd who used to reside here left for the Highlands. He had a family of boys. One day, while these lads were running about among the hills and woods, they started a large wild cat, and—for keepers’ children know no fear—at once gave chase. Puss took to a tree. Thinking they were now sure of her, one of the boys took his jacket off, and prepared to climb and dislodge her; while the others stood round with stones, to do for her when she came down. They saw their brave companion climb the tree; they saw the monster come down to meet him, and fasten on his neck. They looked up horrified; there was scarcely a cry, save the low growl of the cat; a few drops of blood came pattering down, and then the children ran off screaming towards home. The father was soon on the spot, joined by some men with dogs. One of these instantly drew his knife and commenced to climb the tree. The enraged brute now left the boy and came down to attack the man; but the struggle was brief; the cat was dashed, wounded, to the ground, where it was speedily despatched by the dogs and men. But there was no sound from above. The poor boy was found lying on his back athwart the branches, his head and arms drooping downwards—dead.