[See Note C, Addenda.]

PUSSY’S LOVE OF CHILDREN.

The cat is more than any other creature the pet of our early years. Almost the first animal we notice, when we are old enough to notice anything, is pussy, with her beautiful markings, her well-pleased, homely face, sleek and shining fur, and soft paws, which she never ungloves in the presence of childhood. Children and cats, especially young ones, have so very much in common. Both are innocent, sinless, and easily pleased, and both are full of fun and frolic. Children will often play with a kitten until they kill the poor thing. In the country, pussy’s place may easily be supplied by some other toy; but to a poor little gutter-child the loss is simply irreparable, and she will nurse her dead kitten in the mud for a week. The way children use poor patient pussy is at times anything but commendable; and while deprecating the conduct of parents in allowing them to treat the cat so, we cannot but admire pussy’s extreme forbearance and uncomplaining good nature, under what must be considered very trying circumstances. It is nothing to see Miss Puss or Master Tom dressed up in a shawl and neatly fitting cap, and lugged about as a doll, carried by the tail over the child’s shoulder, or worn as a comforter round his neck. Yet pussy seems to know that there is no harm meant, and that the children really love her dearly; so she never attempts to scratch, far less to bite. All experience goes to prove, too, that it is generally the child that uses her the worst, to whom pussy is most attached.

The ‘dead playmate’ is a picture you will often see in real life. I saw one not a month ago. A pretty little child, with round, wondering eyes, swollen with recent tears, sitting in the corner of a field in the summer sunshine. On her lap lay—among a handful of daisies and corn-poppies—a wee dead kitten: life had but lately left it. When I spoke to her, her grief burst out afresh.“O sir, my pussy’s deadËd, my pretty pussy’s deadËd!”

There would be no more games of romps in the garden, no more scampering together through the green fields after the butterfly, no more making pussy a doll. She would go lonely to bed to-night and cry herself asleep, for pretty pussy was “deadËd.”

In the adjacent street to where I now live, is a fine large red-tabby Tom. He is a famous mouser, a noted hunter, and a gentleman every inch. He was faithful in love and dauntless in war. When I tried to stroke him, he gave me a look and a growl of such unmistakable meaning, that I mechanically put my hands in my pockets and whistled. He makes no friends with strangers. Yet Tom has a little mistress, not much over three years old, whom he dearly loves, and from whom he is seldom absent. He lies down on his side, and allows little Alice to lift him, although she can hardly totter along with her burden, which she carries as often by the tail as any way else. She sleeps beside him on the hearth-rug, Tom winding his arms lovingly around her neck, and little Alice declares that pussy “carries his kisses on his nose.”

Wee Elsie S——, though only six years old, has completely tamed—as far as she herself is concerned—what might almost be called a wild cat, it having been bred and brought up in the woods. This cat has only two good qualities, namely, his great skill in vermin-killing, and his fondness for little Elsie. Neither the child’s father, mother, nor the servants, dare put a finger on this wild brindled Tom; but as soon as Elsie comes down in the morning, and puss is let in, with a fond cry he rushes towards her, singing and caressing her with evident satisfaction. He then does duty as a doll all day, or follows the child wherever she goes, and sleeps with her when she sleeps.

“In our nursery,” writes a lady correspondent, “there was always a cat, which was the favourite companion of the children, submitting to many indignities which a dog would scarcely have endured with so much patience. One handsome tabby cat, named by us children Roland the Brave, used to hold his place in front of the nursery fire, with the utmost patience and good-humour, in spite of kettles boiling over on him, nursery-maids treading on his paws and tail, and children teasing him in every possible way.”

“The tom-cat which I have at present,” says another, “keeps my children company in their walks, and is indeed more careful of them than the maid, who sometimes has forgotten her duty so far as to leave the perambulator to look after itself, while she is talking and laughing with a tall man in red. But Tom is not so thoughtless, and sticks close by the children, showing signs of anger when any one approaches. He seems, moreover, imbued with the idea, that the every-day food of that domestic quadruped, the dog, is babies, and, if any one is foolish enough to come snuffing round the perambulator, Tom mounts him at once, and proceeds forthwith to sharpen his claws in his hide. On one occasion when my family were absent for a few days, Tom was so disconsolate that he refused to take his food. To show his love for the children, I made the remark to Tom, in presence of some friends, that baby was in the cradle; the cat jumped up and went directly towards it, and examined it, then returned mewing most mournfully because of the disappointment.”

Pussy’s love for babies is always very noticeable. In fact, with very little training, she may be taught, if not to nurse, at least to mind, the baby. I know a cat which, as soon as the child is placed in its little cot, lays itself gently down at its back; and this is not for sake of warmth and comfort, as some may allege, but from pure love of baby. For pussy lies perfectly still as long as the child sleeps; but whenever she awakes, even before she cries, the cat jumps down and runs to tell her mistress, runs back to the cradle, and, with her forefeet on the edge, looks alternately at baby and its mother, mewing entreatingly until the child is lifted. Contented now, it throws itself at the mother’s feet, and goes quietly off to sleep. Another cat I know of, that goes regularly to the harvest-field, with its mistress and a young child. The cat remains with the child all day, guarding him and amusing him by playing at hide-and-seek with him, until evening, when the mother, who has only visited her child two or three times during the day, returns, generally to find baby and puss asleep in each other’s arms.

Cats too not only mourn the absence of their little master or mistress, but will try to follow them if they can.

“A certain party of my acquaintance,” says a lady, “had a large cat called Tabby, who was a great favourite with all the family. Tabby seemed to reciprocate the attachment of the different members, but its fondness for the youngest daughter was something wonderful. It would follow her about wherever she went, and if she ever left home for a short time, poor pussy seemed quite wretched until her return. At one time the child went to reside for two months, with some friends many miles distant. You may fancy her surprise and delight when one morning, after she had been about a week in her new residence, in marches her dear friend and companion Mistress Tabby, and nothing could induce her to leave again. Pussy took up her abode with the girl, stuck by her all the time, and at the end of the visit faithfully accompanied her back to their home.”

A woman, whom I know, has a tom-cat, which watches constantly by the baby’s cradle, when its mistress is absent. One day, when hanging up some clothes in the garden, she became suddenly aware of an awful row going on in the room she had just left. She entered, just in time to see Tom riding a large shepherd’s collie round the room, and back again, and finally out at the door. Tom was a most cruel jockey, sparing neither bit(e) nor spur, as the howls of the unhappy collie fully testified. That dog hasn’t been seen in the immediate vicinity since.

The cat, mentioned in the following anecdote, was surely worthy of the Humane Society’s bronze medallion, as much as any Newfoundland ever was.A certain lady’s little son was ill of scarlet fever. The period of inflammation and danger was just over, but the poor child was unable to sit or stand. Through all his illness, he had been carefully watched by a faithful tom-cat, who seldom ever left his bedside by night or by day; for Tom dearly loved the little fellow, who, though now so still and quiet, used to lark and roll with him on the parlour floor. But since his little master’s illness, Tom had never been known to make the slightest attempt at fun. One day, the child was taken by its mother from bed, and laid on the cool sofa by way of change; and when he had fallen asleep she gently left the room, Tom being on guard as usual. She had not been gone many minutes, and was engaged in some household duties, when Tom entered, squirrel-tailed and mewing most piteously, looking up into her face, and then running to the door, plainly entreating his mistress to hurry along with him. It was well she did so. Poor Tom ran before her to the room in which she had left her boy, when she found that, in attempting to get up, the child had fallen on the floor along with the rugs in such a position, that death from suffocation would have inevitably followed, but for the timely aid summoned by this noble tom-cat.

I think I have said enough to prove how fond pussy is of children, and how forbearing towards them; and surely this trait in her character should endear her to us all. But I do thoroughly deprecate pussy’s being made a plaything of, whether she be cat or kitten. It is exceedingly cruel of parents to allow it, and is taking an unfair advantage of the cat’s good-nature and sense. The way she is lugged about, and tormented by some children, is very prejudicial to her health and appearance. It often does her grievous bodily harm, injures her heart and lungs, and stops her growth, even if it does not induce paralysis and consequent death. Let your children love pussy, pussy loves your children; only kindly point out to them the essential difference between a plaything and a playmate.