PUSSY’S PATIENCE AND CLEANLINESS.

Next to a cat’s love for children, if there is one thing more than another that ought to make one love her and respect her as a pet, it is the extreme patience which she evinces under sufferings, sometimes the most acute. We talk about dogs being game, and taking their death easy; and so they mostly do under excitement; but in long lingering illnesses, pussy is a much better patient.

Pussy, moreover, is blessed with extreme good-nature, and will pardon almost any injury from one she loves. I have no patience with people who say that cats are unforgiving, or that “a friendship of years may be cancelled in a moment, by an accidental tread on its tail or feet.” “Look,” the same parties will tell you, “how patiently a dog will bear a like accident.”

Ay; but, say I, you must bear in mind three things:—First, a dog is generally larger than a cat, and a tread is consequently a mere trifle to him. Secondly, a cat is ten times more sensitive to pain than a dog. And, thirdly, a cat has so many enemies of all sorts, that she must be for ever on the alert to avert danger; not knowing when a foe may pounce upon her, she has to sleep even with open ears. Is it any wonder, then, that, when roused from slumber by a cruel and painful tread on her tail, she should start up and show fight, or run off growling—perhaps, indeed, only half-awake? But malice she never harbours in her heart; and in half an hour, when she has thought the matter over, she will creep from under the sofa or bed, to fondly caress the very one who hurt her.

No animal appreciates kindness more than a cat. Witness the gratitude even a poor stray will evince, to any one who may have fed it when hungry.

“Not long ago,” writes a lady to me, “a cat (one of the kind kept as a machine) used to frequent our garden, starved enough, poor thing, as its knotty fur betokened; so, having a trap set in our house to catch mice, and being always more or less successful in catching the vermin, I one day took the trap, with a mouse in it, to the garden, and by dint of very little persuasion, managed to get near this cat waif, and give it the mouse. That was quite enough; it got them ever after, so long as it was in life; and invariably from that date whenever it saw me in the garden, it would come bounding to me. And I am sure, by its dumb delight, it well repaid me, showing that it fully appreciated both the voice, and hand of kindness.” (See Note D, Addenda.)

It is this same patience in her nature, that makes our domestic cat such an excellent hunter and vermin killer. We all know how patiently she will sit in a corner, and watch for a mouse or rat. She knows very well it will come sooner or later, and she is always rewarded with success. She is the same in the hunting-field, waiting for hours at the door of a rabbit-burrow, till poor Bunny, or some one of her children, peeps out; then, “I’ll have you,” says puss, and forthwith walks it off. Or, hidden under a heather hillock, or a turnip-leaf, she will wait and wait, and never weary, until she can secure a beautiful grouse, or plump little partridge. Witness their patience and long-suffering with children,—this I have already spoken about, and need not repeat,—having proved, in a former chapter, that they not only bear, but even seem to like, a certain amount of rough treatment at baby hands.

Tucker was about the best-natured lump of a cat I ever knew. You might have done anything with him—flung him over the church for instance. If you had, I dare be sworn, Tucker would have alighted on his feet at the other side, and gone quietly off to sleep. No, he was not a particularly good hunter, he was hardly cruel enough to kill a mouse; but he had a spirit of his own for all that, and if you had shaken your finger at him, he would have let you have it straight from the shoulder. (See Note E, Addenda.)

Tucker used to submit himself, quietly, to be tied up in a towel, and placed in a scale opposite a leg of mutton, or Scotch cheese. He was once sent a distance of thirty yards, trussed up in this fashion, to a shopkeeper’s place, to be weighed. Tucker went through the operation so patiently, that the grocer never suspected till the very last.

“A good solid hare,” he said, feeling the bundle; “but bless me, isn’t he warm? Do you think he is really dead?”

“Err-a-wa-ow,” said Tucker, popping out his head at a corner, as much as to say, “Not just yet, friend;” and the laugh was all against the grocer.

How patiently a cat will wait for her dinner, until every one else is served, reminding you only then, by her loud singing and demonstrative kindness, that there is still a little hole in her stomach that wants filling! And, how patiently sit and wait, and watch for the return of her master or mistress, be they never so long absent! She knows their footsteps, and jumps up at their knock, and runs to the door to meet them.

I know of a poor cat that was for a whole fortnight in a trap. The cruel keepers had left him for all that time, without either food or drink; he was afterwards discovered by his owner, and taken home. Although a beautiful large Tom tabby when he left home, he was reduced to a perfect skeleton. His leg had to be amputated; but he bore the operation without flinching, struggling a little at first only, but giving vent to no expression of pain. He made a very good recovery; but, being one of the mighty-hunter persuasion, as soon as he was perfectly recovered, he hopped off to the woods again. He did not return, however, and for two years was not seen again; but one dark night, his master, on passing through a wood, had his attention attracted by the cries of a cat. The animal was in a tree; and, on the gentleman’s approach, it sprang down, and commenced rubbing round his legs, with every expression of affection and kindness. On bending down to caress it, the gentleman was surprised to find it had only three legs. It followed him home, and he then made certain it was none other than his long-lost pet. It stopped at home for many a day after this, and seemed in no way inconvenienced from the loss of its hind-leg. But travellers never can settle, and puss took to the woods again, and this time fell a victim to the keeper’s vengeance. (See Note F, Addenda.)

Another cat of my acquaintance was in like manner caught in a trap, and had to endure amputation of the leg; although in much suffering and pain, it bore it without a murmur.

“I witnessed, only last week,” says a young lady, “while residing with my married sister, down in Kent, an instance of great patience and endurance in a cat. A Dandie Dinmont dog was dragging her round and round the garden walks by the tail, and instead of being annoyed, pussy seemed really to enjoy it.”—(See Note G, Addenda.)

Cats know as well as a human beings, that, when you are examining and treating their hurts—whether inflicted by traps or stones—you mean to do them good. Cats, even strange cats, often lick my hands when I am probing a wound and inflicting the most severe pain on them.

Cats always show gratitude by licking your hand; it is the greatest compliment a cat can pay you, for they are not so ready as dogs, to sow their kisses and caresses broad-cast.

I was amused the other day, at seeing the care and attention a little girl was bestowing on a pet cat. Tom had been out all night, and came in next day on three legs; the one he carried was wounded, bruised, and much swollen, and Tom himself looked generally seedy and out of sorts. Now, had it been a boy instead of a girl, he would, in all probability, have done nothing useful. But females are always practical; and this embryo Miss Nightingale, after having a good cry, set about at once to put matters straight for poor Tom. She bathed the leg in warm water, and encircled it with a large poultice. Then she rolled him in an old shawl, and put him to bed in a basket. Tom kept his bed for ten days, during which time, she fed him from a plate, not allowing him to get up; and every time the poultice was changed, the cat licked her hand in evident gratitude. In fact, Tom made the best of patients, being more like a sincere Christian than anything else; and his little nurse was finally rewarded, by having her pet gambolling around her as usual.

A cat, some time ago, received a charge of ragged shot in his shoulder. He fainted from loss of blood, and afterwards had high fever, just as a human being would have done, under like circumstances. The greater portion of the shot was extracted, or worked out in the process of healing; one portion, however, pussy carried to his grave with him. During the painful process of having his wounds probed for shot, pussy never even groaned. (See Note H, Addenda.)

But it is in long and severe illnesses that pussy’s patience is best exemplified.

A poor cat, many years ago, took a severe illness—jaundice. He was a fine large Tom cat, of the name of Tacket, and a very great pet; but in a short time he got reduced to a mere bag of bones; his fine fur came out in parts, and in parts hung about him like tassels. So pitiful an object looked he, that his master and mistress had the sin of keeping him alive forcibly pointed out to them by their friends. Indeed, he was now so weak as to be unable to move from his bed by the kitchen fire. On the 10th day, when he was at his very worst, a little raw meat was given him; and, his head being supported, he managed to swallow it. This was the turning point of his illness; he began to rally, and soon got well, and plump, and sleek; and the other day died at the age of twelve. But it was a treat to see how patiently poor Tacket bore his illness. Every morning, when his master went to see him, although he could not rise, he tried to sing. But the power of purring left him as he got weaker; on the 9th day he could just sing one bar, and on the 10th day only one note. This cat had a great dislike, for months afterwards, to milk in any shape or form; from having been continually dosed with it while sick, he used positively to shiver at the sight of it. (See Note I, Addenda.)

But I have, I believe, said enough to prove pussy’s claim to the virtues of both patience and gratitude.

ANGORA.
First Prize—Owned by Miss M. Armitage.

PERSIAN.
First Prize—Owned by —— Mongredian, Esq.

Habits of Cleanliness in Cats. It must be allowed, that of all our domestic pets, pussy undoubtedly bears the bell for personal cleanliness. Nature has adorned her with a most beautiful coat, of the softest, silkiest fur and loveliest of colours; and she spares no pains to keep it clean and smart. I firmly believe that the cat is very proud of her appearance, and likes to cut a dash—here again, by the bye, she resembles the female of the human family. Pussy is for ever cleaning and washing at herself. If a well-bred parlour cat, she will never allow a speck of dirt to sully her fur. I can always tell whether a cat is properly cared for, and has sufficient food, by the appearance of her coat. If she is allowed to be hungry, or is badly housed, she soon loses all taste in herself, and doesn’t care a rat’s tail how she looks.

When a cat’s coat begins to appear rough and stare, it is the first indication of approaching illness; and this symptom will never be unattended to by those who love their pet.

I have known cats take ill and die from having their coats accidentally soiled beyond remedy.