[See Note E, Addenda.]

SAGACITY OF CATS.

Few people now-a-days think of denying, that man’s noble friend the dog possesses a large amount, of what can only be termed reason. I myself believe, that almost every animal does; but in these pages I shall only claim the gift for our mutual friend, the domestic cat. Reason, I consider, is quite different from mere instinct. Instinct is born in an animal; reason is that instinct matured by experience.

I hardly think that you can find a more sagacious animal than the cat. I doubt, indeed, if the dog is; for pussy’s peculiar mode of existence, the many enemies she has to encounter, and the struggle she often has to obtain sustenance sufficient to keep life in her poor little body, bring all her faculties into better play, and tend to the development of her reasoning powers.Before you can fully fathom, what a wonderfully clever and wise creature even the commonest cat is, you must study her life in every phase, both out of doors and at the fireside. No relation of mere sporadic acts of sagacity, such as unfastening a door to get out, breaking a window to get in, or pulling a bell-rope to call the servant, can do justice to pussy’s wisdom. Everything she does has a reason for it, and all her plans are properly schemed and thought out beforehand, for she never fails to look before she leaps. Why, my reader, with all due respect to your intellectual powers, if you were to be changed into a cat for four and twenty hours, and had a cat’s routine of pleasure and duty to perform, with all your wisdom you would be as dead as a dried haddock before sun-down. Let us try to imagine one day in a cat’s life.

Pussy wakes in the morning as fresh as a daisy, for she has slept the sleep of the just and temperate. She finds she has been shut into the parlour; but, though it is broad day-light, the family won’t be stirring yet for another hour. A long weary hour for puss, although she has the patience of Job.

“Now,” she thinks, “if a mouse would only pop out from under the fender; sometimes one does.” But watching won’t bring it; so she jumps upon the window-sill, and gets behind the blind to gaze out at the bright morning, and watch the sparrows, and think of all she will do to-day. “At any rate,” she muses, “I shan’t be shut in here another night. So silly of me to go to sleep before the fire! And, happy thought, I’ll go and see—yes, I must go and see—him to-night; he’ll be at the old thorn tree, I know, dear, dear, Tom.”

The hour has worn away, and at last Mary comes to “do out the room.” “N.B. Stand by to bolt through between her ugly legs. Done—successful.” Now upstairs to mew hungrily at her mistress’s door—that ensures a cuddle; and so pussy sings while her mistress dresses. Down to breakfast at last. Soles. Oh! she doats on soles. But why does her mistress get up and leave her alone for a minute with the cream and the soles, and she so hungry too. What a chance to dip one paw in the cream-jug, or help herself to only just the tail of that inviting sole! But no, she won’t; and she doesn’t, though the temptation was very great. Then mistress returns, and pussy is rewarded for her honesty with a delicious breakfast, and duly purrs her grace after meat.

Two hours afterward she is in her mistress’s boudoir alone. Oh! St. Anthony! Alone with the canary! Her eyes are drawn magnetically to the cage, her mouth opens of its own accord, her teeth water, and unconsciously she fires off a series of miniature mews, expressive of extreme desire. One little spring, and that beautiful bird would be hers. But again she won’t, she’ll only just look at it; and if a cat may look at a king, surely, she may at a canary. Reader, have you ever eaten a canary? A live canary, feathers and all? No! then I fear there is but little chance of your giving pussy half the credit due to her, for resisting that sore temptation and letting birdie live.But, rats and rabbits! what has pussy done now? While canary-gazing, she has been standing on the escritoire, and inadvertently spilled all her mistress’s purple ink; and, to make matters worse, that young lady enters, in time to witness the accident and see puss making a face at the canary.

“Oh! you wicked, wicked, ungrateful cat!” Pussy flies and hides beneath the sofa. Those cruel, unjust words, how they rankle in her breast! “She will never never speak to her mistress again, nor to any one in the world, not even to Tom. She will die beneath that sofa.” So in doleful dumps she spends two whole hours. How very irksome! If her mistress would only speak now, she might come out, perhaps; but she only knits, knits. Suddenly, down rolls the ball of worsted. Hurrah! out pops puss like an animated arrow, and darts round and round the room after it like a mad thing. Her mistress smiles, and pussy is up on her lap in an instant, singing for joy because she is restored to favour.

Somehow, pussy in the afternoon accidentally finds herself in Farmer Hodge’s pigeon-loft. She has merely come to have a look at the pretty creatures, being fond of that sort of thing. Hark! though, a footstep on the ladder, and enter Farmer Hodge himself. Poor pussy’s intentions in the pigeon-loft have been vilely misconstrued by that rude man, and she herself kicked right out of the gable-door—a fall of twenty feet at least; however, she has the presence of mind to whirl round, and alights on her feet, and thus saves her neck. It is only a quarter of a mile to run home; so she is off, hotly pursued by the farmer and his horrid collie. There is one tree on the way, and she gains it just in time to save her back; and the ugly dog stops and barks up at her. A long way astern comes, puffing and blowing, the farmer himself, and when he arrives he will stone her. One minute to get her breath; then down, flop on the back of the collie, jumps pussy. Round and round the tree she rides him twice, then dismisses him howling. The dog runs back to his master, with a bloody nose and one eye seriously damaged, while pussy, scot free, regains the shelter of her home, just in time for dinner. “Now, my little lady,” says pussy’s mistress, about bed-time, “I see you are watching to get out, and indeed you mustn’t; so come with me.” A little deceit is absolutely necessary now, if pussy wants to gain her ends. After all, it is only policy; so pussy purring complacently accompanies her mistress to her bed-room. But having duly sung the young lady asleep, she quietly steals from her side and creeps to the window. Luckily, it is open. Fifteen feet is a tallish jump though; but she remembers that when Farmer Hodge gave her a hint to leave the pigeon-loft, she leaped twenty feet. She feels that hint on her rump even now; but here goes. She has done it, and is safe. Then what a delicious sense of freedom and prospective bliss! And, hark! yonder is Tom’s melodious voice in the distance, and pussy is off in the moonlight to meet him, and she “won’t go home till morning.”

Cats are very sensitive to kindness, and are never ungrateful for benefits received.

A certain labouring woman got a cat, to which she became greatly attached. When the time came round, for her absence for six weeks at harvest, in a distant part of the country, she took her cat, and the one kitten it was giving suck to, and gave it in charge of a brother who lived three miles from her own village. But here poor pussy wasn’t happy. The children beat and otherwise annoyed her; so she returned to her own home in the village, leaving the kitten behind her. Finding the house shut up, she sought shelter in a kindly neighbour’s house; and having established herself in her new home, she set out for the house where she had left the kitten. She did not attempt to remove it, however, but simply gave it suck and left again. Twice a day regularly, for three weeks, did this queer pussy trot those six long miles to suckle her kitten, until one day she found it drinking milk from a saucer. After this she never went back. On her mistress’s return from harvest, pussy again became her faithful companion; clearly showing that although she was grateful to the neighbour, she knew she did not belong to her. But every year pussy stayed all the harvest with her benefactress until the return of her mistress; and this habit she kept up all her life, fourteen years.

How do cats know certain days of the week, such as Saturday or Monday?

A shopkeeper, whom I knew, had a nice Tom tabby, which he kept night and day in his shop, to protect his wares from mice and rats. On Saturdays, Tom was allowed to accompany his master home, a distance of nearly a mile, and to remain at home until the following Monday. Pussy got used to this; and as the shop was always kept open until ten o’clock on Saturdays, Tom used regularly to leave the place and go home fully three hours before his master. On the Monday morning, he was always quite ready to accompany him back again. When this cat grew a few years older, he began to tire of night duties. He, no doubt, thought he had done enough when he had been on guard all day. So to get off the night shift, he used to leave the shop when his master made signs of putting up the shutters. He would wait at a convenient distance till his master came; but finding that he was invariably captured and carried back, he fell upon another plan: he took to leaving the shop an hour before closing time. His master used to meet him half-ways home, but never could put a finger on him.

This same cat had been rescued from an ugly death, when quite a kitten, by a son of his master. Tom was greatly attached to this boy. When the boy grew to be a man, and only visited the house once a year, Tom still knew him, and manifested great delight in seeing him.

Cats, however, do not show the joy they feel on meeting again with a long lost friend in so exuberant a manner as the dog.

On first seeing you they exhibit surprise, then quietly show how glad they are by rubbing round you, singing, and following wherever you go, as if afraid of being again separated. A dog is a more excitable animal, and more demonstrative in every way than the thoughtful pussy.

Every one knows how cats can open doors by jumping up and pressing down the latch; this trick is more common in tortoise-shell cats than in any others, and often descends from generation to generation.

A lady’s favourite cat the other day saved the life of her pet canary. The door of the bird’s cage having been by some accident left open, Dickie flew out, and at once made for the outside door, which happened to be open. The cat, however, immediately gave chase, and captured the bird in the lobby. Tom at once returned, and placed the poor bird—half dead with fright—at his mistress’s feet.

I know of a cat—not at all a moral specimen—that took a fancy to eat one of her master’s rabbits. Knowing that she could not well do this within sight of the dwelling-house, she managed to chase one, or rather walk one, for she was too wise to hurry it, nearly a quarter of a mile from the house. She was just beginning her feast when discovered.

A cat that dwelt in an outhouse, was seen one day to deliberately take a portion of her dinner, and place it in front of a mouse-hole in a corner. She then retired to a distance, and set herself to watch. Not many minutes after, a fine plump mouse came out, gave one look round, and seeing nothing suspicious, commenced to eat the crumbs; while doing so, pussy sprang upon and captured it easily.

It is a common custom in the north of Scotland, and I suppose is so in other places, for the household cat regularly to attend at the milking of the cows, and to receive her allowance squirted directly from the cow’s pap. No matter to what distance it is sent, pussy will adroitly stem the current with open mouth, and eyes closed with delight.

A friend of mine once saw a cat, attempting to suck a quiet good-natured cow. She failed, however; but walked directly up to where the gentleman was standing, and mewing in his face ran back and sat down below the udder, plainly requesting the favour of his assistance. He good-naturedly complied, and every day for weeks afterwards, the cat used to come for him to perform the same kind office.

There is an old old man lives in K——, who has an old old cat. He is over one hundred years, and the cat is gone nineteen; in that long time they have come to know each other pretty well. One evening, some years ago, pussy was sitting in a particularly studious attitude before the fire, as if it had something important to tell and didn’t know how to begin. The old man was looking at her thoughtfully.

“That cat,” he said presently, “has something on her mind; haven’t you, puss?”

Pussy, to his grandchild’s no small astonishment, at once mewed in reply; and jumping up, patted the old man’s leg, and commenced trotting to the foot of the stair, looking over her shoulder and asking him to follow.

“Go you, Lizzie,” said the old man; and Lizzie went, following the cat up the stairs and into an old lumber garret. There the cause of pussy’s anxiety was soon discovered: a litter of five fine kittens, which pussy had had without the knowledge of any one in the house.

Cats are as fond of bird-nesting as any school-boy. A cat last summer found a starling’s nest in the gable-end of an old barn. There were five eggs in it at the time, but these pussy did not touch, she preferred waiting until they were hatched. She was seen to go, sometimes as often as three times a day, and have a peep into the nest. When at length she was rewarded for her patience with the sight of goslings, she coolly put in her paw, drew out the little things one by one and devoured them before their distracted parents’ eyes. I did not feel at all sorry for that bereaved mother starling, for she and her impudent husband had rummaged every sparrow’s nest about the place, and eaten the eggs.

TORTOISESHELL and WHITE.
First Prize—Owned by J. Hurry, Esq.

TABBY and WHITE.
First Prize—Owned by J. Gamble, Esq.

A man of the name of Claughie, shepherd to a nobleman in the West of Ireland had an enormously large Tom cat, who, as far as milk was concerned, was a notorious thief—the result, no doubt, of a deficient education in his youth. However, Tom was in the habit of committing depredations in the milk-house almost every night. Being always forgiven by the shepherd’s wife, he became at last quite a nuisance, and the shepherd determined to give him one sound hiding. He caught Tom in the very act of stealing cream, and he warmed him accordingly. Tom went out in high dudgeon, and no more was thought of it. But that night Tom returned, and with him a number of other cats. Having surrounded the hut, they proceeded in true Fenian style, to break the windows and force an entrance. The shepherd, afraid of his life, fled to a loft, drawing up the ladder after him. His wife, however, showed more courage. She at once produced two large pansful of cream, and invited the intruders to drink. They did not require a second bidding, and having regaled themselves, they departed in peace and came no more.

But cats will often leave a house and never return, if they have been threatened with a severe licking.

A man residing in Ireland had a nice cat, which was fully eleven years of age, and which he had reared from kittenhood. One day this cat received correction for some offence, and that same night it disappeared. It not only disappeared itself, but enticed a neighbour’s cat along with it. Neither of them ever returned. The two cats had always lived on terms of great intimacy with each other.

Another cat had succumbed to temptation and stolen some fish; she was so afraid of getting whipped for the theft, that she did not enter the house for two whole days. At the end of that time she was coming quietly in, when the goodwife, half in fun, seized hold of the poker, and shaking it at the poor delinquent, “Go out, you thieving hussy,” she cried, “and never darken my door again.” The cat drew back, and slipped away, and was never seen more in that neighbourhood.

Of the eggs of fowls some cats are exceedingly fond, and if they once acquire a taste for this particular luxury, nothing can ever break them from it, and they will always find ways and means of indulging in the propensity. A cat of my acquaintance used to content herself with two, or at most, three a day. She belonged to a grocer, and was quite honest with regard to everything else. It was the shopkeeper himself who was to blame for this fault in poor pussy: for in unpacking his eggs he would occasionally drop one, then call pussy’s attention to the fact, saying, “Here, pussy, you take that.” So in process of time the cat took rather a penchant for eggs. She would jump on the counter whenever the whim struck her, and take an egg from the basket; then, with a face beaming with mischief, she would proceed to make a mouse of it, paw-pawing it until it rolled over on to the floor, as if by the merest accident in the world. Then it was amusing to see the air of astonishment pussy adopted, as she peered wonderingly over the edge of the counter, as much as to say,—“Hullo! broken? Here, pussy, you take that.” And down she would jump and lick it up.