ODDS AND ENDS.

When my pet cat read the heading of this chapter, she sarcastically remarked,—

“Humph! I suppose you mean that cats tails are the ‘ends’; but what’s the ‘odds’?”

Theodore Nero raised his chin slightly from the carpet to add,—

“So long’s you’re happy.”

“You brute!” said Muffie. “You don’t know what you’re talking about; you always are half asleep.”

But touching cats’ tails (it wouldn’t be the best policy to touch every cat’s tail however), a lady asked me seriously at dinner the other day, “Why does a cat waggle its tail?” Such a question at such a time was a poser, and, to comfort me, she added, that she really was asking for information. I answered, as Dundreary, “Becauth a cat ith sthronger than its tail; if the tail wath the sthronger, the tail would waggle the cat.”

Cats are extremely proud of their tails. Pulling a Jew’s beard, and a cat’s tail, are indignities of an equality. Doubtless, did mankind possess these appendages, he would be equally jealous of their honour. But they have been overlooked somehow in the outfitting. But just imagine how gingerly we gentlemen would use them! How elegantly we would carry them under our arms while walking, and how we would flare up if any one trod on our tail! Imagine Paddy at a fair: “Twelve o’clock, and no foight yet! Will any gintleman just spit on the point of my tail?”

How useful, too, tails would be in many ways in riding, driving, or boating! On a rainy day, one’s umbrella might be tied to it, so as to have both hands free; and in mobs and crowds it could be worn out of sight. How handy, to dig your neighbour in the ribs with, and say, “Sly dog”; or, “Don’t you see, don’t you see?” when you’d made a bad pun! How useful to the orator, for elegant gesticulation, to give point to an argument, or to indicate derision. For example:—

Lord Chief Justice: Did you poke your tail at me, sir?

Claimant: No, my lord; I——

L. C. J.: Very well, sir; don’t do it again—that’s all.

How convenient the British sailor would find a tail, when aloft reefing topsails; and, sure, wouldn’t Jack also use it as a tobacco stopper? If men had tails, the medical profession would be benefited thereby. There would be several new diseases and new operations. How beautifully this would sound, for instance: “Compound comminuted fracture of the middle third of caudal extremity;” or, “Amputation at the tenth caudal vertebra;” which would give rise to advertisements like the following: “Turner’s Circular Splint,” and “Beautiful, easy-fitting Caudal Appendages, equal to Nature; patronised by the illustrious Duke of Dunmore, whose tail was carried away by a 500 pounder, at the battle of Dorking, during the famous charge of the gallant London Scottish. Only seven-and-six!”

The ends of justice, too, would be assisted. New laws would be added to the penal code. Garotters would be condemned to “Two years’ imprisonment and deprivation of caudicity.” Lesser offences punished by “Six months, and six inches off tail.” Thus we should easily know a rogue in the street, when we met one.

I must stop. I feel I should warm to the subject; and one of such vast ramifications ought to have more space for its consideration, than I can afford. However, to band-masters, acrobats, public-speakers, parsons, painters, and policemen, tails would indeed be invaluable; and, upon my honour, when I come to think of it, I only wonder how human beings, have come to be overlooked in this little matter.

Cats, it may be observed, wag their tails when pleased; when angry, they lash them; and, when excited, and about to spring on their prey, the tail quivers. This is all involuntary on the part of pussy, and is an index of the state of her feelings, the tail being principally supplied with nerves from the spinal chord, and along this chord the nervous force is carried from the brain.

Why do cats always fall on their feet? This question is by no means difficult to answer. When she first falls from a height, her back is lowermost, and she is bent in a semicircle. If she fell thus, fracture of the spine, and death, would be the inevitable result. But natural instinct induces her, after she has fallen a foot or two, to suddenly extend the muscles of her back, and stretch her legs; the belly now becomes the convexity, and the back concave, thus altering the centre of gravity, and bringing her round; then she has only to hold herself in this position in order to alight on her feet.

One day lately, a lady, who lives in the fourth story of a house in Dundee, hung the cage with the canary on a nail outside the window. The cat, from the inside, watched it for some time till, unable any longer to withstand the temptation, she made a spring, and, somehow missing the cage, fell to the ground, some forty feet. But she alighted on her feet, and walked off as if nothing had occurred. (See Note R, Addenda.)

Cats are wonderfully sure footed. I saw a cat one day, taking an airing along a housetop, where Blondin could hardly have walked without a pole. She had a kitten in her mouth, too, to make her performance all the more entertaining. Another puss I saw sitting on an iron rail, a few feet from the ground, and apparently fast asleep. The rail was only about one inch in diameter, and she sat there fully an hour.

Very few cats care to drink spirituous liquors. Dogs are not so particular. One dog I had once, on board ship—a Labrador retriever—used to attend the call of “Grog O!” every day, and get his allowance along with the men. He never got drunk though, and he showed his wisdom by taking it well watered. I know a little bull-terrier bitch, who goes to a hotel every day she has a chance. Her favourite tipple is beer poured upon a salver. As she cannot speak, she sits in a chair and thinks a lot. As she always meets plenty of friends willing to stand treat, she never comes home sober. I saw her a few weeks ago, trying in vain to cross the street. At last she sat down in the middle, and barked to me. I was sorry to see a well-bred young lady in such a condition, so I helped her home, for which she showed gratitude next day. (See Note S, Addenda.)

But my father had a cat,—a big Tom, whom the servants used to make drunk at any time. His beverage was Scotch whiskey-brose, i.e., oatmeal and whiskey; and I’ve seen him come staggering into the parlour and tumble over the leg of the table. Then he would fall asleep.

Cats, as a rule, do not like music; although, if brought up in a musical family, they learn to tolerate it. A cat is easily taught to come when whistled upon. A friend of mine has a cat, who, if he commences to whistle a tune, immediately jumps on his breast, and rubs her head all over his face, as if trying to comfort him, having the notion, no doubt, that he is in some sort of anguish. But if he puts out his hand to take down his fiddle in her presence, she at once erects her back and tail, and growls at him, in unmistakable anger. However, in this she shows her good taste, for her master is certainly the most execrable performer, that ever tickled hair on gut.

There are many old superstitions regarding cats still extant, and many foolish notions about them, that had much better be unlearned. Sailors believe, that, if the ship’s cat be lost overboard, shipwreck, or some such disaster, is almost sure to follow. My own old captain, Commander McH—— was imbued with this notion, hence his extreme care to retain the black cat on board, as depicted in the tale, which follows this Chapter—“The Skipper’s Imp.”

Witches are supposed by some to be constantly attended by an evil spirit, in the shape of a black cat.To dream of cats is considered very unlucky. In some of the more unfrequented districts of Scotland, the good folks are still very careful to shut up their cats in the house, on Hallowe’en, i.e., the 31st of October. And they tell me, that those cats that have managed to escape incarceration, that night may be seen, by those brave enough to look, scampering over hill and dell, and across the lonely moors, each one ridden by a brownie, a bogle, a spunkie, or some other infernal jockey, in fact, a devil’s own steeplechase. And, they say, those cats never produce young again; or, if they do, the sooner the kittens are put out of sight the better; they are subject to startings in their sleep—no wonder—have a weird unearthly look about their eyes, and soon pine away, and die, and go—we shudder to say whither.

Cats are supposed to be capital prognosticators of the weather. If a cat is seen washing her face with more than usual assiduity, it is going to be stormy; and if pussy sits much with her back to the fire, you may expect frost and snow in winter, and thunder and lightning, with hail, in summer. Some portion of pussy’s person seems, indeed, to retain the power of foretelling the weather, even after death, as witness that common toy, which poor people use instead of a barometer, a wee wee man, and a wee wee woman, living together in a wee wee house; one of them pops out every day; if the day is to be fine, the lady comes, if not, like a loving wife, she sends her good man out—the secret is, the little couple are suspended on catgut, which twists or untwists according to the state of the atmosphere.

LONG-HAIRED BLACK.
First Prize—Owned by Miss Armitage.

MANX.
First Prize—Owned by P. Williams, Esq.

There is a very common popular fallacy, regarding cats sucking an infant’s breath, and killing it. The idea is simply preposterous. Cats, being extremely fond of children, naturally like to get into the cradle, to lie beside, and watch them. They often crouch upon the child’s breast; this may impede breathing more or less, according to the relative size of the cat to the baby. If the cat actually sits upon the child’s face, then indeed the poor creature may be suffocated. But such an occurrence is so very rare, that it is hardly worth mentioning. Many more deaths occur from bad arrangement of a baby’s pillow, in which case the mother must be glad when there is a cat to put the blame upon.

Cats have any amount of wiliness about them. A dog would scarcely think of hiding below a bush until its prey came within reach; but cats are adepts at an ambuscade. A cat knows by experience that a bird—say a sparrow—looks almost in every direction, saving directly beneath it, and so pussy always steals a march on it, from below. If a bird is foolish enough to alight on the top of a clothes-pole, pussy has a very easy victory. It is that same habit of never looking downwards, which causes those large birds, which alight on a ship’s yards at sea, to be so easily captured by the sailors.

Instances of jealousy are by no means uncommon in the feline race. Jealousy is an indication of a sensitive nature, and no animal in the world is more sensitive than a cat. A lady had a pretty little pussy, which she had saved from drowning. This cat was excessively fond of its mistress, was never absent from her while in the house, and outside used to follow her like a dog. But in course of time, this lady bought a parrot, and pussy must have thought her mistress was paying the bird too much attention, for all of a sudden the cat’s nature seemed entirely changed. It did not respond to the lady’s caresses; it would sit for an hour at the time, looking with gathered brows at the parrot, and instead of accompanying her mistress abroad she remained sulking in doors. In truth, the cat was breaking her heart; her glossy fur got dry and rough, and at last she refused all food; so, as she really loved her cat, this lady parted with her parrot, although with great reluctance. Pussy recovered at once; the effect seemed magical; and in a few days she was herself again, the same fun-loving, frolicsome, loving wee cat she had been before.A gentleman had a cat whom he called “Pimento”—the pimento-tree, the reader will remember, is said to permit no rival plant to grow within its shade. There was another cat in the same house; but Pimento, although otherwise a nice cat, and gentle and loving in the extreme, would never allow his master to pay the slightest attention to this cat. If he did, there was a row at once; and if his master protected the other cat, then Pimento at once left the room growling, and in high dudgeon. (See Note T, Addenda.)

“In a house where I resided,” says a correspondent (see Note U, Addenda), “there were two cats, a young and an old one. The young one was a smart clever animal with a decided turn for humour, the other liked to be taken notice of. One day I was paying some attention to the latter, which, of course, was highly pleased. With tail erect, it walked backward and forward. The young one, which had been pretending to be asleep, suddenly seized hold of the tail of the other with its paw, gave it a sharp pull, and was again in a sleeping attitude ere the other had time to look round. The old one turned about, saw the young one apparently asleep, and me laughing. It immediately retired to a corner of the room, thinking no doubt that I was a double villain.”

Did the reader ever observe how very fond cats are of sitting on paper. One can hardly have a pet puss, and not observe this trait. If you have a book in your lap, up jumps Pussy, and seats herself right on top of it. If you are writing a letter, Pussy creeps along the table, singing so that you can hardly be angry with her, and places herself on the writing materials. My present puss prefers the Daily Telegraph to anything else for a bed at night, or to have her kittens on; indeed, if the Standard is lying on the same sofa, and she gets on to it by mistake, she will very soon get off, and on to the Telegraph.

Are cats revengeful? Never as a rule. Yet they do sometimes display little pettish outbursts of temper. They would not be like women if they did not do that.A lady tells me that when she is writing, her cat will sometimes come and plant herself right in the way, and when gently pushed off, she suddenly loses her temper, and pitches the writing materials right and left on to the floor.

The following anecdote is highly illustrative of the kind and quantity of pussy’s revenge:—

“Now for the story of the cat; she was a lovely black and white KÂbul cat (the same as Persian) with hair like floss silk, as long as one’s finger; and as wise—as a great many human beings. She had a great dislike to roast mutton cold, and when I had nothing else to offer her, her resentment was most marked: she refused my caresses, and walked straight off to my dressing-room, where on the top of the chest of drawers stood my bonnet-box. She jumped up and administered slaps to the box, until it fell on the floor, when she would come away at once, her revenge being gratified. This occurred on several occasions, and only when she was offered a cold mutton dinner. Was not the knowledge of what would distress my feminine feelings a wonderful piece of intelligence? We quite looked out for it after the first few times, and would watch her walking off to my room, and then in a minute or two there would be ‘bump, bump,’ and my husband would say, ‘There goes your bonnet!’” (See Note V, Addenda.)

I only know one instance of what might be called revenge proper. It was a large black cat of the name of Imp. The poor fellow was exceedingly ill-used by the servant maid, who used to beat him on every occasion possible. Imp’s dislike to the girl was very great, although he evidently was afraid to attack her, but one day this servant was coming downstairs with a tray of dishes, and seeing both her hands full, Imp thought he ought not to miss such a golden opportunity for retaliation. He accordingly flew at her, and scratched both her arms and face severely. So we see that cats, although gentle and forgiving in the extreme to those who love them, do not easily forget an injury from the hands of a stranger or cat-hater. (See Note W, Addenda.)

The reader must have often heard that cats seem to possess some wonderful instinct which enables them to predict certain kinds of coming calamities,—such as earthquakes, and different sorts of explosion. Personally, I know one instance of this, although I cannot explain it, viz., our ship’s cat taking to the rigging and sitting on the main-truck before our vessel was discovered to be on fire. Another I have from my grandfather—an officer in the 1st Royals at the time of the last Anglo-Franco war. My grandmother was bending down, taking something from a chest on the floor, when suddenly the whole window was blown to splinters—dust almost—around her, with the thunder of some dreadful explosion. It was a transport that had entered the harbour—Kiel, I think—some days before, laden with war munitions, and which had blown up with all hands. But it was remarked by every one on the quay, that the ship’s cat had been sitting all the morning of the explosion, on the vessel’s main-truck.

Cats are sometimes very fond of horses. I know an instance of this where the stable-cat was very much attached to a certain horse, and that animal evidently reciprocated the cat’s kindly feelings. And Pussy used to stand quietly, and allow the horse to lick her fur the wrong way, and indeed seemed to enjoy it. (See Note G, Addenda.)

We all know how proud Miss Puss is of her song. Barring a certain drowsy monotony, which acts like a narcotic both on herself and kittens, and at times even on human beings, there isn’t much melody in it, however. This power of singing becomes lost in sickness, and also in extreme old age. I know of a cat, of very advanced years, that had given up singing for many a day, until a kitten—a famous musician in its way—came to reside at her house. Then poor old Pussy tried hard to get out a bar or two, and her efforts to succeed were quite ludicrous. Being laughed at she flew into a passion, and put her spite out on the happy little kitten. The more this spirited pussy was thrashed however, the louder it sang; so the old cat left the room in disgust.

The days and years of a cat’s life, are on an average fourteen, but many live very much longer. Fifteen and seventeen are very common ages for Pussy to die at. The longest time I have ever known a cat live, was till its twenty-second year, but I have heard of them dying at the age of thirty.

It is quite a common thing for a cat to feed itself with milk or cream, by dipping her forepaw in the jug, and then licking it. Pussy is very awkward at drinking water from a crystal tumbler. At first she will generally thrust her head too far in, which will make her sneeze; then she will sit and eye the glass for a time, as if considering how far the water comes up. Not content with ocular demonstration, she will next put a paw cautiously in, until the extreme end of her toes touches the water, and thus, after marking the distance, she can drink in comfort.

A certain cat which had been reared on the spoon, used, when full-grown, to sit up on her hind-legs, and reaching down the spoon to her mouth with her paws, swallow the contents. The same cat used to drink milk, if poured into her mouth from a jug, or any dish with a spout to it. So expert at that trick did she become, that, sitting up as usual, she used to receive and swallow a continuous stream poured into her throat from a height of three feet. (See Note X, Addenda.)

For the subject matter, of the remainder of this chapter, I am indebted to a lady who takes a great interest in feline nature. (See Note H, Addenda.)

“It is certain,” she says, “that cats have some strange instinct, that sends them, when lost or starving, to certain people. They have followed me in gay crowded streets, and met me in fields; I have gone into shops and bought milk and rolls for the starvelings; and have gone again to the same place, and they were gone,—doubtless, cats on the tramp and destitute. I have known a friend’s cat lost for five days, and it never attempted to make its sorrows known, until I passed before the window of an underground room, when her shrieks were horrible to hear, and so prolonged, that the passers-by stopped to listen. I remained speaking to the poor creature, whose claws were rattling against the shut door, until the key was brought, and pussy set free.”

She relates an instance of a young surgeon, who was on his way to join his ship, to sail to the antipodes, and who was followed to the very boat by a pretty little kitten. As it seemed bent on being a sailor, the surgeon put the poor thing in his pocket. It was presented to a lady on board, who was interested in its story, and is now doing duty among the cats of South Australia,—a country, by the bye, where cats are more fully appreciated than here.

Beda was a beautiful blue tabby. One summer’s morning, down in Devon, she had been missed for hours, and on being called, a viper glided out from a thicket in the garden, closely followed by the cat. The snake—until killed by a lady—kept moving off, but every moment turning round, and hissing at Beda, who, however, was in no ways put about. The following also tends to show that cats have no fear of snakes:—

“At Artea, in the province of Orissa, a cobra had his den under a mulberry-tree, near a garden walk. One day our English tabby cat, Beda, had been missing with all her kits for some hours. She was found at the foot of the mulberry-tree, teaching her children to pat the cobra on the head, every time he popped it out. When the head was protruded too far, a stroke from puss herself, caused its speedy withdrawal. Thinking the game dangerous, the cobra, which measured two inches in diameter, was dug out and killed. We were afterwards told by the natives, that no snake will kill a cat, as they dislike the fur.”

Cats are like dogs, and generally have a favourite among the litter, the handsomest. Once when Beda was nursing in India, a wild cat sprang in by the open window, and tried to seize the kittens. Beda made off with her pet, and the wild cat was beaten out. Beda, however, forgot where she had hidden the favourite, nor would she be consoled with the other members of her family. A search was accordingly made, and the pet kitten at last found on a sofa, in an adjoining bungalo.

This lady’s cat never attempted to touch the canary, nor indeed any birds about the place.