Miranda Eliot Swan

I DO not know where I was born. I can only remember a dark cellar where I seemed to belong, and children who drove and frightened me every time I went near the house. The cook was kind to me and put out scraps of food in an old tin plate. I was often obliged by hunger to pick from the swill barrel my dinners. I soon found plenty of rats, and after I learned to kill them, life had some charm for me.

It was a dirty, damp, dark cellar, for the people who owned the house were of the "newly rich" class. They thought only of decorating that part of the house open to public inspection. Everything was made to pay its way, and the servants were kept on short rations.

I earned my living (picked from the swill barrel) by killing rats, for the house was infested with them. No one ever spoke a kind word to me, and I often wondered why I was made. I would creep into the house like a criminal.

Once I enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in a chair. Oh, how soft and nice it was, and I began to purr, with the sense of happiness. But I was rudely shaken from my dream of bliss, and this was the only chance I ever had to test the delights of easy chairs. I was driven out with stones and bits of wood till I gladly found refuge for my poor bruised body in the cellar. There I lay in hunger and pain, my heart filled with bitterness toward all mankind. I felt the injustice, if only a poor cat.

It was a great neighborhood for cats, and I soon made friends with them. I was perfectly reckless, and caterwauled with them, joining their midnight revels with all my heart. We cared not for bottles or bootjacks, but made night terrible. Why should we keep quiet? We had no homes, no nice beds, no friend to speak to us. Why should we care to please those who remembered us only to abuse us?

Now this is all very sad. Since I have seen what life ought to be, in this dear home, I wish with all my heart I had earlier known these good people. I am very thankful that you, my only living child, will grow up in this refined atmosphere.

To return to my dismal history. Soon after my introduction to the nightly revels, I had my first kittens. I never was so happy in my life. Though I had suffered all alone the most severe pain, the dear little creatures compensated me for my hours of anguish. There were four of them. Two of them were black, and two of them gray. Such perfect little creatures, I was delighted with them. Though we had only an ash-heap for our bed, I kept them on my fur, and did not care for the ashes on my own nice fur coat. No mother on her bed of down, with laces and embroideries around her, could have kept her children nicer than I kept mine.

I followed just the instinct my Maker gave me, and what came after was from no fault of mine, but from the wickedness of human nature, which has unsettled my beliefs and made me a sceptical and unbelieving cat.

I hated to leave my kittens to take my food. How I fought for the best I could get, to nourish them! I swallowed things I had always disliked, for I was determined to carry back milk enough for all four of them.

This happiness lasted but a short time. The tyrant of the family, a dreadful boy of ten years, discovered them one morning. With shouts of delight, he took them and dropped them, one by one, into a pail of scalding hot water.

The cook called to him and tried to remove the pail, but it was too late; he continued his cruel work till my four dear little kittens were lost to me forever.

When I heard their last feeble wail, I tried to save them or share their fate. I was driven back with laughter, and the blows from a huge stick in the hands of the young murderer soon drove me down to the cellar, where I lay bruised, and oblivious of my pain and loss, for some hours.

Late at night I crawled out, faint and hungry, a hopeless outcast on the face of the earth. Tom, one of the neighbors' cats, shared his supper with me, and listened with sympathy to my sad story.

"Oh, is that all?" he said, when I had finished. "You may be glad they are dead, and out of the reach of that boy. If he is not hung," said Tom, with a wise shake of his head, "I miss my guess. Why, he is the terror of the neighborhood. He invents cruel things to practise on animals. Some time ago he cut a little baby pup's throat with a penknife, and sewed it up with cotton and a great big needle, while he never winced. The little pup died in great agony. And the boy's mother said, 'The dear child will certainly be a doctor, he has such skill.' Old Tabby, who lives next door, when she heard this speech of his mother's, said, 'He may be, and is, a devil, but he never ought to be a doctor.' And as we all believed in this wise saying, we gave old Tabby three cheers."

Tom tried to comfort me, telling such heartrending stories of the abuse of poor cats that my hair stood on end with horror. I then and there vowed hatred to all mankind. Even the peace of this dear home and the love of these dear people have not cured me of my distrust. I see an enemy on every hand.

Tom could not console me, and I was too wretched to confide my plans to him. I was suffering intense agony. My breasts were swollen like crab-apples. I could not bear the pain, and dragged myself to a puddle of water, hoping to cool the heat in them.

That night's suffering was the turning-point with me. I made up my mind I would take myself miles away from these cruel people, where every hand had been against me and mine.

I started slowly, and crawled through alleys and back yards, it seemed to me, for miles. The sound of a human voice, particularly that of a child, acted like a whip on me. I would run till my breath grew short, and I would sink down, feeling I must die, that I could never move again. Then at some sound I would start once more.

At last, worn out with fatigue, hunger, and fever (caused by my inflamed breasts), I reached a gate just as it opened to admit a man with groceries. I rushed in, spent and breathless, and hid myself in a dark corner. Here, thought I, will be a rest for one night.

As I crouched down in the dark corner, the man came out of the house, with the servant behind him, to close the gate. What an anxious moment for me! She returned to the house without seeing me, and I was safe.

After a brief rest, broken by the throbbing of my breast, I aroused myself, and, attracted by a bright light, I approached the window. The light came from the kitchen, where the half-curtain, open in the middle, gave me a glimpse of paradise.

This is the picture I looked upon with longing eyes: A large, old-fashioned kitchen, scrupulously clean, a table covered with a red cloth, a shade lamp standing in the centre, and a nice work-basket by its side, completed this homelike picture. The servant, a woman of middle age, nice, fresh, and pleasant looking, sat by the table, in a large rocking-chair, darning stockings. A more homelike scene never greeted the eye of a poor outcast. But the crowning object of all was a large black cat, spread out on a nice rug in front of the fire.

Presently she arose, walked about, swinging her tail, "monarch of all she surveyed," as I soon found she was.

How my heart beat as I thought, "Why is this? Why am I homeless, cast out to starve, while this cat has a beautiful home and is well fed and happy?"

Alas! even in the animal world is the vexed question, which disturbs human beings, of why one being, created by our "Heavenly Father," should be high in power, while others who are just as worthy are down under his feet. We ask, but who can answer?

Very soon, while I stood looking in, shivering with envy and my bodily pain, a door opened, and a lady came in. She was no longer young, but ladylike, and very kind and pleasant looking. She sat down and called, "Topsy, Topsy," in such a kind voice it made my heart ache. I looked with surprise, for Topsy took not the least notice of her. The lady laughed a very pleasant laugh, as she said, "What an odd creature you are," as she took Topsy in her arms, and smoothed her fur. Topsy did not seem to care for the affection lavished on her, never responding at all.

But just then another lady, somewhat younger than the other, came in. Topsy gave a great rush into her arms, and to my surprise, clasped her black paws around her neck, while the lady hugged and kissed her just like a child.

I could watch no longer. Envy, hatred, and malice, added to my swollen breasts, made me too wretched to live. I just dragged myself back to my dark corner and closed my eyes for a long time, oblivious of everything around me. At intervals I slept when the violent throbbing of my breasts would allow me; but when I could think, one idea had taken full possession of me, and that was a determination to get into this home.

"Surely," I said, "they have such kind hearts, they will not refuse help to such a miserable object as I am."

This comforted me a little; and as the neighborhood was a quiet one, and as I was worn out by the miles I had run and the pain of my bruises, I was able to sleep till morning.

The first thing I heard was a step approaching, and Bridget, the girl I had seen the night before, bent over me, saying, "Bless me! here's a strange cat in our yard." Then, as she looked again, she said in a sympathizing voice, "Poor creature! you look half starved."

She ran in, and soon returned with a saucer of milk. She held it to my lips, and I tried very hard to move myself up, that I might swallow. It was impossible; for the slightest movement gave me great pain, and I moaned and closed my eyes.

She then got an old blanket, and folding it nicely, she lifted me up tenderly and placed me on it. I tried to lap some of the milk, but the effort brought back all my pains. The anguish of my swollen breasts was more than I could bear, and I fell back on the blanket, hoping I should die. Everything was so peaceful that I had no desire to arouse myself to battle with life any longer.

"Here," I thought, "they will care for me and bury me, then I shall be with my dear little kittens perhaps."

I had no fear, but a great pleasure in a quiet death; for I knew that God would care for all the creatures He had made. I was glad to die and escape from persecution,—no more to be kicked and cuffed, no more be hunted by cruel children.

As I dozed off, I heard voices, and on opening my eyes I saw Miss Eleanor, the lady I had first seen the night before. As she bent over me, I thought her face was beautiful. Her eyes were filled with tears in pity of my suffering. She smoothed my fur with her soft hand, and when I moaned as she touched my breast, she exclaimed, "You poor creature! your breasts are like bricks. Look here, Milly," she called to her sister, "just see this poor cat's condition. What brutes she must have lived with, to treat her in this manner, taking away her kittens, and leaving her to suffer."

"Take her in, Bridget, and put her in Topsy's basket," said Miss Milly. "I wish I could deal with those people! They would never abuse another cat."

I was lifted tenderly and placed in a large basket, with a beautiful soft rug inside to lie on. Miss Eleanor bathed my breasts with warm milk, and then applied some healing lotion after the milk had dried. It kept them very busy, for the heat dried the milk as soon as it was applied. It was very soothing, and I tried to lick her hand. She was delighted, and kissed me right between my eyes, saying, "She is a grateful creature," while tears of sympathy shone in her eyes.

"This is heaven," I said to myself, "and I am perfectly happy here."

When Bridget brought me some warm milk, I was able to lap it very well.

"What shall you do with her?" asked Bridget.

The sisters looked at each other while Miss Eleanor said: "What will Harrie say? We cannot keep another cat with Topsy."

"We may find a good home for her, but it would be better to chloroform her than leave her to suffer," said Miss Milly.

The warm kitchen, the soothing cream, and the soft rug made me very comfortable, and I slept the rest of the day, trusting myself to these dear, kind people.

Miss Eleanor came quite often to see me, bringing me cream and soft bits of chicken, though, never having tasted such food before, I did not know what it was. I had very little desire for anything but water or milk, as the fever made me very thirsty.

Miss Milly came down later in the evening with the elder sister, the mistress of the house. Mrs. Rice was a sweet-faced little woman, and looked with great kindness on me.

"What shall we do with two cats? Topsy is a houseful. What will you do with her, Milly? She is so jealous if you touch another cat."

"I will manage her, for we must keep this poor creature till we find her a good home."

"You have a hard task, and when you introduce her to Topsy, 'may I be there to see.'" And Mrs. Rice turned away, laughing. "This bids fair to be the 'cats' house' that Eleanor used to tell the boys about."

"There is no use waiting," said Miss Milly. "If Topsy should find a cat in her basket, war would be declared at once."

This made me tremble a little, and subsequent events proved I had good reason for my fears.

Pretty soon we heard Miss Milly coming downstairs and telling my story to Topsy in a coaxing voice. She told it in so thrilling a manner that I never realized I was such a sufferer before. She came in, holding Topsy in her arms very tightly.

The moment Topsy's yellow eyes rested on me she gave a yell, and tried to escape, but her mistress held her fast while Miss Eleanor came over to me. I cowered down in the basket—not from fear, oh, no! Like the war-horse, I "scented the battle," and longed to measure claws with this proud creature. But I was wise. I knew I had a character to sustain and a home to earn. I kept my temper, closing my eyes as if too weak to open them.

"I think I had better take her in my arms, as this is Topsy's basket, and you know she never allows any one to touch it." And Miss Eleanor took me on a blanket, and held me on her lap.

"You are a naughty cat, and I am ashamed of you," Miss Milly said, as she put Topsy down.

She did not care for the reproof, for she glared and scoffed at me. Then she went to her basket, snuffing around it, till Bridget came, and taking out the rug, said, "Of course I must shake it, or Madam will not touch it."

She soon brought it back, and after a time Topsy seated herself bolt upright, and looked at me with such contempt, as if to say, "Never dare enter this basket again."

I never did, and never wanted to, as they found me a very good place in an old clothes-basket, and, to Bridget's delight, gave her a new one instead.

Then Miss Milly took me in her arms, in spite of Topsy's yells and frantic efforts to get at me, saying, "Now, Topsy, if I ever hear you have treated this poor creature badly, I will punish you, and love her best."

After this, though Topsy never cared for me, she treated me like a poor relation, offering me all the tough pieces of meat and bones; but she could never see me near Miss Milly without trouble.

We lived very happily in this nice house for one year. No one had cared for me, and I had settled down like one of the family, and soon my place was assured, for one day Topsy was missing. Everything was done to find her. Rewards were offered, and, for months, Miss Milly never gave her up, and it made her so ill that no one ever dared mention Topsy to her. I did pity them all, for they loved her dearly, but to Miss Milly it was like losing a child. She was always very kind to me, but she never was known to pet another cat till you were born. And I do think, Daisy, you can win her love, and in a measure console her for Topsy's loss.

It was a great mystery, her disappearance, for they never got one trace of her. One thing was very sure; she was stolen, for she never would have left of her own accord. Some one suggested that, being a "Salem" cat, she had gone home to the "witches," as all black cats are said to belong to them.

I missed her, but was very happy to be the only pet in the house. I had many kittens, and they were treated kindly, and mercifully disposed of. One was always kept till I could wean it, and then a good home was found for it. You were promised to a friend, but it was very fortunate for you that their delay in sending gave you such a hold upon the affections of these nice people that they decided not to give you away.

This pleased the boys, as they did not care to lose their dear little playmate. Miss Milly said, "Daisy shall be mine."

Great changes have come to this home. We have moved twice, and the good Bridget they could no longer afford to keep. We are now about to move again. I know they will provide for me, but I like this nice neighborhood, and the musicales on the back shed. The Bohemian blood in my veins I cannot ignore.

The trouble I have passed through makes excitement necessary, and I put my whole heart into the fierce fights, and enjoy them.

Why not? I know people say, "Cats! awful fighting creatures!" Well, but where are the bull-fights, in which man and beast shed each other's gore and men and women look on? Dressed in their laces and diamonds, they applaud while rivers of blood flow from the poor wounded victim. The genteel cock-fights, and hunting down one poor little fox by a pack of hounds! If we are cruel, we learn it of human beings.

I do wish I could be satisfied with a quiet life, but it is too late to reform, and I shall meet my fate here. I will not go with them. You, my dear child, will be the loved one to comfort them. And I charge you to profit by your mother's experience, and you will be a fortunate cat.

This is my mother's story as I heard it from her lips.

Two weeks after this conversation we moved to a small house, with only a few rooms. To me the change made no difference. I was happy, petted by all. It was no surprise to me that at the last moment my mother was missing. But it was a real sorrow to them all. They searched everywhere. They sent to all the neighbors, asking them to feed her, and let them know if she came back that they could send for her. How I wished I could speak, and tell them that one reason why she left them was the fear of being a burden to them.

For several weeks they never gave her up, but often went to the old place; but no one had seen my mother. At first food had disappeared that they had put out for her, but after a time it was not touched, and no one ever saw her again.