Miranda Eliot Swan

OUR new room, a very large alcove, was pleasant and comfortable. The people who owned the house were school-teachers, refined, and the atmosphere was congenial to us all. I loved to watch my friend's busy fingers and follow Miss Milly's pen, as she wrote for hours at her desk. I loved to walk over the fresh writing and flirt my tail over the ink-bottle. That would make her stop and scold me, then pet me till I was willing she should return to her work. The eyes of affection are sharp. I saw with pain that they were obliged often to lie down, after a long spell of work, but they never complained.

Mrs. Knight came often to see us, but I did not see Stacy for a long time. He was busy with his studies at Harvard, but he sent me kind messages, and I knew he loved me. Our boys were not with us, and I had no young company; but then, I was happy for I could see and hear from our young friends frequently.

I always greeted dear Mrs. Knight with delight. She had a camel's hair shawl she used to roll me in, when we lived in her house, and I loved to claw it and pull the wool out of it. I wondered she did not wear it, but then, I suppose, it was old fashioned. She told me that her cat Solomon was very fond of it, and she allowed him to sleep on the lounge with that shawl under him.

I felt a little jealous of Solomon, but I doubt if they ever love another cat as well as they love me. They said Solomon had no associates, though they lived on the swell avenue.

The cats belonging there were only tolerated one-half the year. The cats that were not boarded out were left to become tramps. Of course these cats were very immoral, and they did not think it would improve Solomon to be friendly with them. I did smile when Mrs. Knight said, "Daisy is such a perfect cat, we hold him up as a model for Solomon."

I wondered how Sol would like that, for he told me he did not like being kept in. He guessed he could take care of his morals; the society cats could not hurt him.

One day he proved himself not so wise as his name would indicate. He fell out of the third story window. When they gathered around him, thinking he would have to be chloroformed, he got up, shook himself, and lived.

He told me very sad tales of the cats living in that vicinity. "Would you not think," he said, "that in these palatial houses there would be room for one cat?"

I said I should think they would want two or three. He shook his wise head, saying, "Oh, no. If they see a cat that pleases them, some superannuated spinster will gush over her, making her a pet for a little while. But let poor Pussy fall ill, or get one flea on her, and out she goes into outer darkness."

"Oh," I said, "don't speak like that! my two dear friends are 'maiden ladies,' and no one can be kinder to animals than they are. The sick and unfortunate always appeal to their sympathy, and not in vain. I remember Miss Eleanor washing every day a poor neglected black cat whose eye a rat had bitten. It was not a pleasant piece of work, I can tell you, and she tended that eye so faithfully that it got well. They would go hungry to give food to a poor animal that needed it."

"Well, well, it may be so," said Sol, impressed by my indignant protest; "but I have heard that old bachelors and old maids are always the hardest on animals."

I indignantly denied this. "It is married people who dislike each other and cannot get free, who have horrid children—they are the hard ones. They do not want the care of their children themselves, and expect animals to offer themselves to be tortured by these wretched children. And if they defend themselves, refusing to have their eyes poked out with sticks, tin pails tied to their tails, and lighted matches held to their noses, and bite or scratch, then they are denounced as vile, and are given bad characters that will follow them through life."

I had spoken with real feeling, and I could see that Sol believed me.

"You are right, I suppose," he said. "We are both of us fortunate cats; 'our lives have fallen in pleasant places.'"

Poor Sol! He was so wise he had to quote Scripture, even if he did not understand it; and in this he was no worse than human beings. Do half of them know the meaning of the passages of Scripture they quote so confidently?

"We," he continued in a sentimental tone, "cannot realize how hard it is to be outcasts. These closed-up houses and boarded-up doors are gloomy enough during the summer months. At dusk the skeleton forms that steal out, too feeble to mew, start at every sound, fearing the stones and jeers they are sure to meet from the stray ragamuffin children who roam about this deserted region. Their hearts are broken,—for cats have hearts, and loving ones too,—and it is hard for them to believe that those who have sometimes noticed them have left them alone. I do not know," he continued, "where we are going, but I do not believe we were made in vain, and I think these heartless people will find in the hereafter that the animals they have abused will be avenged."

"All I desire," said I, "is to be with my two dear friends." And to this Solomon said, "Amen."

I like Sol very much. He is a very well educated cat and looks upon life in a serious manner. He has grown quite large and appreciates his good home. I think he is a Christian Endeavorer, and will do all he can for homeless cats. I remember his wise words; and when dear Mrs. Knight brings me some of his catmint, I enjoy it for itself, because I love it, and in memory of his friendship. One can remember his friends even if he does not meet them often. Perhaps if we were to see each other every day, we should disagree.