Miranda Eliot Swan

THERE is no doubt that cat lovers will be interested in the true stories of cats that our friends related to us from time to time. I have them all in my memory. If they can arouse a love of cats in the hearts of my readers, this little work of love by one fortunate cat will accomplish its purpose.

Our friend told us a very wonderful story of a cat named Alexander. There seems to be a fitness in his name; for he was, in my opinion, very great. It does look a good deal like a "fish story," though I know it is strictly true; for he was a Boston cat, and lived not half a mile from our home.

Alexander was a prime favorite with all the family. He was the master's special friend and pet, while the mistress had a bird she was very fond of and had kept a great many years. Alexander had been taught to respect its rights, and ignored it as beneath his notice.

They had bought a beautiful house at the seashore, reached by the boats every hour or two from Boston. They closed their city house, and removed all the family, including dogs, bird, and last, but not least, Alexander, to their summer home quite early in the season. They went down by boat, and, as one would suppose, neither dog nor cat could well find his way back alone.

Alexander was taken in a large basket; one of the most reliable of the maids had charge of him, while the bird was taken by one of the family. Alexander had in every way protested against this move. He walked about the house, superintending the shutting up of rooms, with grave displeasure.

The dogs, bird, and the family soon settled themselves, and the new place assumed an air altogether homelike. Alexander was restless and morose, and the third day he was missing. They had noticed the stolid air of disapproval with which he had gone around, looking with critical eye upon the house and its surroundings. He avoided the side of the house that faced the water, proving that he did not care for sea-bathing, and the air evidently did not agree with him.

They spared neither money nor trouble in searching for him. No clew whatever could be found, and they mourned him as dead. They returned early in September to their Boston home on account of illness in the family.

They had been at home only a few days, and the house had settled into that homelike air so pleasant to returned wanderers, when one day, while they were at dinner, Alexander walked in. He was the shadow of his former self, thin, rough, and gaunt looking, the very fierce expression of his eyes making him look like a stranger.

He refused every welcome extended to him, looking at them with disdain. He marched to a table, mounted it, gave one spring, and before they could realize his purpose he put his sharp claws through the cage door and killed the little pet bird.

He looked around upon them all with an expression of satisfaction, as if to say: "Now I am satisfied. You have enjoyed the company of your pets; you have not been satisfied with going away and leaving us in our good home, but you must have another. If the little fools you took with you were willing to stay, I was not. You left me to wander, and I have taken my revenge."

The mistress was very unhappy at the loss of her pet, and demanded Alexander's life in exchange—"a life for a life." Her husband refused. He sympathized with her loss, but he stood by Alexander. The master was the only one that cat would trust. He avoided all the other members of the family, and never recovered his cheerfulness or his good looks. The iron had entered into his soul.

Where he spent the summer months remains a mystery. From the change wrought in him, it could not have been in very elevating company. But the question is, Where did he spend that time, and how did he get back to the city? Is it not a convincing fact that cats know more than they are supposed to? And if they are such intelligent beings, ought they not to be treated with humanity?

It is true they will be hunted and abused by bad children; but properly taught, might they not be made nice playmates for children, even taking the place of a nurse maid if trained to do so? It does seem right for all animals to be studied and their good traits encouraged.

Horses have been, ever since the world was formed, the friend and patient slave of man. No animal has suffered more abuse patiently borne than the horse. And now that the fools of fashion have presumed to improve on their Maker's work, clipping them, cutting their tails, and using the abominable check-rein, they are objects of pity to every right-minded person.

My mistress had a friend who often called to take her to ride. She had been away, for a long time, travelling. On her return she came to see us, and asked my mistress to ride with her out into the country. We were very much pleased, for they both needed the air; and as she said she would take Miss Eleanor the next day (the carriage holding only two), there was a pleasant prospect for both of my dear friends, and I was delighted, for they had stitched and stitched till I was nearly frantic, looking at my sharp but useless claws.

I could only express my satisfaction by walking around her, and rubbing my head against her dress. She was quite pleased, saying, "Daisy has grown more lovely then ever," and she patted my head with such soft dogskin gloves, I did long to chew them.

As Miss Milly prepared for the ride, her friend said: "Just look at my new horses. Are they not beauties?"

"These are not your horses!" exclaimed Miss Milly, as she looked from the window.

"Certainly they are," her friend replied, "and I knew you would admire them."

"I am sorry to disappoint you," Miss Milly said, "but I do not admire, though I do pity these poor creatures. Is it possible that you had their tails cut in such an absurd manner? And their heads held up so cruelly?"

"Of course I did," replied her friend, while her face grew red with anger; "and I mean to have their heads raised an inch every day till they get used to it."

Miss Milly untied her bonnet, saying, "Much as I need a ride, I could never enjoy it, in sight of such cruel suffering. How could you do it? I thought you so kind-hearted, when we were girls together, that I cannot believe you have changed so sadly."

"How absurd you are! I think you carry your old-fashioned notions too far, and I must say you are very unkind to refuse to ride with me. Every one has these things done, why should not I?"

"You need not be cruel because others are; and I thought you had independence enough to do as you thought right, regardless of the weak and wicked who know not right from wrong. In your position, with wealth at your command, you could set an example that others would follow; for there are always those who are ready to do just as people in better circumstances than themselves are able to do, no matter what foolishness it leads to."

"I hope, Eleanor," said their friend as she turned away from Miss Milly, "you are not going to refuse to ride with me because my horses are in the fashion, we all know Milly is a crank on such subjects."

"And in this case, I fully indorse her," said Miss Eleanor. "It is cruel to cripple such noble creatures and make their lives a curse."

"Well," said the other, "I have had a lesson this morning." And tears of vexation stood in her eyes.

"My dear Laura," Miss Milly said, "just think that all we have said to you has been in kindness, because we believe in your real nature. Let your own heart speak for these poor creatures that cannot help themselves, so wholly in your power."

"And make myself a laughing-stock! No, thank you! I shall keep my horses like other people's. I am very sorry not to take you to ride; it is a real disappointment to me."

"It is an equal one to us. We fully appreciate your kindness in offering us a luxury beyond our means, here we recognize the Laura of bygone years. Come some day with 'Brown Bess,' the nice horse you used to drive, and we shall be glad to go with you."

Laura looked very red and confused, and replied, "We did not bring her to the city with us."

They learned some time after that the good old horse had been sold for a hack. My mistress was very indignant. She said she would have sold her own flesh and blood just as soon as a faithful old horse. She said, "If money hardens one's heart, as it has our friend's, we are better without it."

I mounted a chair and saw the carriage drive off, and I did pity the poor horses. The foam fell from their mouths, and they pranced and glared about in torture from which there was no escape. I was sorry my friends had lost their ride, but I was very glad they acted up to their principles.

I looked at the very pretty little woman, sitting so quietly in her carriage, and I said to myself, "If those poor tortured creatures should run away and injure her for life, could she complain? Do not animals have lessons of cruelty taught them every day? What reason have they for being better than their owners?"

I was sorry I had allowed her to pat my head. It brought on a fit of indigestion, and I left my nice kidney; I could not swallow it.