Miranda Eliot Swan

WHAT pleasant memories I have of my early years! How could I be other than a very happy cat, with a home so pleasant, and dear, kind friends? With the boys to play with, and everything to interest me, I have nothing but loving words to say on my own account, and I feel more anxious to try to help the cats who are not appreciated to homes and friends like mine.

With all my advantages, I must admit I was at times a great trial to those who loved me. If a boy had behaved as I did, it would have been called the "old Adam" in him. And with me I suppose it was the cat old Adam. I was full of life and fun, and a great hunter of everything that moved, from a leaf that rustled in the breeze to our natural enemy, a mouse.

I was very smart at the business of hunting, and the rats and mice that I destroyed I cannot tell. I wish I had kept an account, but when young I did not know the value of a journal and account book. It would be a real pleasure to me now, when memory is often treacherous.

I was never allowed to worry or torment them, though I had the desire, as every one has, to torment or worry something. Miss Eleanor would put her hand around my throat gently, but it would force open my mouth, making me drop my victim. Then it was at once killed.

One day I chased one under the bed. I knew it had received its death-blow, and I wanted to go in and worry it occasionally. My mistress did not know of it; she was not in the room at the time.

It was just about tea time, and I expected a scene when it should crawl out, as I feared it would. It was behind a box, and I could not move it or get at it with my paws; but I scratched on it with my claws to assure it of my presence and make it tremble. In this way I kept it all the evening, and I did dread their going to bed. I was so sleepy, it made me cross. They went to bed, and I fell asleep with a guilty conscience, for I knew it would be a dreadful fright to them if the mouse should appear.

It must have been the middle of the night when a loud scream awoke me, and they both rushed out of the bedroom, saying, "It is a mouse! It walked over the bed!" Before they lighted the gas I had pounced upon my prey and finished it.

Miss Eleanor took a cloth and pulled the mouse out of my mouth and threw it out of the window. I was real mad with them both, and got up on the table, where I never was allowed to sit, and knocked down a beautiful little basket that Miss Milly kept flosses in. The three parts of the basket separated, and all the little bags and balls rolled about on the floor. I poked them under chairs and in corners, and at last my mistresses were obliged to go to bed, leaving me with my playthings. The moonlight favored me, and I not only chased the bags and balls, but I tried to chase the moonbeams. I caught the playthings, but never the moonbeams, and I wondered why.

The next day they talked seriously to me, but I did not care one bit. I washed my face all the time they were talking, and ran under the bed when they wanted to comb me. I chewed the red bow they had tied on my collar till it was black, and it tasted horrid. They did not scold me, for they were afraid I had poisoned myself with the red dye.

Miss Eleanor found in her book an antidote, and Miss Milly gave me the dose. She had a hard time of it, for I spit out the pellets as fast as she gave them to me. That did provoke her, for I knew how to swallow them as well as a child would know. She took me, and, opening my mouth, she dropped them down my throat and held my mouth till they were down. I coughed and fought to get them up, but it was of no use. When Miss Milly was determined on a thing it just had to be done.

I lived through that scare, and have chewed ribbons of all colors since then without harm except to the ribbon. It was very naughty, I know; but if I got mad, I would chew up my ribbon to provoke them.

Another wickedness to record. Like all young cats, I loved to run away. This was before I was stolen that Christmas time I have already written of. Every day I would go out in the yard and hide, and I now remember with great thankfulness how wonderfully I was spared. Poor cats disappear, leaving no trace behind, and I am fortunate not to have been one of them, and I understand why my mistress was afraid to trust me out of her sight. I would hide on the ledge of the fence in the next yard and then peep over to hear them call me.

They would scrape two knives together to call me in to dinner, when we were visiting or when we had the range of the house. Of course I responded promptly to the call, as cats, like children, are always ready for a square meal. But of late I had discovered their little game. There was no dinner; they scraped knives to get me in. They deceived me at first, but not for long.

Now the back of the houses on our street faced the back of the houses on the next street, with a long alley between. At the windows of the opposite houses there were young men who were interested spectators of this little by-play. Very soon they were not content to be only lookers-on; they wanted to take part, and soon they appeared with knives, and then a fearful scraping was heard, and the cries of "Daisy, Daisy" resounded through the alley.

I never turned my head or let them know that I noticed them, for I was very much ashamed of the sensation I had caused, and I crawled home, crestfallen enough, to meet the reproachful glances of my dear friends. They had not dared to appear on the scene. After that I went home without being called.

I was more provoked because these were the very young men who had thrown bottles, old boots, and bootjacks at the cats that assemble nightly to talk over their trials and give an open-air concert occasionally. Were these young men asleep as they ought to be, not just returning at midnight from some junket, they would be willing to believe in the doctrine of "live and let live."

These cats have no homes, no nice beds, and often they have empty stomachs; and if they console themselves with a social meeting, and end in a musicale, who can blame them? They certainly do not have empty bottles to dispose of after their meetings, as these young people do; and there is no uncertain note in their voices when they let it swell out on the midnight air. If it reaches a high C, it is not a "high seas over," as the young men's voices often indicate.

Another proof of the superiority of the animal over the human race. A cat may often be sitting on a beer barrel, but there never was a cat known to have the contents of one inside.

There are many shams in the world that cats would scorn to practise. Now I am, perhaps, about to shock some people by airing my opinion on "family worship." I can hear you say, "How irreverent!" Not at all. Just please read the many so-called bright speeches of children in the newspapers, where they hob-nob with their Maker just as if he were a boon companion.

I have heard my mistress quote, "Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain." I never have, and it makes me shudder to hear children so flippant with the sacred name. And I will never believe that cats or dogs could be taught (even if they had the gift of speech) to be profane, as the poor parrot is. They have an evil eye, and may not be to blame.

One year we boarded in a real country farmhouse,—at least, the master was a farmer; but the family were trying to find some more genteel name for the business and the place that had so long supported them.

It was a nice, old, rambling house, with quaint little nooks and angles where I could hide. The kitchen was very large and low, and the outbuildings so ample that I often lost myself.

The hay-loft was very bewildering, and after I had once climbed up I felt like the travellers my mistress loved to read of—very proud of my exploits.

They had a great yellow cat called Tabby. Now I did hate yellow, and of all weak names I think "Tabby" the weakest. But oh my! "What's in a name?" Sure enough, she was just the reverse of her name. Although she was not "my style," I could not, in that lonesome place, afford to pass her over.

After a time she became quite friendly with me, though at first she had resented my style, as she called it. She evidently thought I was a cat "Astor or Vanderbilt," with my collar and padlock,—that "bete noir" to all cats that I met. They confounded it with the ropes of pearls and strings of diamonds that society women pawn their souls for; but when I explained to her that it was an inexpensive badge, with the name engraved on it so that my friends could recover me when I got lost,—that it represented their affection instead of their dollars,—she, like a sensible cat, realized at once its use, and admired it, saying it was very becoming to the aristocratic bend of my neck. After this I did think she was a cat with good judgment and exquisite taste.

When she saw how delighted I was with her kittens, she allowed me to play with them all I cared to. They were all colors, and the loveliest little creatures I ever saw—four of them. They looked upon me in the light of a bachelor uncle, and were after me all the time. They grudged me the night separation, for my mistress would not allow me out of her room at night.

I was very clumsy with them at first, as old bachelors naturally are, but soon took them in my arms as deftly as their mother did. I was delighted to have them run after me and kick and bite me. I felt sad at first that I was denied this pleasure, that no little ones of my own would ever play about me. But, when Tabby told me her sad tale, I no longer regretted I had been spared so much sorrow.

She said when she saw them happy and loving to all around, she trembled, for she knew at any moment they might be taken from her. She said she had tried to hide her other kittens in every corner she could find, but it was of no use; they were all sacrificed.

They were delighted to play with my collar and padlock, and they scratched it so badly that my mistress said that if I was going to allow myself to be used by the "Scratch Grabble" family as a plate for their etchings that I had better go without a collar.

Go without my collar! Perish the thought! I would tie a blade of grass around my neck rather than go undecorated. Daisy without a collar! The idea!

The family allowed Tabby to go out and in as she pleased. She had plenty of food, and was treated kindly for her usefulness, for the rats she had killed counted into the hundreds; but petting was beyond their comprehension.

The father of the family was a big, jolly old man. His only fault was his piety. Now do not misunderstand this remark, for I have been brought up to respect true religion, but I do hate bigotry.

The farmer's wife was a large, red-faced woman, and very nervous and fussy. Her husband said, "Marier wanted to be a big bug." This gave the true key to her aim in life. She wanted to be fashionable.

They had only two children. The elaborate headstones in the neighboring cemetery where I had rambled gave the names of several children they had buried. And after I had known them a little while I believed, with Tabby, that the best part of the family were represented by the tomb-stones. They fought with each other continually, and their chief fights were during family worship.

The girl, Bessie, was fourteen years old, very fat, big-eyed, big-lipped, with tousled head; always in one's way, and disagreeable in the extreme.

The boy of twelve, red-headed, freckled, and full of mischief, was much better than his sister. Bob, as he was called, had one marked individuality—that was his appetite. I never saw that boy without his mouth full, and his pockets were a storehouse to draw from.

Their table manners were dreadful. As there were only two other boarders besides ourselves, the family were all at the table, and we had a chance to see them in all their glory. The food was of the best and well cooked; but oh, the way it was eaten!

The breakfasts were enough to make any cat sick; for when the last mouthful was swallowed, a greasy, ragged Bible was produced. As my friends said, though they did not approve of the manner in which it was conducted, they did not think it right to turn away from family prayer, and of course I remained with them and rather enjoyed it.

The daughter was made, by the payment of a weekly sum, to read the Bible. She gabbled off a chapter taken from any part of the book she chanced to open to first.

Bob was making faces and kicking her all the time under the table. Once in a while his father would take him by the ear, but not often. A loud yell of "Lemme alone!" was not a pleasant accompaniment to a Bible reading.

Then the father made a prayer. It certainly was only for his own benefit, for no one could distinguish one word he said. Then the children, after a long wrangle, engaged in a boxing match, the father and mother taking no notice of them unless called upon by one or the other to decide their dispute. It was very embarrassing to all but those concerned, and the boarders very gladly returned to their rooms.

Just as it was getting furious and exciting, my mistress took me away. She said she did not care to have me demoralized; but I was provoked, for I wanted to know who was the victor.

They were very much disgusted with the whole performance. Miss Eleanor said, "Why cannot people read one nice selection for the day, and a short prayer that will comprise all that one need ask for, instead of making such wretched exhibitions as we have just witnessed?" And we all agreed with her.

It seems an insult to one's Maker to gabble over prayers, with one's mouth full of food. It seems much more appropriate to ask a blessing before one sits down to the table than after.

It seemed to me real fun, a family circus; but then, I respected my friends' opinions, and knew that their view of the situation was right. I told Tabby what I thought of it, and she said, "It is a long time since I have attended their family prayers, and I will never listen to them again."

One morning she said: "Bessie and Bob had a fierce battle at prayer time, interrupting their father several times. When he had finished, he cuffed them both, and it ended in a real row. Then the mistress, who never could be just to any one, provoked with her husband for punishing the children, and angry with them herself, turned her wrath on me.

"'It is time Tabby's kittens were disposed of,' she said.

"'Yes,' the children yelled; 'lemme, lemme do it!'

"But the father interposed, saying, 'No cruelty shall be practised in my house.'

"Oh, how frantically I tried to claw open the door and get at my kittens! Not that I could save them, but perhaps they would kill me with them.

"The master took me and shut me into the closet, where I fell down broken-hearted. I mewed and mewed, for I knew I should never see my dear ones again. I could not sleep, my breasts ached from the milk that belonged to the poor little victims, and I spent the most wretched day of my life.

"Early in the afternoon Biddy, the servant, released me. She looked very sorrowful at me, and tried to make me eat some dinner, giving me a nice plateful. I could not swallow, and went out to the barn, though I well knew I should not find my children.

"A feeble mew greeted me, and I found, in place of my five beautiful kittens, only one. They said the prettiest, but they were all lovely to me.

"She was a light gray and bright as a button. She was so glad to see me, but looked surprised, as if she thought I would bring her brothers and sisters with me.

"I lay down exhausted, while she nursed, and I could feel the four little lips (that were now cold and stiff) on my breasts, and I felt too wretched to live.

"I was in a real fever for several days, but she nursed me all she could, and I got better. She was soon bright and happy, frisking about, and grew large and very handsome. I did not take any comfort in her, for I knew she would soon be taken from me, and a hard life begin for her.

"Can you wonder that after that morning's experience I never wanted to hear of family worship? If it does not teach them humanity, what is it good for? And if, as they read, God is so mindful of the sparrows, why don't he remember poor cats? Tell me that, will you?"

I did not answer her, my heart was so sad, and I wished I could speak and ask my mistress that same question. I comforted poor Tabby all I could. I said perhaps God lets these people do these things for an example to others. She scoffed at the idea as she asked, "Why did he make us?" As I could not tell, I answered meekly, "I do not know."

I expected every day these innocent creatures would go. Oh, how I did feel! Rash thoughts of taking them and hiding them in Miss Milly's trunk, filled my mind. I wanted to save them.

"There is no use," Tabby said, "we cannot fight against the mighty. All that I can do is to make all the noise I can in the world. I join all the cats around and speak in all the meetings. 'Anarchists' probably they would call us, but we do not care. We caterwaul and scratch and steal, just as human beings in our situation would take to drink. And I would ask, who is to blame? We did not learn this of animals. We learned it of Bessie and Bob and the good, pious people where we live."

I found I could do no good. Tabby was an eloquent speaker when the wrongs of her race inspired her tongue; and my heart beat, and my claws went out and in as I longed to fight for our down-trodden race. The whole barn would have been a battle-field strewn with the bodies of rats, could I just at this moment have encountered them.

When we left this place, my mistress said: "We will never go to a good quiet place again. We will take our chances with the multitude." I fully indorsed this resolution. This experience had made me a more thoughtful and a sadder cat, for the sorrows of animals preyed upon me. Had not the thought of writing this book entered into my mind, thereby opening the eyes of the thoughtless, and helping expose the wrongs of our race, I could not have existed.

How I hated to leave the dear little kittens, they were so fond of me, and ran after me when my mistress took me in her arms to carry me away. The woman told them that they were all promised to friends. They would have good homes; that was why she had kept them so long.

Miss Eleanor talked to her beautifully about their duties to dumb animals, but I knew it would do her no good.

After we were in the carriage, Miss Milly said she felt very sad to leave such dear little playful creatures, particularly as I had taken such a liking to them. She said she could not bear to think that they would go into new homes and be tormented by bad children.

Miss Eleanor said she had often seen children squeeze kittens, their soft little bones almost crushed, in their strong hands; and if they dare scratch or bite in self-defence, they were called bad-tempered and abused.

"There is nothing we can do to help them," they said, "but speak for them when we can, and always save them from cruel hands when we can do so. It is the duty of every man, woman, and child to speak for the dumb animals who cannot defend themselves."

I did not wonder Tabby was hopeless when Miss Milly said she saw no chance for cats or dogs either. If people who profess to love them are afraid to speak up for them, what is to be done?

Dogs and cats are not always enemies. They can be taught each other's rights, if their owners will take a little trouble. I will give you an illustration in favor of this theory.

A friend of ours owned a little dog named Friskey, and a cat she called Flossy, because she had soft fur, like silk.

They were very fond of each other. Flossy would lie down with her head on Friskey, making a pillow of him.

Their mistress taught him to beg for food; and after watching him awhile, Flossy took her place by his side, assumed just the same position, and begged.

They were very good to each other about sharing their food, furnishing an example children would do well to imitate.

They were both of them fond of candy, and one day their stock had melted away, and only one little sugar ball was left. It was very hard. They had each tried to break it, but finding that impossible, they took turns in sucking it. Friskey would wait patiently till Flossy had sucked it till she was tired, then he would take his turn, while she would rest and watch him with a happy expression on her face, saying plainly, "Is it not nice?" They licked and licked, but it did not seem to grow "beautifully less," and lasted them nearly one week.

They used it as a ball, and would run after it and then refresh themselves with a lick or two and then start again. Their owner said it was the most ludicrous sight she ever witnessed, they were so happy with their ball.

The mistress said one morning Friskey was in great tribulation, hunting for their ball of candy. Flossy hung around her, mewing till she got out her work-basket. Then Flossy made one dive and clawed out from the midst of cottons and silks the beloved ball. Friskey barked and wagged his tail, while Flossy licked it, and then gave it to him. She said the inside of her basket was rather sticky, and she told Flossy she must find some other hiding-place.

At last, that ball was reduced to such a sharp skeleton of its former self that fearing they would choke over it, she took it away and gave them some fresh candy. But she said: "One day, they had a gumdrop, and Friskey could not get it off his teeth, they were buried so deep in it; but Flossy licked and clawed till she got it off. That beat all the other pranks."

Now, how long would two children have kept that ball of candy? I would like to ask. If their teeth had not demolished it the first hour, the family hatchet would have been used, and a free fight have followed, over the fragments.

Friskey would lie down, and his master would put Flossy in his arms just like a child. They were very devoted to each other, though Friskey did not like other cats, and was very jealous of Flossy. He seemed to wish her to have no friend but himself. As she was a social little creature, and a "cat flirt," he had many heart-burnings.

Friskey came to a sad end. He was run over by a fast team and had to be chloroformed. Flossy was very unhappy about him. They said she acted just like a widow, and, probably, like most widows, got another admirer in his place. He was buried down in the garden quite a little distance from the house, and Flossy was often seen sitting on his grave.

The family thought it very pathetic, but there were others, people who like to destroy our best illusions (whom no one likes or cares for their opinions), who suggested an explanation of the interesting fact, by saying that a catmint bed was on each side of Friskey's grave, and Flossy went there for the catmint.

I do, for my part, hate to be disenchanted when I have indulged in a little bit of sentiment. I do not believe any one ever thanks the person who turns the poetry of life into prose.

My solution of the story is, that Flossy had often played with Friskey in that very catmint bed, and she went there to recall pleasant memories. I have a right to my own opinion, and I know I am very strange; but then, it would be a very stupid world if there were no variety.

I had a singular thought the other day, and it will do no harm to tell it, though I do not care one pin whether others agree with me or not. I think my mistress is original, and I know I am like her. My idea is this: I have heard the stories of Adam and Eve and Noah's Ark—indeed, I was brought up on Bible stories.

Now my thought is this: When Adam and Eve left the garden of Eden, there were two of their dumb companions whose hearts were sad for their master and mistress. They said, "We will not let them go alone." And when Adam and Eve left the garden, a dog walked by his master's side, and a cat by the side of the mistress—faithful in their misfortune.