I used to play and chase my tail as if I did not know what it was, to divert his attention, for I did pity him. He was pleased, but it made him forget the long, tiresome answers. So I gave up trying to amuse him, for I did not want him to be punished. And when, after all my sympathy, he pulled and pinched my tail, I said, "He is a chip from the old block," and left him to his deceitful step-mother.

I felt very glad that, with all their sorrows and wrongs, cats never have step-fathers or mothers. It is better never to have known your own father than to have one who is always bringing you a new mother. And I guess, after all, there is just as much morality among cats as there is among human beings.

Sometimes there were days when I could not contain myself. I wanted to run and fight, and send forth my voice just as other cats were allowed to. The Bohemian blood my poor mother suffered from was answerable for this state of feeling.

At this time we lived in a flat on the fifth story of a very high building. It was a very small place, but we were pa.s.sing through sad reverses just then, though I could not understand, else I would never have added to their trials.

Miss Milly would go away every day, and when she returned at night, looked so white and tired, it made me very anxious. Though she petted me, and called me her greatest comfort, she did not play with me, and her brightness was gone.

After she had gone in the morning, Miss Eleanor and I would go about and attend to our little work, and then, when she would sit down to mend the boys' clothes, she would take me in her lap and talk to me about their troubles.

The boys had both found places, and were working very hard and away all day.

We were lonesome. The kitchen had a large window, and outside there was a long wooden box made on it, and here the janitor brought fresh earth every few days, for it was my garden park and hunting ground. It was my only outing, for I never went down over the stairs. When I went out there, I was so near the sky that the earth seemed very far away. I did long for a run over the green gra.s.s.

Miss Eleanor, when it was pleasant, would take me up through a boxed-up stairway to the top of the house, where I could run a long time. It was very large, for the building covered a great s.p.a.ce, and was gravelled over like the street. A very high wall surrounded it, so there was no chance to run away.

One night I could not sleep. I was possessed to go out. The window of our bedroom was open, and I got out into the gutter and walked along. It ran around the building and was very narrow, and I half drew back. Then I said, "Courage!" and went on till I reached the corner where the pointed tower cut me off. Then I realized my situation. I could not turn around in this narrow s.p.a.ce, and I closed my eyes in horror. I dared not look below, the distance was so great. Above, the beautiful stars seemed to look down on me and my wickedness.

How sorry I was! No one could see me, a little gray speck, way up so high. I remained there till the morning light gave me a little courage.

I tried to think of good things, and I remembered about the little sparrows that G.o.d cared for, and I trusted he would not let me "fall to the ground" for my dear mistress's sake.

She had suffered so much I did not want her to have the pain of losing me. So I just shut my eyes and turned very slowly and painfully, with many slips and strains; but my face at last was turned homeward. Then I cowered down with real vertigo. I could not take one step; but soon I braced up and crawled along till I reached the bedroom window, where I was safe.

The delight of my friends may be imagined. They had hunted everywhere for me, and Miss Milly had had almost a nervous fit, for she said: "He has fallen down and has been dashed to pieces by this time." They did not go to bed, and were waiting for the morning light to search the building.

Of course I was very much ashamed, though it proved how much they loved me. I promised myself I would never try them again; and I was frightened when I realized what a narrow escape I had had.

Then I enjoyed my good breakfast, washed myself thoroughly, and getting into my nice basket, slept all day.

But there are moments now when the horror of my situation overpowers me, and I always hear with pity about the men who mount the high buildings and church steeples. And I never, though I am a patriotic cat, desire to go to the top of Bunker Hill Monument. The picture of it satisfies me.

It makes my head spin, and I have vertigo of the mind; just to think of it makes me lose my head. For a cat to lose his head is a serious matter. We might spare a piece of tail, but we need every bit of the head.

That reminds me of a cat of Miss Eleanor that really lost half of its tail. Her name was "Persimmon."

The family all laughed at Miss Eleanor for her romantic idea, and very soon the name degenerated into "Sim"--a much more appropriate one for the wild and homely creature who answered to it. She was one of Miss Eleanor's many pensioners. Somehow the mean-looking and abused always were those she selected for pets.

After they had in vain tried to find a home for Sim, she at last settled down as one of the family, to the disgust of their old and well-bred cat.

Sim had no manners, and was not in the least degree sensitive. She was a dirty white, with pale greenish eyes; and a dark shadow under them gave her a weird aspect. Miss Milly said the dark shadow was "ashes," but Miss Eleanor said it was the "shadow of deep thought." More people, however, believed in the ashes than in the thought.

She would crowd herself in where there was no room for her; and after the loss of her tail, she was more determined to a.s.sert her position than before.

It happened in this wise: Sim had a very high temper, and in a quarrel with a bigger cat than herself she was vanquished. In trying to run away she climbed the fence. The cat following could only reach her tail. It was a long one, and she struck her claws into it with such force that she nearly tore it off. Sim went about, for a few days, a sorry object, till it fell off. The remains of it only measured about two inches.

She exhibited herself on the front doorstep whenever any one called, in an unblushing manner. A friend of my mistresses, a professor of music, asked what kind of animal she was, saying he had never met just her like.

At last she made herself so disagreeable that the mother said they must dispose of her. They felt badly, but their mother's decision they never questioned.

Sim was put into a bag and given to two boys of kind and reliable natures, who promised to care for her very kindly. She was taken to the Juniper, and drowned. The boys said they would take a boat out into deep water and drop her in. The society with the long name had not then been organized, and dear good Dr. Angell had not entered upon his life-long work of protecting animals, so this method of getting rid of them was thought the most humane.

The children had been sent to Beverly, to their elder sister's, to spend the day, and their mother hoped by her cheerfulness to make them forget the cat.

About five o'clock they returned home, and on going into the sitting room who should they see but Sim, or Bobtail, as she was called, sitting by the fire, washing her face.

Their mother laughed at their surprise. She said the cat was taken away at ten o'clock, and at four she saw a shadow on the window and heard a loud mew, and on her opening the door, Sim walked in. She fed her, and since then she had spent the time washing herself--a thing she never was willing to do.

It was too late, however, for her to reform. The mother had decided on her fate, and she was doomed.

"I shall see the next time that it is a sure thing," their mother said; "as to her return, we must investigate that matter."

Later on, the boys came in. They were not told of Sim's return. They were not exactly untruthful about it, but evaded the true story. They said, when asked how far out they had taken her, that they could not get a boat, and had got rid of her on the rocks.

"Are you sure she is dead?" asked the girls.

"Dead? I guess so! Dead enough!" they both answered.

"Then here is an instance of one returned from the dead," said Miss Eleanor, bringing in Sim, who yelled and scratched as soon as she saw her would-be executioners.

Their faces were a study. "Is it Sim?" they asked in such real astonishment that no one could doubt them.

"Now, boys," the mother said, "you have deceived us; but we will listen to your story if you will tell the truth."

With shamefacedness they said they did not mean to be deceitful; they really believed she was dead. They took her down to Juniper, and while they were trying to find a boat she had burst open the bag and run off over the rocks. They followed her, and she disappeared under a rock into the water. They heard a splash, and waited some time to make sure that she was gone. It must have been a stone that fell in, while Sim escaped.

They were very honest in telling their story, and they were forgiven and received their money, though the mother decided to attend to the business in her own way.

When, some days after, Sim was missing, no one asked any questions, believing that everything had been done for the best.

But how that cat found her way home is a question no one could ever answer. The boys carried her down in a wagon. The Juniper (now called the "Willows"--a famous Salem resort) was about a mile from the home she was taken from. It is a rather crooked road for one to remember. She probably hid herself and followed the boys at a distance. My opinion is that Sim just used her wits, and thought it out as we all do, and followed the trail of the wagon.

It is really a cat tail we are all sure of.

The family said that they never could go down to that pleasant resort, in after years, without thinking that Sim was hovering around in spirit.

Had she been black, a witch cat, they would have felt sure of it.

XVIII

THANKSGIVING

I suppose I am growing old and forgetful, for memory brings things to me upside down, as I have heard old people say. All I can do about it is to tell the little incidents relating to the past as they come back to me.

For the last few days Thanksgiving has been in my mind more or less all the time, and I think you will be interested if I tell you about one that I enjoyed very much.

My mistress took me in her arms one day, saying, "Daisy, you are going to have a real Thanksgiving."