"He never quite recovered the use of his left hand, but he never complained; and when I was big enough I would walk out with him every day, for I distrusted every one, and made very few friends. He named me Pedro for a friend of his, a Spanish gentleman from whom he inherited some of his wealth.

"At his death he gave me to his sister, and left a large sum to be used for my benefit. He had given her a fine property and the estate where we now live. After her death it is to be used for charity and a home for animals.

"She has been very kind to me. The friends whom she has taken to live here and keep the home for her are very nice, and they understand just how I am situated. They are fond of animals, and make a great deal of me; but I can never care for people again. My mistress is not very strong, probably will not live much longer, and I hope when she dies I shall soon follow her. The horrible scene of my mother's death has taken all the pleasure of life from me. Do you wonder I do not make new friends or trust people?"

I a.s.sured him of my sympathy, saying that I hoped there were no such wicked people about now.

"Don't think that," he said; "there are hundreds of just such wicked, cruel acts committed all the time. Something should be done to stop the work now, and save the children from being murderers and criminals."

I was very unhappy over Pedro's story. I did wish my mistress could hear this sad tale, for I know that she would try to help the poor abused creatures.

I had quite an ill turn from worry of mind over this sad story, and from the internal injury that I received from the encounter with that bulldog.

My mistress was quite anxious about me. She gave me catmint tea and made me a lovely little blanket, and this with a thick shawl folded under it was placed on the lounge for my bed. I was very comfortable, and I hope a grateful cat, when I contrasted my lot with others. I did not feel (even to the dog that attacked me) any bitterness, for had he been taught better by his master, he would not have treated me like an enemy.

How can we expect a life-long prejudice, such as dogs and cats have for each other, to be uprooted, unless they are taught better by their owners and by the good examples that ought to be set before them? How can human beings boast of being better than animals?

Think of the heathen cannibals, eating human flesh. To them the fat little baby is just like a chicken. Then the Indians--did a cat ever worry a rat worse than they tortured the white men? When you think of this, can you conscientiously say we are worse, or even as bad as human beings?

There is money, and eloquence, and sympathy for the heathen; but the poor animals are left to learn without teachers what ought to be taught them, to make them the faithful servants and intelligent companions of man.

I trust the day will come when these humble friends will be as much thought of in the family as the children; there is no doubt they will fully repay all kindness done them.

XIX

MEWS AND PURRS

In my humble opinion no one ever told stories to equal those of my friends. Miss Eleanor could tell the cutest little fox and pig stories, while Miss Milly excelled on cat stories.

During my sickness they entertained me finely. Miss Eleanor used to tell a story of the "Pig Family," and the boys were wild over it. No matter how many new ones were told, they never were satisfied to go to sleep without hearing the well-worn pig story.

One night when Miss Eleanor was away, Miss Milly put the children to bed, and of course told them stories. They were not satisfied without the pig story. She was in a hurry, and preferred to tell stories out of her own head, saying she did not know the Pig Family; that was Aunt Eleanor's story.

At last, as they would not go to sleep without it, she told it to them as she remembered it. When it was finished, she looked at Willie, and saw that his lip was quivering and his eyes were full of tears.

"What is the matter?" she said.

"You haven't told about the little blue pig," he sobbed.

"Oh, nonsense!" she said; "he is dead probably."

This finished him. He cried as if his heart would break. She said she never killed a pig before, and had such a hard time bringing that blue one to life, she never would kill another.

Now I am just like the children. I love to hear the same stories over and over, and feel really acquainted with the little creatures that they tell about. And I take after my mistress. I build "castles in the air,"

though I have heard her say she always got an axe ready to demolish them, for she knew they would have to go. I wish I did know what an axe is. I would have one too.

One day there was a real big snowstorm. I looked out of the window, and when I saw the big white snowflakes coming down, I did wonder about them. Miss Eleanor read one day of a little girl who, on seeing the snowflakes, asked her mother if the angels were shaking their feather beds.

What a little silly she was, for I know better than that. I do not believe even an angel would throw away feathers. They are so nice, I do love to sleep on them. But then cats know more; only they keep it to themselves.

We had a good fire in the grate, and it crackled and spluttered, and looked, as Miss Eleanor said, very homelike. Just then a young lady called at the door to return a book my mistress had loaned her. They asked her to come in and have tea with them.

She had a room in the upper story, and they had frequently invited her in to warm her, for she had no fire, and they feared she was not very well off, and they tried to befriend her without hurting her pride.

She was very pretty and well educated, and I liked her very much. She petted me and told me stories of cats she had known in her home before her father and mother had died, for she was an orphan.

She was very sad, and Miss Milly took out all her pictures and treasures to amuse her. At last she said: "I will tell you about the first cat I ever remember. He belonged to my father, and his name was Tom."

I p.r.i.c.ked up my ears, for I was wild to hear the story of Tom. All the little anecdotes I had heard of him pleased me very much.

I think my mistress's father and mother were lovely people, and when any one comes in and speaks of having known them, I listen with all my heart. And now I was to hear all about Tom. So I got up on Miss Milly's lap, ready to devour every word.

My mistress said she did not know where Tom was born. He first made his debut in one of the good old-fashioned houses now standing in Salem, of witchcraft fame. She said:--

"My father petted him with his children, and he was the ruling spirit of the house. Though not a handsome cat, he could be very fascinating. He was so coy of his marks of favor that one valued them more for their rarity. That he had blue blood in his veins no one could doubt, from the supreme contempt he evinced toward poor alley cats. He always perched himself on the highest place on the fence and looked down upon them.

They looked up to him in the most abject manner, for they knew he was generous and had the right to give the contents of the swill house to them, if he pleased."

He was very fond of Miss Milly, and as she was the youngest, and not very strong, he made it his special duty to amuse her.

After having stolen a squab that had been cooked for her, and persuaded her to pretend she had eaten it, he ever after was a devoted friend to her. When they had company, Tom was a study. He inspected them with a critical eye. If satisfied, he allowed himself to be petted by them.

Often, however, he would reject the offered attention, with a hiss of scorn, and make himself scarce while they remained. Their father said Tom was a good judge of character, for he turned a "cold shoulder" where he himself would have been pleased to do the same.

They had an old bachelor cousin, and their mother was his favorite aunt.

The son of her eldest brother, naturally he was a welcome guest with all the family. Having no brothers of their own, they were inclined to receive Cousin Robert's oddities with favor. He would come in of an evening, and if not noticed by them would remove his wraps and soon make himself at home.

One evening, to his sorrow, Cousin Robert made them a visit. After a short conversation with his aunt, he drew near the table where his cousins were playing games. One or two smothered sounds proved his enjoyment.

Cousin Robert was rather fond of cats, but his advances to acquaintance with Tom had met with poor success. His gentle "p.u.s.s.y, p.u.s.s.y" and extended hand had been met with disdain. Their father said he thought that Tom resented the "p.u.s.s.y" as too weak a name for his majesty.

He never approached his would-be friend and cousin or accepted his flag of truce. Their father, later on, did remember that Tom had cast unfriendly glances at Cousin Robert from his corner where he could overlook all their movements. Subsequent events explained their meaning in a manner most unfavorable to their object.

This evening the children were full of fun. The game was very attractive, and Cousin Robert never thought of Tom.

Suddenly their mother exclaimed, "What a strong smell of medicine!" Then remembering that Cousin Robert had rheumatism, and very likely it was liniment he had used, she tried to pa.s.s it over. Too late, however, for they were all sensible of a very strong medicinal smell by this time.

A low laugh from their father, who was seated in his armchair by the fire, called our attention to Tom. He was in his usual corner, engaged in a furious battle with some dark object. Just as they asked, "Is it a mouse," one fierce tug dislodged the cork from a bottle from which he had just torn the paper, and they all cried out "Valerian!"

Tom bounded out of his corner, crushing in his grasp the dark object he had battled with, and drunk with the valerian, he turned over and over in perfect abandonment.

Cousin Robert gazed with dazed eyes upon the scene; then he rushed forward, saying, "Good G.o.dfrey! it's my--my hat!"

The shouts of laughter and the fiendish leer of Tom's eye, as he gazed upon him, rendered their poor cousin speechless, after having aired his only approach to profanity.

After a time he made grab after grab at his poor old hat. In vain, however; for Tom turned over and over, crushing it out of shape, flourishing such formidable claws every time he tried to rescue it, serving friend and foe alike, when the children tried to help their cousin, that they were obliged to give up the attempt.