 Concerning Cats by Helen M. Wenslow All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Kristina Concerning Cats by Helen M. Wenslow Chapter 4 Concerning Still Other People's Cats The nearest approach to the real French saloon in America is said to be found in Mrs. Louise Chandler Moulton's Boston drawing room. In former days, at her weekly Fridays, Sir Richard Cordy-Lion was always present, sitting on the square piano amidst a lot of other celebrities. The autographed photographs of Padarevsky, John Drew and distinguished literators, used to lose nothing from the proximity of Mrs. Moulton's favourite Maltese friend, who was on the most intimate terms with her for 12 years, and hobnobbed familiarly with most of the lions of one sort or another who have visited Boston and who invariably find their way into this room. If there were flowers on the piano, Richard knows howward near them in a perfect abandon of delight. Indeed, his fondness for flowers was the source of constant contention between him and his mistress, who feared lest he knock the souvenirs of foreign countries to the floor in his eagerness to climb wherever flowers were put. He was as dainty about his eating as in his taste for the beautiful, scorning beef and mutton as fit only for cursed mortals and choosing, like any garment, to eat only the breast of chicken or certain portions of fish or lobster. He was not proof against the flavour of liver at any time, but recognised in it his one weakness. As the delicate lady may, who takes snuff or chews gum on the sly. When Mrs. Moulton first had him, she had also a little dog and the two, as usual when a kitten is brought up with a dog, became the greatest of friends. That Richard was a close observer, was proved by the way he used to wag his tail in the same fashion and, apparently, for the same reasons as the dog. This went on for several years, but when the dog died, the fashion of wagging tails went out, so far as Richard Corde Lion was concerned. He had a fashion of getting up on mantles, the tops of bookcases or on shelves, and his mistress, fearing demolition of her household layers and penards, insisted on his getting down, whereupon Richard would look reproachfully at her, apparently resenting this treatment for days afterward, refusing to come near her and edging off if she tried to make up with him. When Richard was getting old, a black cat came to Mrs. Moulton, who kept him for luck and named him the Black Prince. The older cat was always jealous of the newcomer and cheated him with lofty scorn. When he caught Mrs. Moulton petting the Black Prince, who is a very affectionate fellow, Richard fiercely resented it and sometimes refused to have anything to do with her for days afterward, but finally came around and make up in shame-faced fashion. Mrs. Moulton goes to London usually in the summer, leaving the cats in the care of a faceful maid, whom she has had for years. After she sailed, Richard used to come to her door for several mornings, and not being let in as usual, understood that his beloved mistress had left him again, whereupon he kept up a prolonged wailing for some time. He was correspondingly glad to see her on her return in October. Mrs. Moulton tells the following remarkable cat story. My mother had a cat that lived to be 25 years old. He was faceful and fond, and a great pet in the family, of course. About two years before his death, a new kitten was added to the family. This kitten, named Jim immediately, conceived the greatest affection for old Jack. And as the old fellow's senses of sight and smell failed so that he could not go hunting himself, Jim used to do it for both. Every day he brought Jack mice and squirrels on other game as long as he lived. Then, too, he used to wash Jack, lapping him all over as the mother cat does her kitten. He did this, too, as long as he lived. The feebler old Jack grew, the more Jim did for him, and when Jack finally died of old age, Jim was inconsolable. 25 years might certainly be termed a ripe old age for a cat, their average life extending only to 10 or 12 years. But I have heard of one who seems to have attained even greater age. The mother of Jane Andrews, the writer on educational and juvenile subjects, had one who lived with them 24 years. He had peculiar markings in certain ways of his own, above the house, quite different from other cats. He disappeared one day when he was 24 and was mourned as dead. But one day, some six or seven years later, an old cat came to their door and asked to be let in. He had the same markings and, on being let in, went directly to his favorite sleeping places and lay down. He seemed perfectly familiar with the whole place and went on with his life from that time, just as though he had never been away, showing all his old peculiarities. When he finally died, he must have been 33 years old. Although in other days a great many noted men have been devoted to cats, I do not find that our men of letters today know so much about cats. Mr. William Dean Howells says, I never had a cat, pet or otherwise, I like them, but know nothing of them. Judge Robert Grant says, My feelings toward cats are kindly and considered, but not ardent. Thomas Biley Aldrich says, The only cat I ever had any experience with was the one I translated from the French of Émile de la Bidolière many years ago for the entertainment of my children. Footnote Mother Michael's cat End of the footnote Brander Mathews loves them not. George W. Cable answers when asked if he loves the harmless necessary cat by the Yankee method and says, If you had three or four acres of beautiful woods in which were little red squirrels and chipmunks and fifty or more kinds of nesting birds and every a booting neighbor kept a cat and none of them kept their cat out of those woods, would you like cats? Which is indeed something of a poser. Colonial Thomas W. Higginson, however, confesses to a great fondness for cats. Although he has had no remarkable cats of his own, he tells a story told him by an old sailor at Pigeon Cove, Massachusetts, of a cat which he, the sailor, tried in vain to get rid of. After trying several methods, he finally put the cat in a bag, walked a mile to Lane's Cove, tied the cat to a big stone with a firm sailor's knot, took it out in a dory some distance from the shore and dropped it the cat overboard. Then he went back home to find the cat burying on the doorstep. Those who are familiar with Charles Dudley Warners, my summer in a garden, will not need to be reminded of Calvin and his interesting traits. Mr. Warners says, I never had but one cat and he was rather a friend and companion than a cat. When he departed this life I did not care to do as many men do when their partners die. Take a second. The sketch of him in that delightful book is watched for us correct. Mr. Edmund Clarence Steadman, too, is a genuine admirer of cats and evidently knows how to appreciate them at their true value. At his home near New York he and Mrs. Steadman have one who rejoices in the name Babylon, having originated in Babylon, Long Island. He is a fine large Maltese and attracted a great deal of attention at the New York cat show in 1895. We look upon him as an important member of our family, says Mrs. Steadman, and think he knows as much as any of us. He despises our two other cats, but he is very fond of human beings and makes friends readily with strangers. He is always present at the family dinner table at mealtime and expects to have his share handed to him carefully. He is the favorite corner in the study and has superintended a great deal of literary work. Mrs. Steadman's long-haired blue kelpie took a prize in the show of 1995. Gail Hamilton was naturally a lover of cats, although in her crowded life there was not much time to devote to them. In the last year of her noble life she wrote to a friend as follows, my two hands were eager to lighten the human world, but the brush fell from my hand. Now I can only sit in a nook of November sunshine playing with two little black and white kittens. Well, I never before had time to play with kittens as much as I wished. And when I come outdoors and see them bounding toward me long, light leaps, I'm glad that they leap toward me and not away from me, little, soft, fierce sparks of infinite energy, holding a mystery of their own as inscrutable as life. And I remember that with all our high art the common-daily sun searches a man for one revealing moment and makes a truer portrait than the most laborious painter. The divine face of our savior reflected in the pure and noble traits of humanity. We will not fail from the earth because my hand has failed in cunning. One would expect a poet of Ella Wheeler Wilcox, temperament, to be passionately fond of cats just as she is. One would expect, too, that only the most beautiful and luxurious of persons and un-gores would satisfy her demand for a pet. This is also justifiable as she has several magnificent cats about whom she has published a number of interesting stories. Her madame Rev is quite a noted cat, but Mrs. Wilcox's favorite and the handsomest of all is named Benjo, a Georgian chinchilla and white anger with a silken coat that almost touches the floor under rough or Lord Mayor's chain that is a finger wide. His father was Ajax, his mother was Madame Rev and Mrs. Wilcox raised him. She has taught him many cunning tricks. He will sit up like a bear and when his mistress says, he puts both white paws around her neck and hugs her tight. Then she says, turns the other cheek and he turns his furry chops for her to kiss. He also plays dead and rolls over at command. He, too, is fond of literary work and super intense his mistress writing from a drawer on her desk. Good day to eyes is another of Mr. Wilcox's pets who has one blue and one topper's eye. Who has not read Agnes Replyer's fascinating essays on Agrippina and a kitten? I cannot quite believe she gives cats credit for the capacity for affection, which they really possess, but her description of Agrippina is charming. Agrippina's beautiful range tail flapping across my copy distracts my attention and imperils the neatness of my penmanship. Even when she is disposed to be effable, turns the light of her countenance upon me, watches with attentive curiosity every stroke I make, and softly, with curled paw, pats my pen as it travels over the paper. Even in these healthy moments, though my self-love is flattered by her condense sanction, I am aware that I should work better and more rapidly if I deny it myself this charming companionship. But in truth, it is impossible for a lover of cats to banish these alert, gentle and discriminating little friends who give us just enough of their regard and complacence to make us hunger for more. M. V., the naturalist, who has written so admirably about animals and who understands, as only a Frenchman can understand, the delicate and subtle organization of a cat frankly admits that the keynote of its character is independence. It dwells under our roofs, sleeps by our fire, endures our blandishments, and apparently enjoys our society without for one moment for fighting its sense of absolute freedom, without acknowledging any survival relation to the human creature who shelters it. Rude and masterful souls resents this fine self-sufficiency to the domestic animal and require that it shall have no will but theirs, no pleasure that does not emanate from them. Yet there are people, less magisterial, perhaps, or less exacting, who believe that true friendship, even with an animal, may be built up on mutual esteem and independence. That to demand gratitude is to be unworthy of it, and that obedience is not essential to a agreeable and healthy intercourse. A man who owns a dog is, in every sense of the word, its master. The term expresses accurately their mutual relations. But it is ridiculous when applied to the limited possession of a cat. I am certainly not a grippiness mistress, and the assumption of authority on my part would be a mere empty dignity, like those swelling titles which afford such innocent delight of our severe republic. How many times have I rested tired eyes on her graceful little body, curled up in a ball and wrapped around with her tail like a parcel, or stretched out luxuriously on my bed, one paw coily covering her face, the other curved gently inwards, as though clasping and visible treasure. I sleep or awake, in rest or in motion, grave or gay. Agrippina is always beautiful, and it is better to be beautiful than to fetch and carry from the rising to the setting of the sun. But when Agrippina has breakfasted and washed, and sits in the sunlight blinking at me with affectionate contempt, I feel soothed by her absolute and unqualified enjoyment. I know how full my day will be of things that I don't want particularly to do, that are not particularly worth doing. But for her, time and the world hold only this brief moment of contentment. Slowly the eyes close, gently the little body is relaxed. Oh, you who strive to relieve your overwrought nerves and cultivate power through repose, watch the exquisite languor of a drowsy cat, and despair of imitating such perfect and restful grace. There is a gradual yielding to the soft persuasiveness of slumber. The flexible frame is curved into tender lines, the head nestles lower, the paws are tucked out of sight, no convulsive throb or start betrays a rebellious alertness. Only a faint quiver of unconscious satisfaction, a faint heaving of the tawny sides, a faint gleam of the half-shad yellow eyes, and Agrippina is asleep. I look at her for one wasteful moment, and then turn resolutely to my work. It were ignoble to wish myself in her place, and yet how charming to be able to settle down to a nap, since pure at sunset approach, at ten o'clock in the morning. And again, when I am told that Agrippina is disobedient, ungrateful, cold-hearted, perverse, stupid, treacherous and cruel, I no longer strive to check the torrent of abuse. I know that both unsaid authors and much more about cats, and that people have gone on repeating it ever since, principally because these spirited little beasts have remained just what it pleased Providence to make them, have preserved their primitive freedom through centuries of effete and demoralizing civilization. Why, I wonder, should the great many good men and women cherish an unreasonable grudge against one animal? Because it does not chance to possess the precise qualities of another. My dog fetches my slippers for me every night, said a friend, triumphantly, not long ago. He puts them first to warm by the fire, and then brings them over to my chair, bagging his tail and as proud as punch. Would your cat do as much for you? I'd like to know. Assuredly not. If I waited for Agrippina to fetch my shoes or slippers, I should have no other resource safe to join as speedily as possible one of the barefooted religious orders of Italy. But after all, fetching slippers is not the whole duty of domestic pets. As for curiosity, that wise which the Abbi Galliani held to be unknown to gen animals, but which the more astute Voltaire detected in every little dog that he saw peering out of the window of its master's coach. It is the ruling passion of the feline breast. A closet door lift a jar, a box with half closed lid, an open burrow driver. These are the objects that fill a cat with the liveliest interest and delight. Agrippina watches breathlessly, the unfastening of a parcel and tries to hasten matters by clutching actively at the string. When its contents are shown to her, she examines them gravely and then, with a sigh of relief settles down to repose. The slightest noise disturbs and irritates her until she discovers its cause. If she hears a footstep in the hall, she runs out to see who it is. And, like certain troublesome little people I have known, she dearly loves to go to the front door every time the bell is rung. From my window she surveys the street with tranquil scrutiny. And, if the boys are playing below, she follows their games with a steady scornful stare, very different from the fistful eagerness of a friendly dog, quivering to join in sport. Sometimes the boys catch sight of her and shout up rudely at her window, and I can never sufficiently admire Agrippina's conduct upon these drying occasions. The well-bred composure with which she affects neither to see nor to hear him, nor to be aware that there are such objectional creatures as children in the world. Sometimes, too, the terrier that lives next door comes out to sun himself in the street, and, beholding my cat sitting well out of reach, he dances madly up and down the pavement, barking with all his might and rearing himself on his short legs in a futile attempt to dislodge her. Then the spirit of evil enters Agrippina's little heart. The window is open, and she creeps to the extreme edge of the stone sill. Stretches herself at full length, pierced down smilingly at the friendly dog, dangles one paw enticingly in the air, and exerts herself with quiet malice to drive him to desperation. Her sense of humor is awakened by his frantic efforts and by her own absolute security, and not until he is spent with exertion and lies panting and exhausted on the bricks that she arch her grateful back, stretch her limbs lazily in the sun and with one light bound spring from the window to my desk. And what more delightful word did ever Mithrepleer write than her description of a kitten? It, she says, is the most irresistible comedian in the world. Its wide open eyes gleams with wonder and mirth. It is slightly at nothing at all and then, as though suddenly checked in the pursuit, prances sideways on its hind legs with ridiculous agility and zeal. It makes a vast pretence of climbing the rounds of a chair and swings by the curtains like an acrobat. It scrambles up a table leg and is seized with comic horror at finding itself full two feet from the floor. If you hasten to its rescue its little heart something against it furries sides, while its soft balls expand and contract with agitation and relief. And all their harmless clothes disclose like bricles of an early rose. Yet the instant it is back on the carpet it finds to be suspicious of your interference, peers at you out of the tail of its ear and scampers for protection under the sofa from which asylum it presently emerges with cautious trailing steps as though encompassed by fearful dangers and alarms. Nobody can sympathize with her in the following description better than I who for years was compelled by the insistence of my pretty lady to aid in the bringing up of infants. I own that when Agrippina brought her firstborn son, aged two days, and established him in my bedroom closet the plans struck me at the start as inconvenient. I had prepared another nursery for the little Claudius Nero and I endeavored for a while to convince his mother that my arrangements were best. But Agrippina was inflexible. The closet suited her in every respect and with charming and irresistible flattery she gave me to understand in the mute language I knew so well that she wished her baby boy to be with him. I bring him to you because I trust you she said as plainly as looks can speak downstairs they handle him all the time and it is not good for kittens to be handled here he is safe from harm and here he shall remain. After a few weak remonstrances the futility of which I too clearly understood her persistence carried the day I removed my clothing from the closet spread our shawl upon the floor had the door taken from its hinges and resigned myself for the first time in my life to the daily and hourly companionship of an infant I was amply rewarded people who require the household cat to rear her offspring in some remote attic or dark corner of the cellar have no idea of all the diversion and pleasures that they lose it is delightful to watch the little blind sprawling feeble helpless things develop swiftly into the grace and agility of kittenhood it is delightful to see the mingled pride and anxiety of the mother whose parental love increases with every hour of care and who exhibits her young family as if they were infant grouchy the hope of all their race during narrow extreme use there were times when Agrippina varied both of his companionship and of her own maternal duties once or twice she abandoned him at night for the greater luxury of my bed where she slept tranquilly by my side unmindful of the little wailing cries with which narrow lamented her desertion once or twice the heat of early summer tempted her to spend the evening on the poor truth which lay beneath my windows and I have passed some anxious hours awaiting her return and wondering what would happen when Agrippina came back and I were left to bring up the baby by hand but as the day spent on Agrippina's affection for him knew no bounds she could hardly bear to leave him even for a little while and always came hurrying back to him with a loud frightened mew as if fearing he might have been stolen in her absence at night she poured over him or made little crutchling noises expressive of ineffable content she resented the careless curiosity of strangers and was a trifle supercilious when the cook stole softly in to give went to her ferent admiration but from first to last she shared with me her pride and pleasure and the joy in her beautiful eyes as she raised them to mine was frankly confiding and sympathetic when the infant Claudius rolled for the first time over the ledge of the closet and lay sprawling on the bedroom floor it would have been hard to say which of us was the more elated at his prowess what became of these most interesting cats is only hinted at misreplears sincere grief at their loss is evident in the following every night they retired at the same time and slept upon the same cushion curled up inextricably to one soft furry ball many times I have kneeled by their chair to bid them both good night and always when I did so a grippino would lift her charming head poor drosily for a few seconds and then nestled closer still to her firstborn with sighs of supreme satisfaction the zenness of her life had been reached her cup of contentment was full it is a rude world even for little cats and evil chances lie in wait for the petted creatures with strive to shield from harm remembering the pangs of separation the possibilities of unkindness are neglect the troubles that hide in ambush on every unturned page I am sometimes glad the same cruel and selfish blows took both mother and son and thought they lie together safe from heart or hazard sleeping tranquilly and always under the shadow of the friendly pines probably no modern cat has been more written about than Miss Mary L. Booth's moths there was a tippet but he was early lost Miss Booth, as the editor of Harper's Bazaar was the center of a large circle of literary and musical people her Saturday evenings were to New York what Mrs. Malden's Fridays are to Boston the nearest approach to the French saloon possible in America at least Saturday evenings moth always figured prominently being dressed in a real lace color brought him from Yucatan by Madame Laplongeon and elaborate and expensive enough for the most fastidious lady and apparently enjoying the company of noted intellectual people as well as the best of them and who knows if he had spoken what light he might have shed on what seemed to mere mortals as mysterious, abstruse or and occult problems perhaps after all he liked that saloon because in reality he found so much to amuse him in the conversation and perhaps he was under that quiz of friendly interest in noted scientists, reformers, poets musicians and literators only whispering to himself oh lord, what fools these mortals be for when I play with my cat says Montaigne how do I know whether she does not make a jest of me but Moth was a real nobleman among cats and extraordinarily handsome he was a great soft grey Maltese with white paws and breasts mild, amiable and uncommonly intelligent he felt it his duty to help entertain Miss Booth's guests always and he more than once at the beginning of a reception came into the drawing room with a mouse in his mouth as his offering to the occasion naturally enough he caused a stampede as Mrs. Pofford puts it said Mr. Gilbert forgot to put into Princess Ida when her amazons would demonstrate their courage as one of Miss Booth's intimate friends Mrs. Pofford was much at her house and became early a devoted admirer of Moth's his latter days she says were rendered miserable by a little silky grey creature an Angora named Vashti who was a spark of the fire of the lower regions wrapped round in long silky fur and who never let him alone one moment who was full of tail lashings and racings and leapings and fury and of the most demonstrative love for her mistress once I made them collars with breastlets of tiny dangling bells nine or ten it excited them nearly to madness and they flew up and downstairs like unchained lightning till the trinkets were taken off in a house full of birds Moth never touched one although he was an excellent moser who says cats have no conscience he was although so socially inclined toward his mistress's guests a timid person and the wild backyard cats filled him with terror but as one must see something of the world continues Mrs. Pofford used to jump from lintel to lintel of the windows of the block if by chance his own were left open and returned when he pleased Moth died soon after the death of Miss Booth Vashti, who was very much admired by all her mistress's literary friends was given to Miss Juliet Corson Miss Edna Dean Proctor the poet is another admirer of fine cats her favorite however was the friend of her childhood hold beauty was my grandmother's cat says Miss Proctor and the delight of my childhood to this far of day I remember her as distantly as I do my own and cousins of that household and even my dear grandmother herself I know nothing of her ancestry and I'm not at all sure that she was royally bred for she came one chill night a little wanderer to the door but a shred of blue ribbon was clinging to her neck and she was so pretty and silky and wholesome that we children at once called her beauty and fancy she had strayed from some elegant home where she had been the pet of the household lapping her milk from finest china and sleeping on a cushion of down when we had warmed and fed and caressed her we made her bed in a flannel line box among our dolls and the next morning were up before the sun to see her the stars would appear and carry her away but no one arrived to claim her and she soon became an important member of the family and grew handsomer with thought day by day her coat was grey with tiger markings but paws and throat and nose were snowy white and in spite of her excursions to barns and cellars her constant care kept them spotless indeed she was the very venous of cats for daintiness pose and movement to my grandmother her various attitudes had an undoubted meaning if in a rainy day beauty washed her face towards the west her observant mistress would exclaim see kitty is washing her face to the west it will clear or even when the sky was blue if beauty turned eastward for her toilet the command would be kitty is washing her face to the east the wind must be getting out from the sea and the storm brewing and when in the dusk of autumn or winter evenings beauty ran about the room chasing her tail or frolicking with her kittens instead of sleeping quietly by the fire as was her want my grandmother would look up and say kitty is wild tonight the wind will blow hard before morning if I sometimes asked how she knew these things the reply would be my mother told me when I was a little girl now her mother my great-grandmother was distinguished personage in my eyes having been the daughter of Captain Jonathan Prescott who commanded a company under Sir William Pepperill at the Siege of Lewisburg and lost his life there and I could not question the wisdom of colonial times indeed to this hour I have a lingering belief that cats can foretell the weather and what a mouser she was before her time we often heard the rats and mice in the walls but with her presence not one dared to peep and cupboard and pantry were unmolested now and then she carried her forays to hedge and orchard and I remember one sad summer twilight that saw her bring in a slender brown bird which my grandmother said was a cuckoo we had delighted to her in the steel mornings among the elders by the river she was scolded and had no milks at night and we never knew her to catch a bird again oh to see her with her kittens she always hid them in the haymoughs and hunting and finding them brought us no end of excitement and pleasure twice a day at least she would come to the house to be fed and then how we watched her returning steps stealing cautiously along the path and waiting behind stack or doors better to observe her for Pussy knew perfectly well that we were eager to see her darlings and enjoyed misleading and pigwing us we imagined by taking devious ways how well I recall that summer afternoon when soft-footed and alone I followed her to the floor of the barn just as she was about to spring to the moe she aspired me and turning back cunningly settled herself as if for a quiet nap in the sunny open door determined not to lose sight of her I threw myself upon the pregnant hay but in the stillness the faint sighing of the wind the far off ripple of the river the hazy outline of the hills the wheeling spallows our head were blended at length in a distinct dream and I slept oblivious of all when I woke Pussy had disappeared the sun was setting the cows were coming from the pastures and I could only return to the house disconfided that particular family of kittens we never saw till a fortnight later when the proud mother brought them in one by one and laid them at my grandmother's feet what became of beauty is as mysterious as the fate of the dolphin to our grief she disappeared one November day and we never saw her more sometimes the fancied she had been carried off by an admiring traveler at others we tortured ourselves with the belief that the traditional wild cat of the north woods had devoured her all we knew was that she had vanished but when memory pictures that pleasant country home and the deer circles there white-throated beauty is always sleeping by the fire Miss Fidelia Bridges the artist is another devoted cat lover and at her home at Canaan, Kentucky has had several interesting specimens among my many generations of pet cats says Miss Bridges one aristocratic Maltese lady stands out in prominence before all the rest she was a cat of great personal beauty and independence of character a remarkable huntress bringing in game almost as large as herself holding her beautiful head aloft to keep the great wings of pigeons from trailing to the ground she and her mother were fast friends from birth to death when the young Maltese had her first kittens her mother had also a family in another barrel in the cellar when we went to see the just arrived family we found our lady Maltese bed empty and there in the mother's barrel were both families and both mothers a delightful arrangement for the young mother who could leave her children in the grandmother's care and enjoy her liberty when it pleased her to roam abroad the young lady had an indomitable will when she decided to do a thing nothing would turn her aside she found a favorite resting place on a pile of blankets in a dark attic room this being disapproved of by the elders the door was kept carefully closed she then found entrance through a stovepipe hole high up on the wall of an adjoining room a cover was hung over the hole she sprung up and knocked it off then as a last resort the hall was papered over like the wallpaper of the room she looked, made a leap and crashed through the paper with as merry an air as a circus rider through his papered hoop she had a habit of maneuvering to be shut out of doors at bedtime and then when all was still climbing up to my window by means of a porch over a door beneath it to pass the night on my bed in some alterations of the house the porch was taken away she looked with dismay for a moment at the destruction of her leather then calmly ran up the side of the house to my window which she always after continued to do next in importance perhaps is my present intimate companion now ten years old and absolutely deaf so that we communicate with science if I want to attract his attention I step on the floor if to go to his dinner I brought him a certain blue plate to call him in at night I take a lantern outside the door and the flash of light attracts his attention from a great distance on one occasion he lived nine months alone in the house while I made a trip to Europe absolutely refusing all the neighbors invitations to enter any other house a friend's gardener brought him his daily rations as warm weather came he spent his days in the fields and spent the night for his food so that at my return it was two or three days before he discovered that the house was open the third evening he entered the open door but when I put my hand on him suddenly recognized me and overwhelmed me with affectionate caresses and for two days and nights would not allow me out of his sight unable to eat or sleep unless I was close at hand and following me from room to room and chair to chair and people say that cats have no affection at the Quincy house in Boston may be seen in the office an oil painting of an immense yellow cat the first time I noticed the picture I was proceeding into the dining room and while waiting for dinner was amused at seeing the original of the picture walks the daytley in all alone and going to an empty table seat himself with majestic grace in a chair the waiter seeing him came forward and pushed up the chair as he would do for any other guest the cat then waited patiently without putting his paws on the table or violating any other law of table etiquette until a plate of meat came cut up to suit his taste I did not hear him give his orders and then placing his front paws on the edge of the table he ate from his plate when he had finished he descended from his table and stalked out of the room with much dignity he was always regular at his meals and also he picked out a good seat did not always sit at the same table he was in appearance something like the famous orange cats of Venice and attracted much attention as might be expected up to his death at a ripe old age Miss Frances Villard was a cat lover too and had a beautiful cat which is known to all her friends Tutsi went to rest cottage the home of Frances Villard when only a kitten and there he lived as a pet of the household and its guests until several years ago when Miss Villard prepared to go abroad then she took Tutsi in her arms carried him to the drag cell kennels in Chicago and asked their owner Mrs. Leland Norton to admit him as a member of her large cat family where he still lives to his praise be it spoken he has never forgotten his old friends at rest cottage to this day whenever any of them come to call upon him he honors them with instant and hearty recognition Miss Villard was sometimes forced to be separated from him more than a year of it at a time but neither time nor change had any effect upon Tutsi at the first sound of her voice he would spring to her side he is a magnificent Angora weighing 24 pounds with the long silky hair the frill or Lord Mayor's chain the superb curling tail and the large full eyes of the thoroughbred then he has proved himself of aristocratic tendencies has beautiful manners has endured with the human qualities of memory and discrimination and is aesthetic in his tastes being the privileged character that he is Tutsi always eats at the table with the family he has his own chair and bib and his manners are said to be exquisite end of the chapter 4 concerning still other people's cats concerning cats by Helen M. Winslow this is the LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer visit LibriVox.org reading by Kristina concerning cats by Helen M. Winslow chapter 5 concerning some historic cats it is quite common for writers on the cat to say the story of Teofil Gautier's cats is too familiar to need comment on the contrary I do not believe it is familiar to read reader and that only those who know Gautier's menagerie in time in the original recall the particulars of his white and black dynasties for this reason they shall be repeated in these pages I use Mrs. Cashly-Hoye's translation partly in a selfish desire to save myself time and labor but principally because she has preserved so successfully the sympathetic and appreciative Teofil Gautier himself dynasties of cats as numerous as those of the Egyptian kings succeeded each other in my dwelling says he one after another they were swept away by accident by flight by death all were loved and regretted but life is made up of oblivion and the memory of cats dies out like the memory of men after making mention of an old grey cat who always took his part against his parents and used to bite Madame Gautier's legs when she presumed to reprude her son he passes on at once to the romantic period and the commemoration of shoulder band this name at once reveals a deep design of floating boilow whom I did not like then but have since become reconciled to has not Nicolas said oh le plaisant projet d'un poète ignorant que tant de héros va choisir now I consider Hildebrand a very fine name indeed Merovingian, medieval and gothic and waysly preferable to Agamemnon, Achilles, Ulysses or any Greek name whatsoever Romanticism was the fashion of my early days I have no doubt that people of classical times called their cats Hector, Iax or Patroclus Hildebrand was a splendid cat of common kind Tony and striped with black like the horse of Salta Badil in Lerois Amuse with his large green almond-triped eyes and his symmetrical stripes there was something Tiger like about him that pleased me Hildebrand had the honour of figuring in some verses that I wrote to Floodpollio Hildebrand was brought in there to make a good rhyme for Rembrandt the piece being a kind of confession of the romantic face made to a friend who was then as enthusiastic as myself about Victor Hugo, Saint-Ebore and Alfred de Mousset I come next to Madame Teofil, a red cat with a white breast, a pink nose and blue eyes whom all of a sudden a red cat with a white breast, a pink nose and blue eyes whom all called by that name because we were on terms of the closest intimacy she slept at the foot of my bed she sat on the arm of my chair while I wrote she came down into the garden and gravely walked about with me she was present at all my meals and frequently intercepted a choice morsel on its way from my plate to my mouse one day a friend who was going away for a short time brought me his parrot to be taken care of during his absence the bird finding itself in a strange place climbed up to the top of its perch by the aid of its beak and rolled its eyes as yellow as the nails in my armchair in a rather frightened manner also moving the white membrane that formed its eyelids Madame Teofil had never seen a parrot and she regarded the creature with manifest surprise while remaining as motionless as a cat mummy from Egypt in its swathing bands she fixed her eyes upon the bird with a look of profound meditation summoning up all the notions of natural history that she had picked up in the yard in the garden and on the roof the shadow of her thoughts passed over her changing eyes and we could plainly read in them the conclusion to which her scrutiny led decidedly, this is her green chicken this result attained the next procedure of Madame Teofil was to jump off the table from which she had made her observations and lay herself flat on the ground in a corner of the room exactly in the attitude of the panther in Jeremy's picture watching the guzzlies as they come down to drink at a lake the parrot followed the movements of the cat with feverish anxiety it ruffled its feathers, rattled its chain lifted one of its feet and shook the claws and rubbed its beak against the edge of its straw instinct told it that the cat was an enemy and meant mischief the cat's eyes were now fixed upon the bird with fascinating intensity and they said in perfectly intelligible language which the poor parrot distinctly understood this chicken ought to be good to eat although it is green we watched the scene with great interest ready to interfere at need Madame Teofil was creeping nearer and nearer almost imperceptibly her pink nose quivered her eyes were half closed her contrastyle claws moved in and out of their velvet sheath slight thrills of pleasure ran along her backbone at the idea of the meal she was about to make such novel and exotic food excited her appetite all in an instant her back took the shape of a bent bow and with a vigorous and elastic bound she sprang up on the perch the parrot, seeing its danger sat in a bass voice as grave and deep as M. Pradhummi's own this utterance so terrified the cat that she sprang backwards the blair of a trumpet the crash and smash of a pile of plates flung to the ground a little shot fired off at her ear could not have frightened her more thoroughly all her ornithological ideas were overthrown continued the parrot then mightway the observers read in the physiognomy of Madame Teofil this is not a bird, it's a gentleman, it talks when j'ai bu du vin cléré tout tourne, tout tourne en cabaret shriek the parrot in a deafening voice for it had perceived that its best means of defence was the terror aroused by its speech the cat cased a glance at me which was full of questioning but as my response was not satisfactory she promptly hid herself under the bed and from that refuge she could not be induced to stir during the whole of the day people who are not accustomed to live with animals and who, like Descartes, regard them as mere machines will think that I lend unauthorised meanings to the acts of the volatile and the quadruped but I have only facefully translated their ideas into human language the next day Madame Teofil plucked up courage and made another attempt which was similarly repulsed from that moment she gave it up accepting the bird as a variety of men this dainty and charming animal was extremely fond of perfumes especially of patchouli and the centex scaled by India shawls she was also very fond of music and would listen sitting on a pile of music books while the fair singers who came to try the critics' piano filled his room with melody all the time Madame Teofil would evince great pleasure she was, however, made nervous by certain notes and at the high la she would tap the singer's mouth with her paw this was very amusing and my visitors delighted in making the experiment it never failed the dilettante in fun was not to be deceived the rule of the white dynasty belonged to a later epoch and was inaugurated in the person of a pretty little kitten as white as a powderpuff who came from Havana on account of his spotless whiteness he was called Pirol but when he grew up this name was very properly magnified into Don Piro de Navarre which was far more majestic and suggested grandeeism and Teofil Gautier lays it down as a dogma that all animals with whom one is much taken up and who are spoiled become delightfully good and amiable Don Piro de Navarre successfully supported his master's theory perhaps he suggested it he shared in the life of the household with the enjoyment of quiet fireside friendships that is characteristic of cats he had his own place near the fire and there he would sit with a convincing air of comprehension of all that was talked of and of interest in it he followed the looks of the speakers and uttered little sounds towards them as though he too had objections to make and opinions to give upon the literary subjects most frequently discussed he was very fond of books and when he found one open on a table he would lie down on it turn over the edges of the leaves with his paws and after a while fall asleep for all the world as if he had been reading a fashionable novel he was deeply interested in my writing too the moment I took off my pen he would jump upon its desk and follow the movement of the pen holder with the gravest attention a little movement with his head at the beginning of each line sometimes he would try to take the pen out of my hand Don Pirode Navarre never went to bed until I had come in he would wait for me just inside the outer door and drop himself to my legs he's back in an arch with a glad and friendly pouring then he would go on before me preceding me with a page-like air and I have no doubt if I had asked at him having thus conducted me to my bedroom he would wait quietly while I undressed and then jump on my bed take my neck between his paws gently rub my nose with his own and lick me with his small pink tongue as rough as a file uttering all the time little inarticulate cries which expressed as clearly as any words could do his perfect satisfaction at having me with him again after these caresses he would perch himself on the back of the bed-stead and sleep there carefully balanced like a bird on a branch when I awoke he would come down and lie beside me until I got up Pirode was as strict as a concierge in his notions of the proper hour for all good people to return to their homes he did not approve of anything later than midnight in those days we had a little society among friends which we called the Four Candles the light in our place of meeting being restricted to four candles in silver candlesticks placed at the four corners of the tables sometimes the talk became so animated that I forgot all about time and twice or three times Pirode sat up for me until two o'clock in the morning after a while however my conduct in this respect displeased him and he retired to rest without me I was touched by this mute protest against my innocent dissipation and then forth came home regularly at twelve o'clock nevertheless Pirode cherished the memory of my offense for some time he waited to test the reality of my repentance but when he was convinced that my conversion was sincere he dined to restore me to his good graces and resumed his nocturnal post in the underroom to gain the friendship of a cat is a difficult thing the cat is a philosophical, methodical, quiet animal tenacious of its own habits fond of order and cleanliness and it does not lightly confer its friendship if you are worthy of its affection a cat will be your friend but never your slave he keeps his free will, though he loves and he will not do for you what he thinks unreasonable but if he once gives himself to you it is with such absolute confidence such fidelity of affection he makes himself the companion of your hours of solitude melancholy and toil he remains for whole evenings in your knee uttering his contented pour happy to be with you and forsaking the company of animals of his own species in vain do melodious mewings on the roof invite him to one of those cat parties in which fishbones plays a part of tea and cakes he is not to be tempted away from you put him down and he will jump up again with a sort of cooing sound that is like a gentle reproach and sometimes he will sit upon the carpet in front of you looking at you with eyes so melting so caressing and so human that they almost threaten you for it is impossible to believe that a soul is not there Don Pirode Navarre had a sweetheart of the same race and of a snowy whiteness as himself the ermine would have looked yellow by the side of Serafita for so the slowly creature was named in honour of Balzac's Swedenborgian romance Serafita was of a dreamy and contemplative disposition she would sit on a cushion for hours together quite motionless, not asleep and following with her eyes in a rapture of attention sights invisible to mere mortals Caresses were agreeable to her but she returned them in a very reserved manner and only in the case of persons whom she favoured with her racely accorded esteem she was fond of luxury and it was always upon the handsomest easy chair or the rug that would best show off her snowy fur that she would surely be found she devoted a great deal of time to her toilet her glossy coat was carefully smoothed every morning she washed herself with her paw and licked every atom of her fur with her pink tongue until it shone like new silver when any one touched her she instantly effaced all trace of the contact she could not endure to be tumbled an idea of aristocracy was suggested by her elegance and distinction and among her own people she was a duchess at least she delighted in perfumes would stick her nose into buckets bite scented canker chiefs with little spasms of pleasure and walk about among the scent bottles on the toilet table smelling at their stoppers no doubt she would have used the powdered puff if she had been permitted such was Seraphita and never did Kett more amply justify a poetic name I must mention here that in the days of the white dynasty I was also the happy possessor of a family of white rats and then the Kett always supposed to be their natural invariable and irreconcilable enemies but in perfect harmony with my pet rodents the rats never showed the slatters distrust of the Kett nor did the Kett's ever betray their confidence Don Pierrot in a war was very much attached to them he would sit close to their cage and observe their gambles for hours together and if by any chance the door of the room in which they were left was shut he would scratch and mew gently until someone came to open it and allow him to rejoin his little white friends who would often come out of the cage and sleep close to him Seraphita who was of a more reserved and disdainful temper and who disliked the musky odor of the white rats took no part in their games but she never did them any harm and would let them pass before her without putting out a claw Don Pierrot in a war who came from Havana required a hot house temperature and this he always had in his own apartments the house was however surrounded by extensive gardens divided by railings through an over which Kett's could easily climb and in those gardens were trees inhabited by a great number of birds Pierrot would frequently take advantage of an open door to get out of an evening and go hunting through the wet grass and flower beds and as his moving under the windows when he wanted to get in again did not always awaken the sleepers in the house he frequently had to stay out until morning his chest was delicate and one very chilly night he caught a cold which rapidly developed into ptesis at the end of a year of coughing poor Don Pierrot had wasted to a skeleton and his coat once so silky was a dull harsh white his large transparent eyes looked unnaturally large in his shrunken face the pink of his little nose had faded and he dragged himself slowly along the sunny side of the wall with a melancholy air looking at the yellow autumnal reliefs as they danced and whirled in the wind nothing is so touching as a sick animal it submits to suffering with such gentle and sad resignation we did all in our power to save Pierrot a skillful doctor came to see him sounded his lungs and ordered him as milk he drank the prescribed beaverage very readily out of his own special china saucer for hours together he lay stretched upon my knee like a shadow of the sphinx I felt his spine under my fingertips like the beads of a rosary and he tried to respond to my carousels by a feeble pour that resembled a death rattle on the day of his death as lying on his side painting and suddenly with the supreme effort he rose and came to me his large eyes were opened wide and he gazed at me with a look of intense supplication a look that seemed to say save me save me you who are a man then he made a few faltering steps his eyes became glassy and he fell down uttering so lamentable a cry so dreadful and full of anguish that I was struck dumb and motionless with horror he was buried at the bottom of the garden under a white rose tree which still marks the place of his sepulcher three years later Seraphite died and was buried by the side of Don Pirol with her the white dynasty became extinct but not the family this snow white couple had three children who were as black as ink let anyone explain that mystery who can the kittens were born in the early days of the great renown of Victor Hugo's Les Mirables when everybody was talking the new masterpiece and the names of their personages and it were in every mouth the two little male creatures were called Angelras and Gavrachi and their sister received the name of Eponyne they were very pretty and I trained them to run after the ball of paper and bring it back to me when I threw it into the corner of the room in times they would follow the ball upon the top of the bookcase or fish for it behind boxes or in the bottom of China Vases with their dandy little paws as they grew up they came to disdain those frivolous amusements and assume the philosophical and meditative quiet which is the true temperament of the cat to the eyes of the careless and indifferent observer three black cats are just three black cats but those who are really equated with animals know that their physiognomy is as various as that of the human race I was perfectly well able to distinguish between these little faces as black as Harlequin's mask and lighted up by discs of emerald with golden gleams Angelras who was much the handsomest of the three was remarkable for his broad lino-nine head and full whiskers strong shoulders and the superb feathery tail there was something theatrical and pretentious in his air like the posing of a popular actor his moments were slow undulatory and majestic so circumspect was he about where he set his feet down that he always seemed to be walking among glass his disposition was by no means stucco and he was much too fond of food to have been approved of by his namesake the temperature and oyster Angelras would certainly have said to him as the angel said to Swedenborg you eat too much I encourage his gastronomical tastes and Angelras attained a very unusual size and weight Gavroshi was a remarkably knowing cat and looked at he was wonderfully active and his twists, twirls and tumbles were very comic he was of a bohemian temperament and fond of love company thus he would occasionally compromise the dignity of his descent from the illustrious Don Piro de Navarre grandee of Spain of the first class and the marquisa Dona Seraphita of aristocratic and disdainful bearing he would sometimes return from his expeditions to the street accompanied by gone starved companions whom he had picked up in his wanderings and he would stand complacently by whilst they bolted the contents of his plate of food in a violent hurry and in dread of dispersion by a broomstick or a shower of water I was sometimes tempted to say to Gavroshi a nice lot of friends you pick up but I refrained for after all it was an aimable weakness he might have eaten his dinner all by himself the interesting Eponaon was more slender and graceful than her brothers and she was an extraordinarily sensitive nervous and electric animal she was passionately attached to me and she would do the honors of my hermitage with perfect grace and propriety when the bell rang she hastened to the door, received the visitors conducted them to the saloon made them take seats, talked to them yes, talked with little cause more and more than cries quite unlike the language which cats use amongst themselves and which bordered on the articulate speech of man what did she say? she said quite plainly don't be impatient, look at the pictures or talk with me if I am using you my master is coming down when my appearing she would retire discreetly to an armchair or the corner of the piano and listen to the conversation without interrupting it Eponaon's intelligence, find disposition and sociability led to her being elevated by common consent to the dignity of a person for reason superior instinct plainly governed her conduct that dignity conferred on her the right to eat a table like a person and not in a corner on the floor from a saucer like an animal Eponaon had a chair by my side at breakfast and dinner but inconsiderately of her size she was privileged to place her porpoise on the table her place was laid without a knife and fork indeed but with a glass and she went regularly through dinner from soup to dessert awaiting her turn to be helped and behaving with a quiet property which most children might imitate with advantage at the first stroke of the bell she would appear and when I came in the bedroom she would be at her post upright in the chair her porpoise on the edge of the table and she would present her smooth forehead to be kissed like a well bred little girl who was affectionately polite to relatives and odd people when we had friends to dine with us Eponaon always knew that company was expected she would look at her place and if a knife fork and spoon lay near her plate she would immediately turn away and seat herself on the pionos tool her inviourable refuge let those who deny the possession of reason to animals explain if they can this little fact apparently so simple but which contains a world of induction from the presence near her plate of those implements which only man can use the observant and judicious cat concluded that she ought on this occasion to give way to a guest and she hastened to do so she was never mistaken only when the visitor was a person whom she knew and liked she would jump on his knee and coax him for a bit of his plate by her graceful caresses she survived her brothers and was my dear companion for several years such is the chronicle of the black dynasty also cats have no place in the bible neither can their enemies who sing the praise of the dog find much advantage there for that most excellent animal is referred to in anything but a complementary fashion for result are dogs and sorcerers the great prophet of Allah however, knew a good cat when he saw it Moeza even contributed her small share to the development of the Mahometan's system for did she not sit curled up in her master's sleeve and by her soft purring soothed and deepened his meditations and did she not keep him dreaming that she finally became exhausted herself and fell asleep in his slowing sleeve where upon did not Mahomet rather than disturb her and feeling that he must be about his Allah's business cut off his sleeve rather than disturb the much loved Moeza the nurses of Cairo tells the story to their young churches to this day Cardinal Richelieu had many a kitten too and morose and ill-tempered as he was found in them much amusement his love for them however was not that unselfish love which led Mahomet to cut off his sleeve but simply a selfish desire for passing amusement he cared nothing for that most interesting process the development of a kitten into a cat and the study of its individuality which is known only to the real lovers of cats for it is recorded of him that as soon as his pets were three months old he sent them away evidently not caring where and procured new ones M.Chamflory however, thinks it possible that there may not be any real foundation for this story about Richelieu he refers to the fact that Moncrief says not a word about the celebrated Cardinal's passion for those creatures but he does say everybody knows that one of the greatest ministers friends ever possess it M.Colbert always had a number of kittens playing about the same cabinet in which so many institutions both honourable and useful to the nation had their origin can it be that Richelieu has been given credit for Colbert's virtues in various parts of Chantum Briand's memories may be found allocumes on the cat so well known was his fondness for them that even when his other feelings and interests faded with age and decay his affection for cats remained strong to the end this love became well known to all his peers and once on an embassy to Rome the Pope gave him a cat he was called Miqueto according to Chantum Briand's biographer M. Marcolus Pope Leo XII cat could not fail to reappear in the description of that domestic hearth where I have so often seen him basking in fact Chouteau Briand has immortalised his favourite in the sketch which begins my companion is a big cat of a grey shred this ecclesiastical pet was always dignified and imposing in manners ever conscious that he had been the gift of a sorrowing pontiff and had a tremendous weight of reputation to maintain he used to stroke his tail but he desired Madame Rikamir to know that he was tired I love in the cat said Chouteau Briand to M. de Marcolus that independent and almost ungrateful temper which prevents it from attaching itself to anyone the indifference with which it passes from the cellar to the house top when you caress it it stretches itself out and arches its back indeed but that is caused by physical pleasure not as in the case of the dog by a silly satisfaction in loving and being faithful to a master who returns thanks in kicks the cat lives alone has no need of society does not obey except when it likes and pretends to sleep that it may see the most clearly and scratches everything that it can scratch Buffon has belied the cat I am labouring at its rehabilitation and hope to make of it a tolerably good sort of animal as times go Cardinal Wolsey Lord High Chancellor of England was another cat-lober and his superb cat sat in a cushioned armchair by his side in the zenith of his pride and power the only one in that select circle who was no obliged to don a wig and robe while acting in a judicial capacity then there was Bohacchi the proud team and cat that used to wear gold earrings as he sat at the feet of King Hannah his owner, perhaps but not his master and whose reproduction in the tomb of Hannah in the Necropolis at Thebes between his master's feet in a statue is one of the most ancient reproductions of a cat and Saint Eboe whose cat used to roam at will over his desk and sit or lie on the precious manuscripts no other person was allowed to touch so I drink to know that the great Frenchman and I have one habit in common and Maestro Pleer owns to it too but Saint Eboe, says she probably had sufficient space reserved for his own comfort and convenience I have not and a grippiness beautifully arranged tail flapping across my copy distract my attention and imperils the neatness of my penmanship and even as I write these pages does the pretty lady's daughter Jane lie on my copy and gaze lovingly at me as I work Julian Halfthorn is another writer whose cat is an accompaniment of his working hours in this connection we must not forget Embrasso Wirtgen a student of natural history who writes of his cat my habit of reading, he says which divided us from each other in our respective thoughts prejudiced my cat very strongly against my books sometimes her little head would project its profile on the page which I was perusing as though she were trying to discover what it was that thus absorbed me doubtless she did not understand why I should look for my happiness beyond the presence of a devoted heart her solicitude was no less manifest when she brought me rats or mice she acted in this case exactly as if I had been to her son dragging enormous rats still in the throes of death to my feet and she was evidently guided by logic in offering me a prey commensurate with my size for she never presented any such large game to her kittens her affectionate attention invariably caused her a severe disappointment having laid the product of her hunting expedition at my feet she would appear to be greatly hurt by my indifference to such delicious fare that thus so had a cat we know because he wrote a sonnet to her Alfred de Muset's cats are apostrophized in his verses Dr. Johnson's hodge hailed a soft place for many years in the grove old scholars breast and has not everyone heard how the famous Dr. Johnson fetched oysters for his beloved hodge lest the servant should object to the trouble and vent their displeasure on his favorite nor can one forget Sir Isaac Newton and his cats for is it not alleged that the great man had two holes cut in his barn door one for the mother and a smaller one for the kitten Byron was fond of cats in his establishment at Ravenna he had five of them Daniel Macklase's famous portrait of Harriet Martino represents the estimable woman sitting in front of a fireplace and turning her face to receive the curse of her pet cat crawling to a resting place upon her mistress' shoulder although Lafontaine in his fables shows such a delicate appreciation of their character and ways it is doubtful whether he honestly loved cats but his friend and patron the Duchess of Boulogne was so devoted to them that she requested the poet to make her a copy with his own hand of all his fables in which Pussy appears the exercise book in which they were written was discovered a few years ago among the Boulogne papers Baudelaire it is said could never pass a cat in the street without stopping to stroke and fondlet many a time said Jean-Florie when he and I have been walking together have we stopped to look at a cat grilled luxuriously in a pile of fresh white linen looking in the cleanliness of the newly iron fabrics into what fits of contemplation have we fallen before such windows while the cockatish laundresses struck attitudes at the ironing boards under the mistaken impression that we were admiring them it was also related of Baudelaire that going for the first time to a house he is restless and uneasy until he has seen the household cat but when he sees it this is in strokes it and is so completely absorbed in it that he makes no answer to what is said to him Professor Huxley's notorious fondness for cats was a fad which he shared with Paul de Coch the novelist who at one time kept as many as 30 cats in his house many descriptions of them are to be found scattered through his novels his chief favorite from Mantine lived 11 years with him Pierre Lottie has written a charming and most touching history of two of his cats Moumette Blanche and Moumette Chinouis which all true cat lovers should make a point of reading Algernon Swirmborn the poet is devoted to cats his favorite is named Atossa Robert Sothey was an ardent lover of cats most people have read his letter to his friend Bedford announcing the death of one alas Grosvenor he wrote this day poor Rumpel was found dead after as long and happy a life as cat could wish for if cats form wishes on that subject his full titles were the most noble the Archduke Rumpelstilzen Machus Magboum Earl Tomliff Nanchen Baron Ratticide Vowler and Scratch a court mourning in Catland and if the dragon, your pet cat wear a black ribbon around his neck or a band of crepe à la militaire round one of his four paws it will be but a becoming mark of respect then the poet Laureate adds I believe we are each and all servants included more sorry for his loss or rather more affected by it than any of us would like to confess Joe Spellings called his favorite cat William because he considered no shorter name fitted to the dignity of his character poor old man he remarked one day to a friend he has fits now so I call him Fitz William end of the chapter 4 concerning some historic cats concerning cats by Helen M. Winslow this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org reading by Christine concerning cats by Helen M. Winslow Chapter 6 concerning cats in England if the growing fancy for cats in this country is benefitting the feline race as a whole they have to thank the English people for it for certain cats in England held at a valued as seems preposterous to unsophisticated Americans at one cat and bird show held at the Crystal Palace near London some of the cats were valued at 3500 pounds sterling as much as the price of the first class race horse for more than a quarter of century national cat shows have been held at Crystal Palace and the Westminster Aquarium have given great stimulus to the breeding of fine cats and cataries where high priced cats and kittens are raised are common throughout the country England was the first to care for lost and deserted cats and dogs at Buttersea there is a temporary home for both these unfortunates where between 20 and 25000 dogs and cats are sheltered and fed the objects of this home which is supported entirely by description are to restore lost pets to their owners to find suitable homes for unclaimed cats and dogs and to painlessly destroy useless and diseased ones there is a commodious cats house where pets may be boarded during their owners absence and a separate house where lost and deserted felines are sheltered, fed and kindly tended since long before Wittington became Lord Mayor of London, indeed cats have been popular in England for did not the law protect them as to the truth of the story of Wittington's cat there has been much earnest discussion although Wittington lived from about 1368 to 1425 the story seemed to have been pretty generally accepted for 300 years after his death a portrait still exists of him with one hand holding a cat and when his old house was remodeled in the recent times a carved stone was found in it showing a boy with a cat in his arms several similar tales have been found it is argued in which the heroes in different countries have started to make a fortune by selling a cat but as rats and mice were extremely common then and it has been shown that a single pair of rats will in three years multiply into over 600,000 which will eat as much as 64,000 men why shouldn't a cat be deemed a luxury even for a king's palace the argument that the cat of Wittington was a cat or both used for carrying coal is disproved by the fact that no account of such vessels in Wittington time can be found and also that the trade in coal did not begin in Europe for some time afterward and there really seems nothing improbable in the story that at a time when a kitten being enough to kill mice brought four pets in England such an animal taken to a rat-infested cat-less country might not be sold for a sum large enough to start an enterprising use in trade surely the beginnings of some of our own railroad kings and financiers might as well look doubtful to future generations it is a pretty story that of Wittington how he rose from being a mere schooling of 14 to being thrice lord mayor of London according to what are claimed to be authentic documents the story is something more than a nursery tale and runs thus poor Dick Wittington was born at Shropshire of such very poor parents that the boy being of an ambitious nature left home at 14 and walked to London where he was taken into the hospital of St John at Clerkenwell in a menial capacity the prior noticing his good behaviour and diligent conduct took a fancy to him and obtained him a position in a Mr. Fitzroy's household on Tower Hill for some time at this place his prospect did not improve he was nothing but a schooling ridiculed and disliked by the cook and other servants add to this the fact that an incredible swarm of mice and rats infested the miserable room in which he slept and it would seem that he was indeed a poor Richard one fortunate day however he conceived the idea of buying a cat and as good luck would have it he was enabled within a few days to earn a penny or two by blacking the boots of a guest at the house that day he met a woman with a cat for sale and after some dickering for she asked more money for it than the boy possessed in the world Dick Wittington carried home his cat and put it in a cupboard or closet opening from his room that night when he retired he let the cat out of the cupboard and she evidently had no end of fun for according to these authentic accounts she destroyed all the vermin which went her to make their appearance for some time after that she passed her days in the cupboard in hiding from the cook and her nights in catching mice and then came the change Mr. Fitzwein was fitting out a vessel for all years and kindly offered all his servants a chance to send something to barter with the natives poor dick had nothing but his cat but the commercial instinct was even then strong with him and with an enterprise worthy of the early efforts of any of our self-made men he decided to send that and accordingly placed it while the tears ran plentifully down his cheeks in the hands of the master of the vessel she must have been a most exemplary cat for by the time they had reached out years the captain was so fond of her that he allowed no one to handle her but himself not even he however expected to turn her into money but the opportunity soon came at the state banquet given by the day the captain and his officers were astonished to notice that rats and mice ran freely in and out stealing half the choice food which was spread on the carpet and this was a common everyday occurrence the captain saw his or Wittington's opportunity and stated that he knew a certain remedy for the state of affairs where upon he was invited to dinner next day to which he carried the cat and the natural consequence ensued the sudden and swift extermination of the pests drove the day and his court half frantic with delight and the captain who must have been the original progenitor of the Yankee race drove a sharp bargain by assuming to be unwilling to part with the cat so that the day finally sent on board the ship the choicest commodities consisting of gold, jewels and silks meanwhile things had gone from bad to worse with the youth destined to become not only Lord Mayor of London but the envy and admiration of future generations of youth and he made up his mind to run away from his place this he did but while he was on his way to more rural scenes he sat down on a stone at the foot of Highgate Hill a stone that still remains marked as Wittington's stone and paused to reflect on his prospects his thoughts turned back to the home he had left where he had at least plenty to eat and although the authentic reports use a great many words to tell us so the boy was homesick just then the sound of Bobaels reached him and his useful infancy seemed to call him back return return Wittington thrice Lord Mayor of London thus the old tale has it at any rate the boy gave up the idea of light and went back to Mr. Fitzvarn's house the second night after his master sent for him in the midst of one of the cook's tirades and going to the parlor he was apprised with sudden wealth because added to the rest of his good luck the captain happened to be a honest man and then he went into trade and married the daughter of Mr. Fitzvarn and became Lord Mayor of London and lived even happier ever after than they do in most fairy tales and everybody even the cook admired and loved him after he had money and position as has been known to happen outside of fairy tales whether or not cats in England owe anything of their position to date is a Wittington story it is certain that they have more really appreciating friends there than in any other country the older we grow in the refinements of civilization the more we value the finally bred cat in England it has long been accustomed to register the pedigree of cats as carefully as dog fanciers in this country do with their fancy pets some account of the cat club Studeburg and register will be found in the next chapter Queen Victoria and the Princess of Wales and indeed many members of the nobility are cat lovers and doubtless this fact influences the general sentiment in England amongst the most devoted of pussy English admirers is the honoured Mrs. McLaren Morrison who is the happy possessor of some of the most perfect dogs and cats that have grazed the bench she lives at Keppwick Park in her stately home in Yorkshire a lovely spot commanding a delightful video of Victoria's questmore land on one side and on the other three surrounded and sheltered by hills and moors some of her pets go with her however to her flat in Queen Anne's mansion and even to her residence in Calcutta it is at Keppwick Park that Mrs. McLaren Morrison has her celebrated cataries here there are magnificent blue black and silver and red versions snowy white, blue-eyed beauties grandly marked English tabby handsome blue Russians with their gleaming yellow of Toppa's eyes some Chinese cats with their long edge shaped heads bright golden eyes and shiny short haired black fur and a pair of Japanese pussies pure white and absolutely without tails one of the handsomest specimens of the Felene race ever seen in is her blue person champion monarch who as a kitten in 1893 won the gold medal at the Crystal Palace given for the best pair of kittens in the show and the next year the Beresford Challenge Cup at Kraft's show was the best long haired cat besides taking many other owners among other well-known prize winners are the champion Snowball and forget me not both pure white with lovely turquoise blue eyes of champion Nysam now dead that well-known English authority on cats Mr. A. A. Clark said he was the grandest head of any cat he had ever seen Nysam was a perfect specimen for that rare and delicate breed of cats a pure chinchilla the numberless kittens sporting all day long are worthy of the art of Madame Henry Troner and one could linger for hours in these delightful and most comfortable catteries watching their gambles the gentle mistress of this fair and most interesting domain the owner Mrs. McLaren Morrison herself is one of the most attractive and fascinating women of the day one who adds to great personal beauty all the charm of mental culture and much trouble she has made Cape Vic Park a veritable house beautiful with the rare curious and art treasures collected with her perfect taste in the many lands she has visited and it is an interesting and enjoyable to overtose her as it is to an animal lover Mrs. McLaren Morrison exhibits at all the cat shows often entering as many as 25 cats other English ladies who exhibit largely are Mrs. Haring of Leicester House and Mrs. Cuckburn Dickinson of Surrey Mrs. Haring's champion Jimmy is very well known as the first prize winner in many shows he is a short-haired exclusively marked silver tabby valued at 2,000 pounds 10,000 dollars another filling celebrity also well known to frequenters of English cat shows is Madame L. Portier's magnificent and colossal blue boy whose first appearance into this world was made on the day sacred to Saint Patrick 1895 he has a fine pedigree and was raised by Madame Portier herself blue boy commenced his career as a show cat or as a kitten at 3 months old when he was awarded at first prize and when the judge told his mistress that if he fulfilled his early promise he would make a grand cat this he has done and is now one of the finest specimens of his kind in England he weighs over 17 pounds and always has a fix to his cage on the show bench this request please do not lift this cat by the neck he is too heavy he has long dark blue fur with a rough of a lighter shade and brilliant topaz eyes already blue boy has taken many prizes he is a guided cat and one of the fortunate cats who have not for sale after their names in the show catalogs to Mrs. C. Hill's beautiful long haired Patrick Blue fell the honour at the Christopher show in 1896 of a sign and frame photograph of the Prince of Wales presented by his royal highness for the best long haired cat in the show irrespective of sex or nationality besides the prize given by the Prince Patrick Blue was the proud winner of the Paris Fort Challenge Cup for the best blue long haired cat and the India Silver Ball for the best version he also was born on St. Patrick's Day hence his name he was bred by Mrs. Blair Makonahi his father Blue Ruin for first being a celebrated gold medallist his mother Sylvia who belongs to Mrs. Makonahi has never been shown her strong point being her lovely colour which is most happily reproduced in her perfect son Patrick Blue has all the many charms of a petted cat and was undoubtedly one of the prominent attractions of the first championship show of the National Cat Club in 1896 Silver Lampkin is another very famous English cat owned by Ms. Gresham of Surrey Princess Rani owned by Ms. Freeland of Modestfond near Romney champion South Sea Hector by Ms. Sangster at South Sea champions Prince Victor and Shelley of Kingswood both of whom have taken no end of prizes are other famous English cats Topso a magnificent Silver Tabby male belonging to Ms. Anderson Leake of Dingley Hill was at one time the best long haired Silver Tabby in England and took the prize on that account in 1887 his sons, daughters, grandsons and granddaughters won prizes at Crystal Palace in the Silver Tabby classes since that time Lady Marcus Burrisford has forged the last 15 years made quite a business of the breeding and rearing of cats a bishop's gate near Ekham she has what is without doubt the finest cattery I have applications from all parts of the world for my cats and kittens said Lady Marcus in a talk about her hobby and I may tell you that it is largely because of this the cat club which has for its object the general welfare of the cat and the improvement of the breed my cataries were established in 1890 and at one time I had as many as 150 cats and kittens some of my pets live in a pretty cottage covered with creepers which might well be called cat cottage no expense has been spared in the fittings of the rooms and every provision is made for warms and ventilation but for the girl who takes entire charge of and feeds the pussies she has a boy who works with her and performs the rougher tasks there is a small kitchen for cooking the meals for the cats and this is fitted with every requisite on the walls are racks to hold the white and nemiled balls and plates used for the food there is a medicine chest which contains everything that is need food for prompt and efficacious treatment in case pussies become sick there is names and a full description of all the inmates of the catory and a set of rules to be observed by both the cats and their attendants these rules are not ignored and it is a tribute to the intelligence of the cat to see how carefully pussies can become amenable to discipline if one is given to understand of what their discipline consists then there is a garden catory I think this is the prettiest of all it's covered with roses and ivy there are three rooms provided with shelves and all other conveniences which can add to the cat's comfort and amusement the residences of the male cats are most complete for I have given them every attention possible each male cat has his separate sleeping apartments closed with wire and with a run attached closed at hand is a large square grass run and in this each gentleman takes his daily but solitary exercise one of the stringent rules of the catory that no two males shall ever be left together and I know that with my cats if this rule were not observed both in letter and precept it would be a case of when Greek meets Greek I vary the food for my cats as much as possible one day we will have most appetizing bowls of fish and rice at the proper time you can see the standing in the cat kitchen ready to be distributed another day these bowls will be filled with minced meat in the very hot weather a good deal of vegetable matter is mixed with the food Swiss milk is given so there is no fear of its turning sour for some time I have kept a goat on the premises the milk from which is given to the delicate or younger kittens I have started many of my poorer friends in cat breeding and they have proved conclusively how easily an addition to their income can be made not only by breeding good person kittens and selling them and distributing them at the various shows and taking prizes but of course there is a fashion in cats as in everything else when I started breeding blue persons about 15 years ago they were very scarce and I could easily get 25 dollars a piece for my kittens now this variety is less sought after and self servers commonly called chinchillas are in demand End of chapter 6