CHAPTER VI.

In the columns of a paper called The Bazaar, a few months ago, a correspondence was kept up for several weeks on the subject of “Cat Extermination.” No doubt it is highly annoying to have one’s beautiful flower-beds torn up, and one’s pet pigeons and rabbits worried at night by prowling cats. But the methods proposed for their destruction were in some cases diabolical. Poison of all sorts was to be freely used, and sponges dipped in tallow—worse torture than giving a shark a red-hot brick, or a lady’s steel crinoline fastened up with hide—and wire fences, so constructed that the cat might find easy access into a garden, but no egress, and so be torn to pieces with dogs,

“With mair o’ horrible and awfu’,
Which e’en to name would be unlawfu’.”

But I would fain enlist even these men on pussy’s side; not certainly for sake of the cats, but for their own comfort; for no good—unless the gratification of a feeling of revenge—can accrue from attempts at extermination, and only from legislation can they hope to get redress. You may exterminate the Modoc Indians, extirpate the Maories, and annihilate the Ashantees, but you’ll have no chance against the cats. Now, I should ask, nay, claim, parliamentary protection for our domestic cat, for many reasons. Here I shall only mention one or two. First then, because she is a pet—a pet in many a nobleman’s and gentleman’s family, and still more so at many a poor man’s fireside, who cannot afford to maintain any larger domestic animal; and because pussy is so beautiful, so gentle, loving, and kind, and capable of such high training; because she is so affectionate towards her owner; and because she loves the children so. She is, indeed, the pet par excellence of babyhood and infancy. Secondly, because we are Christians, or live in a Christian land; and because the cruelties that are practised every day in our midst, against this defenceless creature are harrowing to all our feelings, and a disgrace to a civilized country.

Thirdly, and lastly at present, because the cat is an animal of great utility.

Putting aside, then, all sentimentality, let us look at the matter in a plain business point of view.

We ought to do all in our power for the protection and improvement, of every domesticated animal under our care, whether kept for use or ornament; no one will think of denying that. But, there is no creature under the sun which is so systematically ill-used, and carelessly treated as pussy. The cause is easily understood: we do not thoroughly appreciate the good the cat does, and, even if we do, being all naturally selfish, we like to have and hold all we can, for the least possible outlay and trouble. Thus, pussy’s services are poorly repaid and ungratefully received, because she is so patient and uncomplaining. If horses or other cattle were treated in like manner, they would quickly deteriorate in value; but the cat, looked upon as a mere vermin-killer, is different, her presence alone, however skinny and lean, being generally enough to frighten away those pests, rats and mice. Indeed, very few of us, I fear, fully appreciate the amount of real good done, or the large amount of valuable property saved annually—in a preventive way alone—by cats. More quickly than almost any other animal, do rats and mice multiply. Take the field-mouse for example (the mus leacopus or the mus sylvaticus), with the nests of which nearly every school-boy is familiar,—

“Those wee bit heaps o’ straw and stubble,
That cost them mony a weary nibble.”

These creatures breed at least four or five times a year; and you seldom find fewer than seven little baby-mice in each nest. The mischief these creatures sometimes work in grass fields, and in fields of newly-sown grain, is almost incalculable. Whole acres have been known to be destroyed in a single night. Cats are the greatest enemies these creatures have: they destroy them young and old, by the dozen, for mere sport—they seldom care to eat them.

In-doors, again, what would the baker, the miller, the draper, the grocer, or even the bookseller do, without his cat?

There is no prettier ornament, I think, a shop-window can have, than an honest-looking sleek Tom tabby.

“Yes, sir,” a hosier said to me the other day; “I do like my cat. I shan’t tell you, because you could not be expected to believe it, not being a business man, how much money I lost two years ago in one winter, by rats alone. I tried everything, traps and poison, in vain, and was forced to fall back on pussy after all.”

A Scotch miller, plagued with rats, and hearing that music would frighten them away, hired a couple of Highland bag-pipers to play in the mill for two whole nights. (See Note Q, Addenda.)

“Of course,” he said, “the lads and lasses gathered from every corner, and it cost me oceans o’ whisky; but those rats kent good music, I verily believe they danced to it. So, failing that, I got twa kittens; and three weeks after, I hadn’t a rat about the place.”

But looking at the matter statistically: it is the very lowest average to say that every cat in this country does away with twenty mice or rats per annum; and, also, on the lowest average, each mouse or rat will destroy one pound’s worth of property a year. Well, there are, in the British Islands, over 4,000,000 cats; that, multiplied by 20, gives an annual saving of £80,000,000 worth of property; and those cats do not take £4,000,000 to keep them alive, not more—at any rate.

Surely, then, so useful a friend to man ought to be protected by law. Until, however, the Legislature deems it fit to do something for her, I think it behoves the public in general, and owners of pets and cat-fanciers in particular, to do everything they can to check cruelty to cats, and try to make her life a more comfortable and endurable one. Pussy is very easily kept, and I would, in the name of common humanity, earnestly beseech my readers to try the effect of kindness and regular feeding on the cats they may own, and see how soon it will amply repay them.

Cat shows ought to receive more encouragement than they do at present. Nothing can be better calculated both to foster a love for these beautiful creatures, and increase and perfect the different breeds, than those interesting exhibitions. At present, only a very few of our leading aristocracy, and gentry patronize cat shows. But they are every day becoming more and more popular. Birmingham has emulated the Crystal Palace, and Edinburgh rivals both; and, before very long, I hope to see every town, in the United Kingdom holding its annual show of cats.

Now, every one I have spoken to on the subject, admits that something ought to be done, by the Legislature, for the protection of the domestic cat. The difficulty seems to be where to begin, and what sort of laws to frame. Begin, I say, by putting “a stout heart to a stay brae” (stiff hill), and we are sure to do some good.

The following hints are merely meant to be suggestive, and by no means of a ne plus ultra character. Indeed, I should feel much obliged to my readers, if they would kindly forward to me, their views on this subject.

The law for the destruction of worthless dogs, found straying and begging in the streets, although at first blush it appeared a cruel one, was really both humane and kind to the whole canine race. There were too many useless curs without owners; and there are also Arab cats as well as Arab dogs—thousands on thousands, who never had a home and never will, preferring a nomadic life, because they never knew a better. How can we get rid of this surplus feline population? I would introduce a cat licence. This licence, of course, should cost a mere nominal sum, what indeed even the poorest man who was able to afford food for a cat, could easily pay. The licences should be of two kinds, namely:—one for mere utility cats, and the other for valuable cats, household pets, etc. The first to cost one shilling and threepence, the other two shillings. A cat’s collar to be presented to the owner on payment of the fee; the collar stamped and numbered. The shilling licence collar to be dark; the other of coloured material. In the event of a cat being wantonly killed, a fine to be inflicted, of not more than £5 for the first class, and £10 for the second class of licence. This would have a salutary effect in checking the present trade of cat-skin hunting.

A place would be required in every town, or district, where all cats found straying without a collar could be taken, and if not claimed within three or four days, to be either sold, given away, or destroyed. Cats found doing damage to gardens, poultry, rabbit warrens, or pigeon lofts, to be captured if possible, and the owners made to pay damages. All cases of cruelty to cats to be punished by fines, etc.

Starving cats to be penal. I should have an inspector to visit every house once or twice a year, and see that the cats were in good condition. The revenue from this tax would be over £200,000 a year. I recommend it to the attention of Mr. Lowe.

These are only a few crude suggestions, which may be very much improved upon; one thing at least is certain, the law ought to protect the domestic cat.

CHAPTER VII.

Prevention is better than cure. I believe that is not an original remark; but it is nevertheless a very true one, as regards the ailments of the domestic cat, almost all of which may be kept at bay by even ordinary attention. We all have a duty to perform to the animals under us, even to animals of mere utility; and much more cheerfully ought that duty to be performed, if the creature is kept for the beauty that pleases our eye, or for the love it loves us with. So long as your pet is in health, and happy and lively, you can easily forgive yourself for many little acts of neglect towards her; but when she falls ill, when she is writhing in pain, and looking in your face with eyes that implore your aid, then, indeed, I do not envy your feelings, if, coupled with your sorrow for her sufferings, you have the sad reflection that, many a time, you might have been better to her.

There is more room for improvement, in the breed and condition of the domestic cat, than in that of any other animal I know; and no creature so soon repays its master, for the care and attention he may bestow on it. Instead of the meagre-looking, small, short-haired, guilty thief, that used to fly and get up the chimney whenever it heard your footstep, you have a large, honest, plump pussy, with glossy fur and loving eye, that runs to meet you with a song, and jumps on your shoulder to have the pleasure of giving you the first caress—a thing of joy and beauty for——, well, for a matter of fifteen years at least. And these are the sort of cats I wish to see throughout the length and breadth of the land. I like to see people fond of their cats. Some will tell you it is unmanly to love a cat. Fudge! Man’s manliness consists in doing, in a straightforward manner, whatsoever is natural and right, and not fearing the face of clay in the doing of it.

“But,” said I, the other day at Birmingham, somewhat mischievously interrupting a sporting friend of mine, who was indulging in a long diatribe on the comparative merits of two bull-terriers, “But, have you seen the cats?”

“Confound the cats!” he answered testily, and, after a pause, “D’ye know what I should like to do? Look, see. There are a hundred and twenty fox-terriers yonder; well, I’d just turn them into the cat show and close the doors.”

“Well, at all events,” said I, “come and see them.” Arrived in the building, my friend walked along the rows of cages, peeping into each with an air of amusing perplexity. At last he stopped before a beautiful Persian, and,—

“D—n it all,” said he—his language was not very choice—“these aren’t cats, Doctor—they are some foreign beasts.”

“Foreign only to bad treatment,” I said.

The upshot of it was, that I had to buy him a kitten—one of great promise. He took it away in his pocket.

“I’ll be good to it,” he said; “and when it’s big, if it’s game and all that, I’ll—look, see—I’ll give it a dozen rats every Sunday morning, hang me if I don’t.”

He is a rough nut, my friend; but good at the kernel.

In order, then, to keep pussy in perfect health, pelage, and temper, and worthy of taking her place before the parlour fire, or on the drawing-room couch, we must attend to three things, viz., her food, her drink, and her housing.

Food.—I have no doubt that cats were originally admitted to the society of mankind, on account of their proclivities for killing rats and mice. We can have some clue to the seeming mystery of the veneration, in which cats were held in ancient Egypt, if we remember the large stores of grain, etc., which its inhabitants were in the habit of laying up. No country in the world depended more, for its very existence as a nation, on its cereals than did Egypt. We can imagine, then, a time when cats were unknown even to the Egyptians, and a particular year, when the crops had nearly failed, when the grain was hoarded carefully, and when, with famine, came a plague of rats and mice, threatening death and annihilation to all in the land. We may easily fancy, the reign of terror and gloom that would ensue; and then we can understand the exuberance of joy, and general rejoicing on the introduction, by some Magi from a far country, of their new-found friend the cat. A nation saved by cats! Something of the kind must undoubtedly have occurred; and thus the stringent laws framed for pussy’s protection, and the love and regard, lavished on her by all classes of the people, may more easily be accounted for. We ourselves have always had cats, since the conquest by the Romans, and can neither fully appreciate their value nor use; but think, reader, just for a moment, what the consequences would be, and how great the destruction of property by vermin, were cats to be suddenly exterminated. If then, only for the sake of making pussy more valuable as a vermin-killer, she ought to have regular and sufficient food. A cat ought to be fed at least twice a day. Let her have a dish to herself, put down to her, and removed when the meal is finished. Experience is the best teacher as regards the quantity of a cat’s food, and in quality let it be varied. Oatmeal porridge and milk, or white bread steeped in warm milk, to which a little sugar has been added, are both excellent breakfasts for puss; and for dinner she must have an allowance of flesh. Boiled lights are better for her than horse-meat, and occasionally let her have fish. Teach your cat to wait patiently till she is served—a spoiled cat is nearly as disagreeable as a spoiled child. If you want to have your cat nice and clean, treat her now and then to a square inch of fresh butter. It not only acts as a gentle laxative, but, the grease, combining in her mouth with the alkalinity of her saliva, forms a kind of natural cat-soap, and you will see she will immediately commence washing herself, and become beautifully clean. (N.B.—If you wish to have a cat nicely done up for showing, touch her all over with a sponge dipped in fresh cream, when she licks herself the effect is wonderful.)

Remember that too much flesh-meat, especially liver,—which ought only to be given occasionally,—is very apt to induce a troublesome diarrhœa (looseness). Do not give your pet too many tit-bits at table; but whatever else you give her, never neglect to let her have her two regular meals.

Never give a cat food in an unwashed dish.

Drink. It will save you a great deal of trouble, if you have a proper dish for pussy’s drink; and let it stand constantly in the same corner of the room. It must be a double dish, that is, two saucers joined together, one for water and the other for milk; and remember, it must be carefully cleaned every morning, for a highly-bred cat will not drink milk, if it is the least unsavoury, nor water unless it is pure and free from dust. It perhaps is not very generally known, that cats nearly always prefer pure water to milk, when they are really thirsty.

A great treat for pussy, when she is a little bit seedy—of a morning, perhaps, after having been on the spree all night, and the best of cats will go on the spree occasionally—is a saucer of nice creamy milk, made warm with water, and slightly sweetened with sugar. It sets her all to rights straight away, and you will not find her ungrateful for such kindness.

Housing. It is not at all an uncommon practice, in some parts of the country, for people to turn their cats out at night, before they themselves retire to rest. They do so, they will tell you, to prevent pussy from misbehaving in the house. Now such a practice cannot be too severely condemned. First and foremost, no well-trained cat, unless under the most extreme circumstances, such as sudden illness, etc., will make any filth in the house where she resides; for, as I have said before, there is no animal in the world more cleanly in its habits than the domestic cat. Secondly, the practice of turning pussy out of doors at night, is the very thing to engender filthy habits in her during the day. And lastly, people who treat their cats in this manner, are accountable, for all the weight of crime, that falls upon pussy’s shoulders. Badly-housed cats become vagrants and thieves, poor, starved-looking, beggarly brutes, and adepts at all mischief, besides being unhealthy, ugly, and filled with fleas. These are the cats that plunder pigeon lofts, steal chickens, tear up beautiful flower-beds, and murder valuable rabbits in cold blood. They—

“Sleep all day, and wake all night,
And keep the country round in fright.”

A cat that has been well fed and cared for by day, will seldom want to go out at night. If she does not feel sleepy, she will betake herself to the cellar, and have a little innocent flirtation with the mice or rats, or kill cock-roaches when everything else fails her.

Make your pussy’s bed on a couch or on the parlour sofa, or let her make it herself. Apropos of making beds: the other night I was lying on the sofa, prior to turning into bed—I had lowered the gas and admitted the moonlight—when Muffie entered, apparently in a great hurry to go to sleep. Seeing her master lying there, she placed her two forepaws on the sofa, and looking in my face,—

“Will you kindly get up out of that and let me lie down,” she said, speaking with her eyes.

“Not till I’m ready; I’ll see you hanged first,” replied I, speaking with mine.

“Very well, then,” said pussy; and she went straight to the table, jumped up and pulled off the cloth, deliberately rolled herself in it, and went to sleep. She pulled down the ink along with it, and soiled the carpet, but that was a matter for me and my landlady to settle between us; puss did not care a rat.

Never turn your cat out at night unless she asks to go.

Never shut her up in a room all night, but let her have free access to kitchen or attic; you will thus have a healthy, cleanly puss, and never be troubled with mice.

The simplest form of medicine for a cat, and one which either in town or country they should never want, is grass. It is an excellent anti-scorbutic, keeps pussy’s blood pure, and acts always as a gentle laxative, and at times as an emetic, according to the quantity taken, and of this pussy herself is the best judge. In the country, a cat can always find grass for herself, but in the town it ought to be given to her. People who are cat-fanciers, should never take a walk into the country, without culling a bunch of nice fresh grass for pussy. When you go home, the best place to keep it will be the cellar, or lumber-room, to which pussy has access, held fast by the ends between two flat stones or bricks, a bit of wetted flannel being placed beneath the upper stone to keep the grass fresh; and the cat will soon know where to go when she finds the need for it.

Although good and regular food, with proper attention, will generally succeed in keeping your cats healthy, still these animals have many troubles which call for medical aid. I give a very few of the commonest, with the treatment appropriate for each.

Diarrhœa. This, for obvious reasons, is a very troublesome complaint in a cat. It is generally induced by irregular feeding, or exposure to wet and cold. Fat meat will also bring it on, or too much liver. It very soon reduces the creature to a mere skeleton, and if not attended to, will end in dysentery and death. Begin the treatment by giving the little patient half a small teaspoonful of castor-oil. Give a still smaller dose about six hours after, to which two drops of laudanum or solution of muriate of morphiæ has been added. Afterwards give, three times a day, either a little chalk mixture, with half a drop of laudanum in each dose, or a teaspoonful of the following mixture:—

Give no flesh diet; you may give the cat fish, however, in small quantities, and arrowroot with bread and milk. A few drops of solution of lime may be added to each diet with advantage.

In diarrhœa, and in all cases of severe illness, the cat should be turned into an empty room, with a little fire, a warm bed and a box of earth or sand.

To give a cat medicine. Roll her all but the head in a sheet, and get some one to hold her. Do not alarm her if possible—mind your fingers—and pour the medicine little by little down her throat. If a pill or bolus, dip it in oil, and put it well down and against the roof of her mouth.

Chronic inflammation of the stomach. This is a frequent disease among cats. It often follows the administration of poison—supposing the cat to have escaped immediate death. She refuses nearly all food, has frequent attacks of vomiting, gets thin and altogether unhealthy-looking, without any apparent cause. In these cases, I generally recommend the trisnitrate of bismuth, about a grain, to be placed on the tongue twice a day. Occasional doses of castor-oil or tincture of rhubarb, with milk diet and fish, and, if there be much wasting, raw beef may be given twice a day.

Bronchitis.—Cats are very subject to this complaint, as they are very liable to catch cold, especially if much exposed. It begins with the symptoms of a common cold, such as staring coat, shivering, and slight cough. Then the cat becomes very ill, for a day or two, with the acute stage of the trouble, which, however, soon passes into the chronic form. There is now apparent difficulty of breathing, the cat is constantly coughing, with the tongue hanging over the lower lip; she has an anxious expression about her face, and the eyes water and are mattery. She gets rapidly thinner, and moons about, refusing all food, or at times eating voraciously, and with depraved appetite.

Treatment. Begin by giving a simple dose of castor-oil, if no diarrhœa present; if so, the dose to be combined with two drops of laudanum. Confine her to the house and feed her on beef-tea and bread, or milk-arrowroot with beef-tea. If the disease becomes chronic, I know of no medicine better than—

made into a bolus with sufficient bread-crumb; the bolus to be divided into twenty pills, and one given every night. Keep up her strength, and complete the cure by a small tea-spoonful of cod-liver-oil twice a day for a fortnight. This latter often acts like a charm. A certain form of “mange” often accompanies the disease.

Consumption. This is not necessarily, although often, a lung-disease in cats. Whatever disease induces general wasting of the body, deterioration of pelage, an unhealthy state of the system, with refusal of, or distaste for, food—if there be no bilious vomiting—may be called consumption. The treatment, which in most cases is successful, is regulation of diet, careful housing and attention, raw meat in small quantities twice a day, and cod-liver-oil twice or thrice a day. Cod-liver-oil must be the sheet anchor in these cases; but if there is much cough, a little mixture like the following will not fail to give relief,—

A teaspoonful occasionally.

Fits. Cats are subject to various sorts of fits, delirious and otherwise. The great thing is to give instant relief. Try first a common smelling-salts bottle held to the nostrils, or a pinch of dry snuff; if that does no good, pussy must be bled. I make a minute incision on the lower part of the ear behind, with a fine-pointed lancet, and then foment with a sponge and hot water.

The after-treatment will depend much on the condition of the cat. If too fat or heavy, the diet must be lowered and regulated,—sheep’s liver and melt being given three times a week; if she is thin and emaciated, we must trust to plenty of milk and raw meat, with cod-liver oil, with one-tenth of a grain of quinine, twice a day. If the cat be subject to fits the following will be found useful:—

Mix with bread-crumb to form twenty pills, and give one morning and night.

Mange. I merely use this term because it is a handy one. Cats never have mange as found in the dog; but they have many kinds of skin diseases, both pustular and scaly. They may all be treated in a similar manner. Attention to diet: let it be nourishing, moderate in quantity, and not heating. Let the cat have plenty of exercise and free access to grass. A lotion of carbolic acid may be used with advantage, not stronger than one part of the acid to seventy of water. It must be very carefully mixed, and washed off again in two or three hours. Afterwards, an ointment of sulphur and hellebore may be used,—which any chemist will make for you,—and arsenic must be given internally. The liquor arsenicalis is the medicine to be used: drop six drops into an ounce bottle of water, and give pussy one teaspoonful twice a day in her milk. There is no taste with the medicine. Continue this for a fortnight, then omit for three days, and resume again until a cure is effected and the hair begins to grow again.

The Yellows. This disease is often as fatal in the dog as in the cat. It is caused by derangement of the liver, and is most common in large overfed cats, which get little exercise. The disease is ushered in by general feverishness, loss of appetite, and shivering. Sickness next comes on, accompanied by vomiting of a bright yellow, or dark green fluid, mixed with froth. The vomiting continues, and is at times very distressing; and diarrhœa and dysentery may supervene and cause death. If taken in time, give her about half a small tea-spoonful of glauber salts, well diluted with water. This, even if it should cause vomiting, will thereby do good by clearing the stomach; besides, the shock may tend to check the fever. If the vomiting continues, try a pinch of white bismuth, placed on the tongue, or from one to three drops of laurel-leaf water; or, take one drop of creasote, a few grains of aromatic powder, and sufficient fresh bread-crumb to form ten pills; and give one three times a day. Give, for four or five nights half a grain of calomel on the tongue; and if much diarrhœa is present, give her a grain of white bismuth three times a day, with one or two drops of laudanum at night; and complete the cure by infinitesimal doses of quinine, with cod-liver-oil and raw meat, if there be much emaciation.

Dysentery. This is a very serious complaint, and nearly always fatal. It is best treated by castor-oil to begin with; afterwards, minute doses of opium and ipecacuanha, with generous diet and occasionally a little port wine.

Milk Fever. On no account should a cat’s kittens be taken from her all at once. Indeed, one should always be left to be reared. In milk-fever the paps are swollen and painful, the secretion of milk is suppressed, and the cat is either highly excited—sometimes attempting to kill her kittens—or dull and stupid-like. A little bleeding will give relief if there is delirium. The tits are to be well fomented with warm water, and a little wine given occasionally, with cream. Three or four drops of compound tincture of camphor, twice a day, will tend to allay irritability.

Inflammation of one or both eyes is not uncommon among cats, either through injury, or from cold. Remedy: A lotion of sulphate of zinc, two grains to an ounce of water, or a few grains of common alum in warm water, as a fomentation, will generally effect a cure.

For ulcers and sores of external ears or cheeks, touch them occasionally with blue-stone, and apply—

If they are very inveterate, they will only yield to red precipitate ointment, and arsenic internally, as for mange.

Cats stand operations of all sorts well. If a cat’s leg is broken and lacerated by a trap, cut it off. Don’t be afraid. Only leave sufficient flesh to cover the bone, and have ready a strong red-hot wire, to cauterize and stop bleeding, then bring the flaps together by a needle and thread.

Many cats die of apoplexy, many of paralysis. I have dissected some who had well-marked softening of the brain. And many die in their sleep. As a general rule, if your cat seems ailing, you can’t do wrong to give her an emetic—try a little weak salt and water; or let her have fresh grass, and either a dose of castor-oil, or a very little grey powder.

I have often seen cats’ lives saved, by giving raw beef and cod-liver oil.

When a cat is in bad health, either her stomach, bowels, liver, or kidneys, are out of order; and as a rule we can generally only conjecture which. A medicine, therefore, that acts, gently but effectively, on all the organs would be a sort of specific for cats’ complaints. In the “Cat’s Medicine Chest,” advertised at the end of this book, I have placed a medicament of this nature, which I have often prescribed with excellent results. There is everything in that little box to make a Pussy well, and keep her happy.

CHAPTER VIII.

But touching cats’ tails (it wouldn’t be the best policy to touch every cat’s tail however), a lady asked me seriously at dinner the other day, “Why does a cat waggle its tail?” Such a question at such a time was a poser, and, to comfort me, she added, that she really was asking for information. I answered, as Dundreary, “Becauth a cat ith sthronger than its tail; if the tail wath the sthronger, the tail would waggle the cat.”

Cats are extremely proud of their tails. Pulling a Jew’s beard, and a cat’s tail, are indignities of an equality. Doubtless, did mankind possess these appendages, he would be equally jealous of their honour. But they have been overlooked somehow in the outfitting. But just imagine how gingerly we gentlemen would use them! How elegantly we would carry them under our arms while walking, and how we would flare up if any one trod on our tail! Imagine Paddy at a fair: “Twelve o’clock, and no foight yet! Will any gintleman just spit on the point of my tail?”

How useful, too, tails would be in many ways in riding, driving, or boating! On a rainy day, one’s umbrella might be tied to it, so as to have both hands free; and in mobs and crowds it could be worn out of sight. How handy, to dig your neighbour in the ribs with, and say, “Sly dog”; or, “Don’t you see, don’t you see?” when you’d made a bad pun! How useful to the orator, for elegant gesticulation, to give point to an argument, or to indicate derision. For example:—

Lord Chief Justice: Did you poke your tail at me, sir?

Claimant: No, my lord; I——

L. C. J.: Very well, sir; don’t do it again—that’s all.

How convenient the British sailor would find a tail, when aloft reefing topsails; and, sure, wouldn’t Jack also use it as a tobacco stopper? If men had tails, the medical profession would be benefited thereby. There would be several new diseases and new operations. How beautifully this would sound, for instance: “Compound comminuted fracture of the middle third of caudal extremity;” or, “Amputation at the tenth caudal vertebra;” which would give rise to advertisements like the following: “Turner’s Circular Splint,” and “Beautiful, easy-fitting Caudal Appendages, equal to Nature; patronised by the illustrious Duke of Dunmore, whose tail was carried away by a 500 pounder, at the battle of Dorking, during the famous charge of the gallant London Scottish. Only seven-and-six!”

The ends of justice, too, would be assisted. New laws would be added to the penal code. Garotters would be condemned to “Two years’ imprisonment and deprivation of caudicity.” Lesser offences punished by “Six months, and six inches off tail.” Thus we should easily know a rogue in the street, when we met one.

I must stop. I feel I should warm to the subject; and one of such vast ramifications ought to have more space for its consideration, than I can afford. However, to band-masters, acrobats, public-speakers, parsons, painters, and policemen, tails would indeed be invaluable; and, upon my honour, when I come to think of it, I only wonder how human beings, have come to be overlooked in this little matter.

Cats, it may be observed, wag their tails when pleased; when angry, they lash them; and, when excited, and about to spring on their prey, the tail quivers. This is all involuntary on the part of pussy, and is an index of the state of her feelings, the tail being principally supplied with nerves from the spinal chord, and along this chord the nervous force is carried from the brain.

Why do cats always fall on their feet? This question is by no means difficult to answer. When she first falls from a height, her back is lowermost, and she is bent in a semicircle. If she fell thus, fracture of the spine, and death, would be the inevitable result. But natural instinct induces her, after she has fallen a foot or two, to suddenly extend the muscles of her back, and stretch her legs; the belly now becomes the convexity, and the back concave, thus altering the centre of gravity, and bringing her round; then she has only to hold herself in this position in order to alight on her feet.

One day lately, a lady, who lives in the fourth story of a house in Dundee, hung the cage with the canary on a nail outside the window. The cat, from the inside, watched it for some time till, unable any longer to withstand the temptation, she made a spring, and, somehow missing the cage, fell to the ground, some forty feet. But she alighted on her feet, and walked off as if nothing had occurred. (See Note R, Addenda.)

Cats are wonderfully sure footed. I saw a cat one day, taking an airing along a housetop, where Blondin could hardly have walked without a pole. She had a kitten in her mouth, too, to make her performance all the more entertaining. Another puss I saw sitting on an iron rail, a few feet from the ground, and apparently fast asleep. The rail was only about one inch in diameter, and she sat there fully an hour.

Very few cats care to drink spirituous liquors. Dogs are not so particular. One dog I had once, on board ship—a Labrador retriever—used to attend the call of “Grog O!” every day, and get his allowance along with the men. He never got drunk though, and he showed his wisdom by taking it well watered. I know a little bull-terrier bitch, who goes to a hotel every day she has a chance. Her favourite tipple is beer poured upon a salver. As she cannot speak, she sits in a chair and thinks a lot. As she always meets plenty of friends willing to stand treat, she never comes home sober. I saw her a few weeks ago, trying in vain to cross the street. At last she sat down in the middle, and barked to me. I was sorry to see a well-bred young lady in such a condition, so I helped her home, for which she showed gratitude next day. (See Note S, Addenda.)

But my father had a cat,—a big Tom, whom the servants used to make drunk at any time. His beverage was Scotch whiskey-brose, i.e., oatmeal and whiskey; and I’ve seen him come staggering into the parlour and tumble over the leg of the table. Then he would fall asleep.

Cats, as a rule, do not like music; although, if brought up in a musical family, they learn to tolerate it. A cat is easily taught to come when whistled upon. A friend of mine has a cat, who, if he commences to whistle a tune, immediately jumps on his breast, and rubs her head all over his face, as if trying to comfort him, having the notion, no doubt, that he is in some sort of anguish. But if he puts out his hand to take down his fiddle in her presence, she at once erects her back and tail, and growls at him, in unmistakable anger. However, in this she shows her good taste, for her master is certainly the most execrable performer, that ever tickled hair on gut.

There are many old superstitions regarding cats still extant, and many foolish notions about them, that had much better be unlearned. Sailors believe, that, if the ship’s cat be lost overboard, shipwreck, or some such disaster, is almost sure to follow. My own old captain, Commander McH—— was imbued with this notion, hence his extreme care to retain the black cat on board, as depicted in the tale, which follows this Chapter—“The Skipper’s Imp.”

Witches are supposed by some to be constantly attended by an evil spirit, in the shape of a black cat.

To dream of cats is considered very unlucky. In some of the more unfrequented districts of Scotland, the good folks are still very careful to shut up their cats in the house, on Hallowe’en, i.e., the 31st of October. And they tell me, that those cats that have managed to escape incarceration, that night may be seen, by those brave enough to look, scampering over hill and dell, and across the lonely moors, each one ridden by a brownie, a bogle, a spunkie, or some other infernal jockey, in fact, a devil’s own steeplechase. And, they say, those cats never produce young again; or, if they do, the sooner the kittens are put out of sight the better; they are subject to startings in their sleep—no wonder—have a weird unearthly look about their eyes, and soon pine away, and die, and go—we shudder to say whither.

Cats are supposed to be capital prognosticators of the weather. If a cat is seen washing her face with more than usual assiduity, it is going to be stormy; and if pussy sits much with her back to the fire, you may expect frost and snow in winter, and thunder and lightning, with hail, in summer. Some portion of pussy’s person seems, indeed, to retain the power of foretelling the weather, even after death, as witness that common toy, which poor people use instead of a barometer, a wee wee man, and a wee wee woman, living together in a wee wee house; one of them pops out every day; if the day is to be fine, the lady comes, if not, like a loving wife, she sends her good man out—the secret is, the little couple are suspended on catgut, which twists or untwists according to the state of the atmosphere.

LONG-HAIRED BLACK.
First Prize—Owned by Miss Armitage.

MANX.
First Prize—Owned by P. Williams, Esq.

There is a very common popular fallacy, regarding cats sucking an infant’s breath, and killing it. The idea is simply preposterous. Cats, being extremely fond of children, naturally like to get into the cradle, to lie beside, and watch them. They often crouch upon the child’s breast; this may impede breathing more or less, according to the relative size of the cat to the baby. If the cat actually sits upon the child’s face, then indeed the poor creature may be suffocated. But such an occurrence is so very rare, that it is hardly worth mentioning. Many more deaths occur from bad arrangement of a baby’s pillow, in which case the mother must be glad when there is a cat to put the blame upon.

Cats have any amount of wiliness about them. A dog would scarcely think of hiding below a bush until its prey came within reach; but cats are adepts at an ambuscade. A cat knows by experience that a bird—say a sparrow—looks almost in every direction, saving directly beneath it, and so pussy always steals a march on it, from below. If a bird is foolish enough to alight on the top of a clothes-pole, pussy has a very easy victory. It is that same habit of never looking downwards, which causes those large birds, which alight on a ship’s yards at sea, to be so easily captured by the sailors.

Instances of jealousy are by no means uncommon in the feline race. Jealousy is an indication of a sensitive nature, and no animal in the world is more sensitive than a cat. A lady had a pretty little pussy, which she had saved from drowning. This cat was excessively fond of its mistress, was never absent from her while in the house, and outside used to follow her like a dog. But in course of time, this lady bought a parrot, and pussy must have thought her mistress was paying the bird too much attention, for all of a sudden the cat’s nature seemed entirely changed. It did not respond to the lady’s caresses; it would sit for an hour at the time, looking with gathered brows at the parrot, and instead of accompanying her mistress abroad she remained sulking in doors. In truth, the cat was breaking her heart; her glossy fur got dry and rough, and at last she refused all food; so, as she really loved her cat, this lady parted with her parrot, although with great reluctance. Pussy recovered at once; the effect seemed magical; and in a few days she was herself again, the same fun-loving, frolicsome, loving wee cat she had been before.

A gentleman had a cat whom he called “Pimento”—the pimento-tree, the reader will remember, is said to permit no rival plant to grow within its shade. There was another cat in the same house; but Pimento, although otherwise a nice cat, and gentle and loving in the extreme, would never allow his master to pay the slightest attention to this cat. If he did, there was a row at once; and if his master protected the other cat, then Pimento at once left the room growling, and in high dudgeon. (See Note T, Addenda.)

“In a house where I resided,” says a correspondent (see Note U, Addenda), “there were two cats, a young and an old one. The young one was a smart clever animal with a decided turn for humour, the other liked to be taken notice of. One day I was paying some attention to the latter, which, of course, was highly pleased. With tail erect, it walked backward and forward. The young one, which had been pretending to be asleep, suddenly seized hold of the tail of the other with its paw, gave it a sharp pull, and was again in a sleeping attitude ere the other had time to look round. The old one turned about, saw the young one apparently asleep, and me laughing. It immediately retired to a corner of the room, thinking no doubt that I was a double villain.”

Did the reader ever observe how very fond cats are of sitting on paper. One can hardly have a pet puss, and not observe this trait. If you have a book in your lap, up jumps Pussy, and seats herself right on top of it. If you are writing a letter, Pussy creeps along the table, singing so that you can hardly be angry with her, and places herself on the writing materials. My present puss prefers the Daily Telegraph to anything else for a bed at night, or to have her kittens on; indeed, if the Standard is lying on the same sofa, and she gets on to it by mistake, she will very soon get off, and on to the Telegraph.

Are cats revengeful? Never as a rule. Yet they do sometimes display little pettish outbursts of temper. They would not be like women if they did not do that.

A lady tells me that when she is writing, her cat will sometimes come and plant herself right in the way, and when gently pushed off, she suddenly loses her temper, and pitches the writing materials right and left on to the floor.

The following anecdote is highly illustrative of the kind and quantity of pussy’s revenge:—

“Now for the story of the cat; she was a lovely black and white Kâbul cat (the same as Persian) with hair like floss silk, as long as one’s finger; and as wise—as a great many human beings. She had a great dislike to roast mutton cold, and when I had nothing else to offer her, her resentment was most marked: she refused my caresses, and walked straight off to my dressing-room, where on the top of the chest of drawers stood my bonnet-box. She jumped up and administered slaps to the box, until it fell on the floor, when she would come away at once, her revenge being gratified. This occurred on several occasions, and only when she was offered a cold mutton dinner. Was not the knowledge of what would distress my feminine feelings a wonderful piece of intelligence? We quite looked out for it after the first few times, and would watch her walking off to my room, and then in a minute or two there would be ‘bump, bump,’ and my husband would say, ‘There goes your bonnet!’” (See Note V, Addenda.)

I only know one instance of what might be called revenge proper. It was a large black cat of the name of Imp. The poor fellow was exceedingly ill-used by the servant maid, who used to beat him on every occasion possible. Imp’s dislike to the girl was very great, although he evidently was afraid to attack her, but one day this servant was coming downstairs with a tray of dishes, and seeing both her hands full, Imp thought he ought not to miss such a golden opportunity for retaliation. He accordingly flew at her, and scratched both her arms and face severely. So we see that cats, although gentle and forgiving in the extreme to those who love them, do not easily forget an injury from the hands of a stranger or cat-hater. (See Note W, Addenda.)

The reader must have often heard that cats seem to possess some wonderful instinct which enables them to predict certain kinds of coming calamities,—such as earthquakes, and different sorts of explosion. Personally, I know one instance of this, although I cannot explain it, viz., our ship’s cat taking to the rigging and sitting on the main-truck before our vessel was discovered to be on fire. Another I have from my grandfather—an officer in the 1st Royals at the time of the last Anglo-Franco war. My grandmother was bending down, taking something from a chest on the floor, when suddenly the whole window was blown to splinters—dust almost—around her, with the thunder of some dreadful explosion. It was a transport that had entered the harbour—Kiel, I think—some days before, laden with war munitions, and which had blown up with all hands. But it was remarked by every one on the quay, that the ship’s cat had been sitting all the morning of the explosion, on the vessel’s main-truck.

Cats are sometimes very fond of horses. I know an instance of this where the stable-cat was very much attached to a certain horse, and that animal evidently reciprocated the cat’s kindly feelings. And Pussy used to stand quietly, and allow the horse to lick her fur the wrong way, and indeed seemed to enjoy it. (See Note G, Addenda.)

We all know how proud Miss Puss is of her song. Barring a certain drowsy monotony, which acts like a narcotic both on herself and kittens, and at times even on human beings, there isn’t much melody in it, however. This power of singing becomes lost in sickness, and also in extreme old age. I know of a cat, of very advanced years, that had given up singing for many a day, until a kitten—a famous musician in its way—came to reside at her house. Then poor old Pussy tried hard to get out a bar or two, and her efforts to succeed were quite ludicrous. Being laughed at she flew into a passion, and put her spite out on the happy little kitten. The more this spirited pussy was thrashed however, the louder it sang; so the old cat left the room in disgust.

The days and years of a cat’s life, are on an average fourteen, but many live very much longer. Fifteen and seventeen are very common ages for Pussy to die at. The longest time I have ever known a cat live, was till its twenty-second year, but I have heard of them dying at the age of thirty.

It is quite a common thing for a cat to feed itself with milk or cream, by dipping her forepaw in the jug, and then licking it. Pussy is very awkward at drinking water from a crystal tumbler. At first she will generally thrust her head too far in, which will make her sneeze; then she will sit and eye the glass for a time, as if considering how far the water comes up. Not content with ocular demonstration, she will next put a paw cautiously in, until the extreme end of her toes touches the water, and thus, after marking the distance, she can drink in comfort.

A certain cat which had been reared on the spoon, used, when full-grown, to sit up on her hind-legs, and reaching down the spoon to her mouth with her paws, swallow the contents. The same cat used to drink milk, if poured into her mouth from a jug, or any dish with a spout to it. So expert at that trick did she become, that, sitting up as usual, she used to receive and swallow a continuous stream poured into her throat from a height of three feet. (See Note X, Addenda.)

For the subject matter, of the remainder of this chapter, I am indebted to a lady who takes a great interest in feline nature. (See Note H, Addenda.)

“It is certain,” she says, “that cats have some strange instinct, that sends them, when lost or starving, to certain people. They have followed me in gay crowded streets, and met me in fields; I have gone into shops and bought milk and rolls for the starvelings; and have gone again to the same place, and they were gone,—doubtless, cats on the tramp and destitute. I have known a friend’s cat lost for five days, and it never attempted to make its sorrows known, until I passed before the window of an underground room, when her shrieks were horrible to hear, and so prolonged, that the passers-by stopped to listen. I remained speaking to the poor creature, whose claws were rattling against the shut door, until the key was brought, and pussy set free.”

She relates an instance of a young surgeon, who was on his way to join his ship, to sail to the antipodes, and who was followed to the very boat by a pretty little kitten. As it seemed bent on being a sailor, the surgeon put the poor thing in his pocket. It was presented to a lady on board, who was interested in its story, and is now doing duty among the cats of South Australia,—a country, by the bye, where cats are more fully appreciated than here.

Beda was a beautiful blue tabby. One summer’s morning, down in Devon, she had been missed for hours, and on being called, a viper glided out from a thicket in the garden, closely followed by the cat. The snake—until killed by a lady—kept moving off, but every moment turning round, and hissing at Beda, who, however, was in no ways put about. The following also tends to show that cats have no fear of snakes:—

“At Artea, in the province of Orissa, a cobra had his den under a mulberry-tree, near a garden walk. One day our English tabby cat, Beda, had been missing with all her kits for some hours. She was found at the foot of the mulberry-tree, teaching her children to pat the cobra on the head, every time he popped it out. When the head was protruded too far, a stroke from puss herself, caused its speedy withdrawal. Thinking the game dangerous, the cobra, which measured two inches in diameter, was dug out and killed. We were afterwards told by the natives, that no snake will kill a cat, as they dislike the fur.”

Cats are like dogs, and generally have a favourite among the litter, the handsomest. Once when Beda was nursing in India, a wild cat sprang in by the open window, and tried to seize the kittens. Beda made off with her pet, and the wild cat was beaten out. Beda, however, forgot where she had hidden the favourite, nor would she be consoled with the other members of her family. A search was accordingly made, and the pet kitten at last found on a sofa, in an adjoining bungalo.

This lady’s cat never attempted to touch the canary, nor indeed any birds about the place.