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 My Friend Dennis
After Guy had finished reading the story of Black Beauty, he read
one written by a dog, “Beautiful Joe.” I saw his picture in the book,
but I did not think him half as beautiful as my friend Dennis that
visits me every day. But Joe had a beautiful spirit, and that counts
far more than a beautiful body. Who could read of the cruel blows
and kicks and all the other insults which he suffered so patiently at
the hands and feet of old Jenkins, without feeling in his inmost soul
that henceforth he would defend and protect all helpless and
harmless creatures? In this way Joe conferred a lasting benefit upon
his fellow-dogs, and even I, who am only a cat, with no natural
fondness for dogs, must say that I learned many things from Joe
that made me have more respect for dogs. I also became filled with
a desire to be as good and useful a cat as Joe was a dog, and it was
during those long, lonesome days when I was without any
companions that the thought came to me about writing this story.
May be you think a cat does not even have thoughts. How dreadful!
Well, I thought if dogs and horses can write stories, why can’t I?
And so I concluded to try.
I had often heard mistress read stories about cats, cat shows and
cat clubs, but it was always about Persian cats and Angoras, and I
made up my mind that my story should be about tigers and Maltese
and black cats, because they are considered to be of so very little
importance. I have known of many a poor, sick cat just treated as a
nuisance, and compelled to stay outdoors; whereas then, if ever, she
needs a warm, comfortable place, and nourishing food.
And when a cat has kittens, she is usually put into the barn, or the
basement, if tolerated in the house at all. Now very few kittens will
learn orderly habits when raised in a place where they can do as
they please; and when such a kitten is taken into a home it causes
no end of trouble. In many cases it is abused and made very
miserable, not for any fault of its own, but because it has not been
properly trained. This is one reason why there are so many poor
tramp cats. Another reason is, that some people will let a cat raise
five or six kittens without paying any attention to her needs as to
food or shelter, and the poor things somehow live, or rather, they
exist. Then when nobody wants them, as is always the case with
kittens raised in this way, they are given to the milkman or to some
farmer to be “strayed” out in the country, where no other fate awaits
them but slow starvation. In a case like this, five cents’ worth of
chloroform administered to the kittens at the time of birth, leaving
only one alive for the mother cat, would have saved them from the
terrible tortures of starvation.
Then too some people who are very kind-hearted themselves, have
cruel servants who look upon a pet in the household as an added
burden, and who will utterly neglect, if not positively abuse them.
Right here I am reminded of an incident told to mistress by a young
lady who called one evening. She was doing some writing for a
minister, and she said that almost daily her feelings were wrought up
at sight of an old black cat, gaunt looking, half-starved, and with a
broken leg, hobbling around in the yard. “To-day,” said she, “I had
some milk left over from my lunch, and I asked the cook for the cat’s
dish.”
“Cat’s dish! the cat ain’t got no dish, throw it on the walk,” was the
reply. “Why,” continued the lady, “I saw enough table scraps thrown
into the garbage can each day to make a feast for that poor cat, and
not one of the good people ever gave her a thought.”
Speaking of ministers reminds me of a gentleman that called on
mistress one evening, and as I happened to be lying on the library
table, they fell to talking about me, and about cats and dogs
generally.
“It’s all right,” said the gentleman, “for people that can afford it, to
have pets. But in my experience in visiting among all classes of
people, somehow wherever I find a big family of half-fed and
neglected children there are sure to be in the same home one or
more cats or dogs, and sometimes both; and of course, the food
that is given to them ought by rights to go to the children. But the
worst of it is, these people seem to think as much of their cats and
dogs as they do of their children.”
“That is an unintended compliment,” said mistress, “which proves
the softening and humanizing effect of these pets upon those with
whom they associate. And certainly, this more than makes up for the
few little extra morsels that they require for their maintenance.”
Now I have told you some of the things I would like to bring to the
notice of ladies and children especially. Oh, if with this story I start
all the world to think for awhile about cats—Maltese and tigers and
black cats, that are so much exposed to suffering because within the
reach of everybody, I shall feel that I have done some real good.
And even if I do not write as good a story as did Black Beauty, or
Beautiful Joe, you will at least know that I tried to do what I could to
help my fellow-cats. And who knows but some cats, older and wiser
than myself, may be encouraged by my effort to do more?
 IV
A PLEASANT OUTING

When the time came for mistress and Guy to take their summer
outing, they did not desert me or leave me to the mercies of our
neighbors, as has been the fate of many a poor cat. No; they very
thoughtfully made the necessary provision to take me with them.
When they were ready to start, they put me in a nice big bag, which
Guy suspended over his shoulder. It was a bag that mistress brought
from Switzerland, and I have heard her say it is such a one as the
women there carry to market when they go to buy provisions. It had
large holes between the stitches so I could look through, and see
what was going on.
First we took a long ride on a street car and Guy held me on his lap.
But never having been on a car, I was dreadfully afraid of the noise.
Guy held me real close to his breast and talked kindly to me, but by
the time I got over being afraid, we were at the end of our ride.
When we alighted from the street car, we boarded a big steamboat
on which we rode all day. Mistress allowed me to walk around a
little, and I saw the beautiful water and the bright sunshine, and
some birds. How birds could live on the water greatly puzzled me.
There were many people on the boat, and some children played with
me and gave me cake and popcorn. I thought they must have cats
at home, for they knew just what cats like.
But while the children were very polite to me, some of the older
people were just the reverse. For instance, there was a woman who
poked her umbrella into my side, saying: “There is a cat; what a
nuisance!”
Mistress said to her very kindly: “It is my kitty.”
Then the woman asked mistress a good many questions about me:
why she didn’t leave me at home; how she could be bothered with a
cat when traveling; or, was it a new “fad.”
Mistress told her there was no one at home, and that she thought it
cruel to desert a faithful domestic animal. Furthermore, she said, I
had been no trouble to her so far, and that this was not the first time
she had had a cat for a traveling companion.
Then the woman became more polite to me, and said I had a
beautiful coat and a pleasing face.
After a while a big girl came over to where I lay. She came so
quickly it frightened me, and I got up and started to run from her,
but she grabbed me by the tail and pulled me back.
Of course, I cried out, not so much from pain, as because of the
insolence of such treatment.
“What’s the matter, Tabby?” said she.
I said “Me-ow” just as loud as I could.
Mistress told her I was not used to being pulled around by my tail.
Then the girl stroked my back and smoothed my fur, and I was no
longer afraid. I think she did not mean to frighten me, only she
didn’t know the proper way to call a cat.
Mistress told her how I stayed at home alone every day when she
was gone, and never ran away, and how I behaved so nicely on the
cars. I am sure the girl will be a better friend to cats hereafter.
I had never before been in such a large crowd as there was on that
boat, and I could not help noticing what a difference there is in
people. Some in passing by would look at me sneeringly, and even
point their fingers; some would take no notice of me at all; others
would smile, and still others would bend over and give me a gentle
stroke. But the children—bless their dear hearts—they all had good
words for me, and some gave me something even better.
As the sun was going down we arrived at a place where the boat
stopped and everybody got off. Guy put me into my nice bag, and
the next thing I knew we were in a large room in a great big strange
house that they called a hotel. Guy got me a saucer of milk for my
supper, and I slept all night on mistress’ bed.
The next morning we started out right after breakfast and took a
long ride in a carriage. I noticed after we had ridden a while that it
was a very long distance between houses. Finally we stopped at a
nice white cottage with green blinds, standing in a yard that was so
long I could not see the next house. They called it a farm.
The weather being terribly hot, the long ride in the carriage had
made me very ill; I could hardly get my breath, and I was dizzy. I lay
in the orchard under an apple tree, and mistress sat beside me,
wondering what to do. Finally she poured some castor oil down my
throat, which tasted very unpleasant; but in a few hours I was all
right again, and after that I had a delightful time.
There were two big cats on the farm; one white and the other
yellow; and as they had no name, only “Kitty,” mistress named the
white one “Blanche” and the yellow one “Goldie.”
They did not like me at first; in fact they acted just like Budge and
Toddy did when I came to live with my mistress. But the next
morning mistress took us all in her lap and petted us for a long time;
then she gave us some nice warm milk in a big saucer, and we ate
breakfast together; and after that Blanche and Goldie were more
friendly towards me. But we did not see much of each other, for they
spent most of their time out in the field. Their “corner” was a big
market-basket on the kitchen porch; but I did not have to share it
with them, because I always slept on my mistress’ bed.
This reminds me of a wicked slander on cats that I have heard,
namely, that it is not safe for people to sleep in the same room with
them for fear they will suck their breath and cause them to
suffocate. The only foundation for this is that cats love warmth.
When sleeping in a cold room they will seek out the warmest place
they can find, and if that happens to be near a person’s face, they
are apt to go there; not because they want to suck the breath, but
simply because they love the warmth that emanates with the breath.
An old gentleman lived on the farm whom Guy called grandpa, and
an old lady whom he called grandma, whose portraits I had often
seen in mistress’ room. Grandpa was abed most of the time, and
was visited every day by a man they called “Doctor.” It was he who
told mistress to give me castor oil.
One day mistress took me into grandpa’s room and said, “Father, this
is Meow the Second.” Although grandpa was too ill to say much to
me, still I knew from the kind look on his face, and from his gentle
touch, that he was a friend of cats. “I’m very glad to see Meow, but
don’t hurt Watch’s feelings,” was all he was able to say, and pretty
soon mistress took me out.
Watch was a big shepherd dog that had lived on the farm for many
years. He wanted to be in grandpa’s room all the time. When he was
admitted he would lie down alongside the bed, and look straight at
grandpa all the while, till he was ordered out, and then he just went
as far as the door and lay down. There he would stay all day, and
unless his food was brought to him, he would go hungry.
Watch never did me any harm, but he wasn’t as friendly with me as
Dennis. He barked at all strangers, but never hurt anybody.
In front of the house was a very large maple tree under which
mistress stretched her hammock, and there in the cool shade we
spent many happy days; but Guy spent most of his time at the
neighbors helping the boys do their chores.
 V
SOME EXPERIENCES ON THE FARM

I had never seen any chickens until I visited grandpa’s farm, so one
day shortly after our arrival I went into the chicken-coop to make
them a visit.
A hen was sitting on a lot of eggs, and I had no intention of
disturbing her. But when she saw me she began a terrible cackling,
and flew away. Then I went up and sat on the eggs myself; but in a
few minutes the big rooster came to the coop, followed by nearly all
the other roosters and the hens, and such a cackling and crowing I
never heard in all my life. It seemed as if every one of the seventy
fowl in the barnyard would cry themselves hoarse. I concluded that I
was not a welcome visitor, so I left the nest and jumped out of the
window. I thought it best not to go through the door with all those
cacklers in wait for me.
The stable was empty, because Elsa the cow, and Kate the horse,
were out in the pasture. Elsa had large brown eyes and a beautiful
brown coat with a white star on her forehead, and she was very
gentle. Guy generally rubbed her back and sides and shooed off the
flies while grandma milked her, and we cats were always on hand at
milking time. Just as soon as grandma had finished she would
always pour some milk into our saucer, and it tasted just about like
our city milkman’s cream. (Once when Guy came home from school
he filled my saucer out of the cream pail, and that’s how I know
what city cream tastes like.)
Elsa had once been the queen of a large milk-herd, and she seemed
very proud of her old Swiss cow-bell which always hung at her neck,
suspended from a leather strap. Whenever it was time to bring her
in from the pasture, grandma or Guy would take a little bucket
containing salt, and stand up on the fence and show it to Elsa. Then
as soon as she saw it she would come right along; and, of course,
she was always given some salt as soon as she reached the
barnyard.
It was Kate that brought us out from the steamboat landing on that
dreadfully hot summer day. There was no real hard work for her to
do on the farm. But she had served grandpa so well during the years
of her strength, that, although no longer needed, still she was
allowed to remain and enjoy the rest and quiet. All the neighbors
seemed to know and respect her, and whenever any of them passed
by, she would go up to the fence and whinney, in response to their
greeting. Elsa was her constant companion in the pasture, and their
lot was indeed a happy one.
Another animal on the farm was Billy, the pig, though I am sorry to
say his place was so uninviting I did not care to visit him very often.
But really, poor Billy was not to blame; his “pen” was so small, and
there was no way for him to get out when he wanted to; how could
he keep it clean and tidy?
Why he was singled out to be treated as a prisoner, when all the
other animals on the farm were free to roam at will, was more than I
could understand, unless it was because grandpa was too ill to
attend to him. As I used to see Billy stare through the cracks in the
walls of the narrow gloomy prison that shut him away from the
great, beautiful world, and as I listened to his ceaseless grunting, I
could not help but pity him. Although I did not understand his
language, I felt sure that he must be complaining of his unhappy lot.
“How I wish that somebody would write a book for Billy,” said
mistress to Guy one day, as they were passing his place, “so that
people would be made to think how unjustly he is being treated.”
“Yes,” said Guy, “it’s just as easy to have pigs in clover as in a pen.
Have I never told you about the excellent arrangement Uncle Ellison
has on his farm?”
“No, you did not; what is it?” said mistress, eagerly.
“Well,” said Guy, “his pig yard is quite a good sized enclosure,
extending at the rear into a little grove where the pigs can lie in the
cool shade when it is hot. Adjoining this is a similar enclosure, and
every year the pigs are changed from one field to the other, and the
one last used by the pigs is plowed up and sown to clover. In this
way they have a clean, wholesome and comfortable place all the
time.”
“This explains why Uncle Ellison gets a higher price for his hogs than
any farmer around there,” said mistress. “If grandpa were well, I
would tell him about it; but perhaps you could make Billy just a little
happier by spading up the ground inside of his pen.”
“Yes,” said Guy; “and perhaps the neighbor’s boys will help me.”
So the next day the boys locked Billy into the corn-crib while they
turned the ground in his pen with spades and freshened it; the
trough was scalded and scrubbed, and left in the sun to dry. When
Billy was led back to his pen, he grunted his thankfulness to his
friends the best he knew how. As for me, I concluded to put Uncle
Ellison’s plan into my story; for who knows but some of the boys
who read it may be farmers some day, and will want to try it?
While we were at grandpa’s one of his neighbors’ hogs was taken
sick, and the man brought six little white pigs up to grandpa’s
because he wished to separate them from their mother, for fear they
too might catch the disease. I never saw anything prettier than
those little pigs, and they were just as clean as so many kittens. The
man put them into an old pen not far from Billy’s, and there they
squealed and grunted to their hearts’ content, and stuck their noses
through every little crack in the pen. I noticed that some of the
boards were loose so that they could wiggle them up and down, and
each one tried to make them wiggle a little more than the others
had done before him. One day at dinner-time, when I was in my
usual place on the window-sill, suddenly I saw a white streak
shooting through the orchard and out into the road, and just then
Guy jumped up and said: “There go the pigs.”
They had succeeded in loosening one of the boards and making
their escape, and the last I saw of them they were running down the
road to their mother as fast as they could, leaving a big cloud of
dust behind them.
This set me to thinking on pigs in general, and I concluded that they
are by nature intelligent and clean, and like the rest of us, all they
want is a chance.
 VI
HOME AGAIN

One morning very early mistress packed up her things and Guy’s,
and Kate was hitched up to the carriage and brought up to the side
of the house. Everybody was very sad; and I couldn’t understand
what it all meant, till I saw mistress and Guy bid grandpa good-bye.
Grandpa was still lying in bed, with Watch by his side, and they were
all crying.
Blanche and Goldie were just ready to go out into the field, but they
stopped to bid me good-bye, and said they were sorry to have me
go now that they had got acquainted with me; and they hoped that
another summer I would visit them again.
I was put into my bag as usual; and Guy took me with him into the
carriage. Kate took us to the boat landing; and in a short time we
were afloat on the beautiful blue water.
The boat was crowded with people, and it was very warm. I was
tired and wanted to sleep, so mistress took me into her stateroom,
where I lay on the bed and had a nice rest. Soon after I awoke we
reached a place where we alighted and took dinner at a large hotel.
Guy carried the bag in which I was, suspended over his shoulder by
a leather strap, and when he was seated at the table he slipped the
bag over my head and fed me on his lap. You must remember that
at that time I was still a kitten, about half grown.
After dinner we sat on the lawn in front of the hotel, and I was
allowed to run around at will till it was time to return to the boat. I
was listening to the music of the band, when I espied on the piazza
a poodle dog. As soon as he saw me, he came down the steps and
I, thinking to exchange greetings with him, walked over to meet
him. I don’t know whether he objected to the curve in my back, or
the jug handle shape of my tail, but evidently Mr. Poodle was not in
the habit of meeting lady cats. Instead of responding to my greeting
in a gentlemanly manner, he bent low on his forelegs and barked at
me.
At this I showed him the color of my teeth, and the length of my
claws, and he immediately retreated, his tail drawn tightly between
his legs.
“What next?” you say. Well, I chased some grasshoppers, and
caught a fly or two, and by that time we had to return to the boat to
resume our journey.
At the hotel mistress met some friends, who were going on the
same boat, and welcome ones they were, for they were the first
people we had met on our entire journey that did not “exclaim” at
seeing a cat in the party.
The one I liked best of all was Miss Wallace, a very lovely young
lady, who held me on her lap nearly all the time. I was very thankful
to her, for it was better than being out where I would get my tail
pulled and umbrellas poked into my side. Miss Wallace told us about
her kitty at home, Nellie, of purest white; and she said she was just
homesick to see her, because she had been away over a week.
“I suppose, of course, you left her in somebody’s care,” said
mistress.
“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Wallace, “I would not think of such a thing
as leaving her uncared for.”
I was not at all surprised to hear Miss Wallace’s answer, for I knew
the moment I saw her gentle face and soft brown eyes, that she had
a tender and sympathetic heart. I think I must have taken a nap on
her lap, for it seemed in a very little while the boat stopped at the
landing whence I had started on my first trip a few weeks before.
The street cars took us quickly to the little brown house on Poplar
Avenue, which is dearer to me than any farm, hotel, or floating
palace that I have ever seen. Dennis received us with a joyous bark,
and with that merry wag of his tail which speaks such volumes of
happiness. My cushion, my pad, and the dear sunny porch were
more precious to me than ever before. Only one thing worried me! I
had grown too big for the hole through which I used to crawl in
under the porch, and wondered where I would go for safety in case
of danger. But I soon found that Dennis was all the “safety” I
needed, for he stayed with me nearly all the time; and whenever
any bad boys or dogs came into our yard he promptly chased them
out with that powerful bark of his. And I found him to be a very
useful as well as agreeable companion.
There is a beautiful song which I have often heard, that there is no
place like home, but I never really understood the meaning of those
words until I had been away from my home and my friend.
So you see I was doubly thankful, first because mistress took me
with her on her vacation, and second because I had such a happy
home-coming.
 VII
NEW COMPANIONS

One morning soon after we returned from the farm Guy brought into
the house, dripping wet, a little Maltese kitty, which he said he found
crying in a vacant lot on his way to school. My heart went out to the
poor little thing, shivering with cold and frightened, and coming from
no one knew where.
Mistress rubbed the kitty’s coat dry with a towel, and smoothed it all
out with a coarse comb. Then she fixed her a nice warm bed in a
little basket, and in a short time she dozed off into a nap. As I sat
looking at the little stranger I was reminded of the time when I was
taken into this dear home in just about as sorry a plight, and I made
up my mind to give her a better welcome than I had received from
Budge and Toddy.
Her nap over, the little kitty looked as plump and bright as anything,
and mistress named her “Beauty.” She was a talkative little creature,
and before the day was over had told me her whole history. Said
she, “My home is in a grocery store, where I have been living with
my mother and three other kittens in a barrel. This morning our
master gave me to a boy to take home to his sister. But he squeezed
me so hard, I scratched him, and then he threw me out on the wet
grass and walked away.”
“How cruel,” said I, “but don’t think that all boys are like him, for I
know some that are just as kind as anybody.”
“Then I tried to go back and find my mother,” said Beauty, “and I
went up to the door of a place that looked like my home, but as I
stood there crying, a man came out and picked me up very harshly,
and threw me out onto the sidewalk. It seemed as if all the world
were against me, and I tried to crawl away to a place where no one
would find me, when a boy came along who picked me up very
tenderly, and it was he who brought me here.”
I told Beauty of my own experience as a homeless cat and bade her
be thankful that she had fallen into such good hands.
During the evening we played together by the beautiful moonlight,
but all at once I missed her, and when mistress called us in for the
night I was the only one to respond. I have no doubt that Beauty
went to look for her mother.
After Budge and Toddy left, mistress tied a pretty colored ribbon
around my neck, with the street and number, 127 Poplar Avenue,
plainly written on it in black ink. She had also tied one around
Beauty’s neck, and for this reason she expected that Beauty would
be returned. But we looked for her in vain.
One evening when mistress and Guy were talking about Beauty,
mistress said: “I presume she has found a home; I only hope it is a
good one.”
“I don’t think it is,” said Guy. “Anybody that would steal a cat would
not treat her well after he got her.” And I think he was right, for it
was just as bad as stealing, to keep a cat that had the street and
number written on his necktie. How foolish Beauty was to leave such
a good home.
Not many days after Beauty’s departure, a little girl brought us a
light colored tiger kitty, which she said she had found in front of a
vacant house, cold and hungry, and she brought her to us because
she thought it was our little Beauty.
Mistress petted the little thing, and praised the little girl for being so
kind and thoughtful in trying to find its home. She asked the little
girl to take it to her own home and keep it, but she said her mother
would not permit her to have a kitty because they lived in a flat, or
she would be only too glad to keep it. So then, rather than have the
little thing turned out without a home, mistress allowed it to remain,
and she named it “Beauty” after the last one.
On the following morning one of our neighbors, having seen two
strange kittens in the yard within so short a time, said to mistress:
“What are you keeping over there, a cat refuge, or a hospital?”
“Why both,” said mistress. “I wouldn’t turn a stray cat away, much
less a sick one.”
The lady said no more.
The little stranger seemed so thankful for a nice warm basket (I
shared mine with her) she hardly left it the entire day, except to go
to her meals. She would lap a whole saucer full of milk, and ask for
more, and mistress fed her till she had all she wanted. I tried to find
out where she had lived, but she seemed to feel so grieved at the
way she had been treated, that it was fully three days before she
finally consented to talk about it. Then she told me that the folks all
left the house and all the things were loaded on a wagon and taken
away. Said she, “I waited day after day on the doorsteps hoping
they would come back. All I had to eat was what I could find in the
ash pile, and nights I crawled into an old stovepipe.”
This was so much worse than anything I had ever experienced, or
even heard of, I hadn’t a word to say in reply.
But evidently the cold and hunger that she had suffered had had
their effect on little Beauty. Although she had the best of care, still a
few days later she was taken so very ill one night that it caused her
to groan most pitifully; and in the morning when Guy came down,
her lifeless form lay on the floor, cold and stiff.
Mistress very tenderly wrapped the little dead body in some soft
white tissue paper, and put it in a box, and Guy buried it in the rear
of the yard, marking the spot with a stake on which he printed:
“Sacred to the Memory of Beauty.”
Then mistress planted some mignonette and pansies on the spot,
and Guy fenced it in with pieces of arched wire, so that it made a
nice little flower-bed.
After it was all over I heard mistress say to Guy: “Aren’t you glad we
have been kind to this little creature during the few days of her life
that she was with us?”
“I was just thinking how sorry I would be if I hadn’t been kind to
her,” said Guy. “Yesterday when she whined so I was tempted to put
her out, but I am glad now I didn’t; I guess she was sick then.”
“Yes,” said mistress, “when animals act ill-natured or fretful, it is
generally because they are not well; and instead of being impatient
with them, we ought to be all the more tender, and see whether we
cannot find out the cause of their trouble, and relieve them.”
For several days after Beauty’s death I was again without a
companion, but I wasn’t so lonesome as at first when Budge and
Toddy went way, because I had Dennis; and besides, it was still
lovely summer weather. I used to sit on the window-ledge and watch
for the school-children to come by; and when I saw them, it made
me very happy, for I knew then that I would soon see my friend
Guy. As soon as he came into the yard I’d jump down and go into
the house with him, and generally he would give me some of his
bread and milk. Then he would practice a while on his violin, and I
dearly loved to listen to the music. Sometimes he would mow the
lawn and water it. He always had everything very nice for mistress
when she came home. If only he could have stayed at home all day,
Dennis and I couldn’t have wished for a dearer companion.
 VIII
BUDGE AND TODDY THE SECOND

About a month after the death of Beauty, a little girl came one day
with four tiny kittens in a basket, some tigers and some Maltese, and
I heard her beg mistress to adopt one of them.
Mistress said at first that she did not care for any more cats. But the
little girl was so persistent, and the kittens in the basket looked so
bright and pretty, mistress was persuaded to take a closer look at
them; and as I saw her take them up and fondle them, I felt pretty
sure what the result would be.
“I will take two,” said she, “for if I should take but one away from
her companions and from her mother, it would get lonely and
homesick; besides, a little girl who tries to get good homes for
helpless kitties ought to be encouraged.”
This made the little girl very happy, for she knew her kittens would
have a good home with mistress; and she went away with only two
remaining in the basket.
My new companions were named Budge and Toddy, after the two
that had left us. I became friendly with them at once, for I had
learned by this time that mistress was a good judge of cats, and that
I was perfectly safe in associating freely with those of her choice.
The only unpleasant thing about Budge and Toddy was, they had
fleas, and, of course, I was visited by some of them; but after a few
baths with Spratt’s soap we got quite rid of them. I will tell you how
it was done, for mistress seemed to know just the right way.
First she made a nice warm suds, and saturated our necks
thoroughly with it. She called this the “dead line” because the fleas
could not crawl into our eyes, but had to stay back and be drowned.
Then she rubbed the suds into the skin all over our bodies, and used
a coarse comb so as to have it penetrate the fur clear to the skin,
carefully shielding our eyes. Guy always assisted by holding us while
she did the washing. He would hold the front legs in one hand and
the hind legs in the other, which gave mistress complete control of
the body as it lay in the suds, and Guy would turn it as she directed.
After we were thoroughly washed, mistress rinsed us off in plenty of
clean warm water, wiped us dry with a Turkish towel, and gave us a
good combing. Then we lay on our cushions in a sunny spot of the
room, and in winter time she put the cushion near the register.
When dry, she set us on a big newspaper, and gave us a thorough
brushing, and it was surprising how the dead fleas would drop out.
Then she folded the paper and burned it. After three such baths the
troublesome little things completely disappeared.
Budge is a Maltese, very short and fat, with shaggy coat, short
bushy tail, and a white “breastpin.”
Toddy is long and slender, with a smooth, soft coat and a long tail.
He is a tiger cat like myself. He is livelier and more mischievous than
Budge, and in a tussle generally comes out ahead.
Many times I have seen Budge quietly sitting on his cushion,
perhaps watching a fly, or purring contentedly to himself, not
suspecting any harm or danger, when Toddy, stealthily aiming from a
distance, would jump upon him so suddenly as to almost take his
breath away. Then they would roll over the floor, first one on top,
then the other, biting, kicking and mauling each other, until the
peaceful room was turned into a veritable arena. One round was
scarcely finished before another was started. By turns they would
hump their backs, turn down their ears, bristle their tails, or sway
them swiftly to and fro, all the while eyeing each other with most
defiant expression. At last the pent-up tempest breaks forth, but the
battle proves too fierce for Budge and after several more rounds he
seeks refuge on a chair only to find himself further pursued. The
chair has a cane seat, and Toddy makes a fresh attack from
beneath.
At last when it is all over, Toddy meekly kisses his victim, and says:
“Never mind, Budge, you know I was only in fun.”
One morning when we were up in mistress’ room, she made a deep
dent in our cushion and put Budge into it. He was then still very
small, and it looked as if he was sitting in a little cave with only his
head outside.
Pretty soon Toddy came along, and when he saw Budge in so snug a
place, he walked all around him viewing him from every side. It was
a rather cool morning, and he wanted to get in there too. But seeing
there was not enough room by the side of Budge he got in front of
him and began caressing him and washing his face and neck. Budge
liked this so well that he moved closer and closer to Toddy, and in so
doing got partly out of his cave.
This was just what Toddy wanted. When by means of his cunning
scheme, he had tempted Budge out far enough, he put his paw
behind him, and with a masterly shove, ousted him from the coveted
place, and backed into it himself.
I have always thought that Budge laid this trick of Toddy’s up in a
corner of his little heart; for, although he seemed to take it good-
naturedly at the time, yet he lay in wait when Toddy came down the
stairs. But it seemed as though Toddy was expecting something of
the kind, for the moment Budge advanced toward him, Toddy
jumped up in the air, and Budge shot through under him as though
darting through an arch, so swiftly that he ran pell-mell into a basin
of water which was being used to clean the floor.
“The charge of the Light Brigade,” said Guy, coming down the stairs
behind Toddy.
“No, it’s the Battle of Waterloo,” replied mistress.
With such playful companions as these, you can imagine what
delightful times I have had.
 IX
A HAPPY HOME

Every morning after breakfast mistress reads in a book called the

“Bible,” and when she closes it, they both kneel down in the bay
window while she talks to the chair. Sometimes when the sun shines
so nice and warm upon her back, I just jump up there and have a
nice purr, which always makes Guy laugh.
Some of the stories they have read in the Bible were about men and
women and children and goats and sheep and cattle. I have listened
breathlessly many times for something about cats, but so far not one
has been mentioned. But perhaps those things all happened before
there were any cats. One time the story was about an old man who
died leaving six daughters[1] and they were afraid that because they
had no big brothers they would not get their share. So they went to
Moses, their captain, and asked him about it, and he said that they
should have their share just the same as if they were sons, instead
of daughters. After the story was finished mistress asked Guy, as she
usually did, what that meant, and what he had learned from it. He
studied for quite a while before he answered her, then he said,
“Well, I guess that means women’s rights.”
Another time they were reading about a very great king who sat on
a throne, and a queen from another country who had heard about
his wonderful wisdom came to ask him a very hard question to see
whether what she had heard was true.[2]
“What was the question she asked?” said Guy, after the reading was
finished.
“I don’t know,” said mistress; “the Bible does not tell us what it was.”
“I think I know what it was,” said he. “She asked him ‘who made
God?’”
After they have spent a half hour or so in this way, they lock up the
house and go away; but they always leave a nice lunch for us, and a
dish of fresh water.
I know of many poor cats that never get a drop of water at home.
They have to go and hunt for it in ditches and puddles, and then are
blamed for not keeping a clean, soft, fluffy coat. Anybody ought to
know that we can’t be expending moisture through our tongue,
washing and scrubbing our coats, unless we can drink water
whenever we want it. Some people think it answers the purpose just
as well if they give us milk, and dear knows it’s true enough of the
milk that some cats get. But we would prefer to have our milk
straight, and our water likewise.
Our principal food is fresh boiled meat, mashed potatoes, and milk,
and in summer-time we also get sweet peas, asparagus, beans and
corn. Once a week we get salmon mixed with bread crumbs or
mashed potatoes.
Once I came very near getting into trouble through my fondness for
canned beans. I saw a can on the ash pile, and in trying to get what
beans were left in the bottom I got my nose in too far. Imagine my
shame, when I could not get it out again, and was obliged to go
about with a tin can for a muzzle till Guy came home and took it off.
In pleasant weather our food is left on the kitchen porch, which,
with our pads and cushions looks like a little summer parlor. There
we stay in the bright sunshine, or we play in the grass, climb the
fences, play hide-and-seek and roll in our catnip bed.
In cold weather a window is left open into the basement so we can
go down to the nice warm furnace room, where we have a great big
clothes-basket lined with a clean soft pad. Mistress knows that cats,
like other creatures, want a bed long enough so they can stretch
themselves out full length when they feel like it.
Of course, we sometimes sleep in other places beside our basket.
For awhile an old cap of Guy’s lay on the basement floor, and I used
to cuddle up in it to take my nap, because it just fitted me. One day
I was just nicely settled in it when Toddy came and lay on top of me,
and no sooner had we got ourselves nicely fixed for a nap than
Budge came crawling over both of us, trying to get on top of Toddy.
But Toddy’s body was too round and his coat too smooth and
slippery for Budge to get a good hold, and after sliding off several
times he finally went and took his nap in an old sprinkling can.
After supper we have the greatest frolic of the day in the library. In
his kittenhood Toddy was a great athlete, and whenever a certain
chair with a very high back happened to be near enough, he would
climb to the top of it and mount the high bookcase, from which he
would look down at the rest of us with a very victorious air.
One evening Budge watched him from mistress’ lap, his little breast
swelling with ambition to do likewise. The moment Toddy alighted,
Budge mounted the high-back chair, and craned his neck toward the
desired spot. But he evidently thought it too great a risk; for he gave
mistress a very pleading look which had the desired effect; she
moved the chair closer, and Budge scrambled up its back, whence,
with a bold leap, he easily spanned the space to the bookcase.
On the top shelf are the pictures of some of our friends. Miss Willard
received his most respectful attention, I suppose because she was
the mistress of the wonderful “Tootsie” we have all heard about.
Tender, lingering glances were also bestowed upon our little friends
Don and Winifred. But the beautiful and charming Mrs. Cleveland
received his fondest admiration. So proudly did he sway his bushy
tail when standing in her presence that several persons of less
distinction were sent reeling to the floor. Then, having been
associated for a little while in his life with great people he sought his
humble lodging behind the cook-stove and took a nap.
One of my favorite places used to be on top of the wash-stand in the
bathroom. One day after Guy had finished washing he left the water
running just a little tiny stream into the wash-bowl. I thought it was
a string, and in trying to catch it I fell, and in an instant I was flat on
my back in the bottom of the bowl. I struggled to get on my feet
again, but it was of no use; the side of the bowl was so smooth,
there was nothing that I could get hold of to pull myself up on, and
Guy just stood there laughing, and calling everybody in the house to
come and see the plight I was in. At last when he had had all the
fun he wanted at my expense, he pulled me out, and I have steered
clear of wash-bowls ever since.
One of our dearest sports during those mirthful days was playing
hide-and-seek behind the portières, and chasing each other from
one room into the other. But the race was usually of short duration,
for first thing we knew we were all in a heap in the middle of the
floor, and we were generally in the midst of our frolic when the
horrid bedtime came and we had to go to our basket. Sometimes we
hid behind the bookcases so that Guy couldn’t get us. But I know
this wasn’t nice, and I feel ashamed even now for ever having done
it.
 X
OUR HAPPIEST DAYS

On Saturdays mistress comes home earlier than usual. Then we get

our coats brushed, and wiped off with a damp cloth, and we put on
the finishing touches with that dexterous little scrubbing brush which
every cat carries between his jaws. Then mistress changes the
covers of our cushions and gives us clean pads.
I always purr when mistress brushes me, to let her know that I like
it; and Budge likes it so well, he keeps turning himself so the brush
will strike him at every point. I believe the brushing and the good
food we get make us have such soft and glossy coats, and such fine
bushy tails.
One day after Budge had been thoroughly groomed he concluded
that he would go on an exploring tour, and, being so nice and clean,
he was permitted to go wherever he pleased.
First he went on mistress’ desk, and pretended to read a letter from
grandpa; then he played a tune on the piano. But nothing seemed to
satisfy him till he mounted the book shelves, his favorite resting-
place, and finding a nice shiny piece of paper there he proceeded to
lie upon it and purr himself to sleep. But something was evidently
wrong about that shiny paper. He arose to go elsewhere but the
paper went with him. You see, it was a sheet of fly-paper, and the
fluttering noise it made so frightened poor Budge that he ran from
one room to another in his frantic efforts to get rid of it.
As quickly as mistress was able to get hold of the poor creature, she
pulled the paper off, but with it came also a portion of Budge’s coat.
This was such a brand new experience for Budge, he concluded to
go to a quiet place to think it over; and finding an old grape basket
in the yard he crawled in and fell asleep.
 “He Crawled in and Fell Asleep”
Speaking of Budge’s favorite resting-place on the book shelf reminds
me of a story I have heard mistress tell about “Röteli” a red tiger cat
away over in Switzerland that was fond of taking his naps in the
oven. One day the oven door was shut without the cat being
noticed, and a fire made in the stove, for the housekeeper wanted to
cook dinner. She heard some dreadful, agonizing cries, but as she
could not see the cat around anywhere, and being busy with her
work, she paid no further attention. The roast was soon prepared,
and as the housekeeper opened the oven door to put it in, behold
there was poor Röteli lying almost lifeless with his tongue hanging
out of his mouth. Immediately the housekeeper knew just what to
do: she sprinkled Röteli with cold water and dropped water on his
tongue till he revived, and with the good care he received, regained
his health and lived many years more. I hope that all housekeepers
who have cats will take warning, and always look into the oven
before they close it.
Sunday I like best of all, because then mistress and Guy are at home
all day, except a little while in the morning. The first thing on Sunday
morning each of us gets a fresh ribbon tied around his neck and, of
course, then we make ourselves very clean. Mistress ties the ribbon
very carefully, so that it does not pull our hair, and she cuts the
loops. The reason for this is, as I heard her tell Guy, that once a cat
was jumping across a fence, when a loop of her ribbon was caught
in one of the pickets; and the poor cat hung there and miserably
strangled to death, before any one came to her rescue.
On pleasant Sunday afternoons Guy brings the porch rug and
cushions out in the yard, and then we have what we look forward to
during the whole week, a long visit from our mistress.
Sometimes mistress takes us for a walk, and I never shall forget one
pleasant moonlight evening when we went out with mistress and
another lady. It was on a street that had no houses on it, only tall
grass and catnip, and we were playing a game of hide-and-go-seek,
when suddenly mistress called us to her and picked up Toddy and
me. She tried to get Budge, too, but he was a little stubborn; instead
of coming to her, he ran to the middle of the street, where a
gentleman was riding, accompanied by a big dog. In an instant the
air was full of howls, hisses, growls and fur, and Budge and the dog
were all mixed up in a cloud of dust. I wanted to go too, but
mistress held me so tightly I could not get away.
The gentleman alighted from his wheel and called “Hector,” but the
poor dog could not get away just then. When he finally became
disentangled he drew his tail very tightly between his legs and ran
away as fast as he could, still howling piteously.
Mistress was evidently pleased with Budge for his courage in so
fearlessly attacking a dog much bigger than himself, but she was
also sorry for the poor vanquished dog, and said so to his master.
But the gentleman said that the dog merely retired because he was
too noble to attack an animal smaller than himself, and not at all
because he considered himself vanquished.
But however that may be, I’m afraid it wasn’t very nice for Budge to
engage in such a skirmish on a Sunday.
 XI
BETSY WHITEFOOT

Some time after Beauty’s death, one day an old gray cat with white
toes came on our back porch, and helped herself to a drink of water.
She had a distressed and hungry look, and I am sure she had not
had a bath or a brushing in a long time, for her coat was very rough
and soiled.
Budge and Toddy were afraid of her, and ran back of the ash bin;
but I stayed to see what mistress would do.
I noticed that in spots the hair on the cat’s body was entirely gone;
the flesh was covered with bleeding sores, and her tail had scarcely
any hair on it.
Guy called us cats together and sent us into the kitchen, but we
could look through the screen door and see what was going on. He
gave the poor creature a big saucer of fresh warm milk, which she
lapped up very greedily, asking for more till she had finished three
saucers full.
When mistress came home she looked at the cat, but did not touch
her. She gave Guy some money and a bottle and sent him to the
drug store for some medicine.
The poor cat was so tired she did not even wash after eating, but lay
right down on the old door-mat. I think she had walked a long while
before she found a place where she was allowed to rest. Before Guy
returned from the store she was fast asleep.
Mistress poured some of the medicine on a small cotton pad, and
placed it by the cat’s nose. Then she quickly covered her up with a
tub, and Guy sat on top of it.