Part 6 (1/2)

One day he proved himself not so wise as his name would indicate. He fell out of the third story window. When they gathered around him, thinking he would have to be chloroformed, he got up, shook himself, and lived.

He told me very sad tales of the cats living in that vicinity. ”Would you not think,” he said, ”that in these palatial houses there would be room for one cat?”

I said I should think they would want two or three. He shook his wise head, saying, ”Oh, no. If they see a cat that pleases them, some superannuated spinster will gush over her, making her a pet for a little while. But let poor p.u.s.s.y fall ill, or get one flea on her, and out she goes into outer darkness.”

”Oh,” I said, ”don't speak like that! my two dear friends are 'maiden ladies,' and no one can be kinder to animals than they are. The sick and unfortunate always appeal to their sympathy, and not in vain. I remember Miss Eleanor was.h.i.+ng every day a poor neglected black cat whose eye a rat had bitten. It was not a pleasant piece of work, I can tell you, and she tended that eye so faithfully that it got well. They would go hungry to give food to a poor animal that needed it.”

”Well, well, it may be so,” said Sol, impressed by my indignant protest; ”but I have heard that old bachelors and old maids are always the hardest on animals.”

I indignantly denied this. ”It is married people who dislike each other and cannot get free, who have horrid children--they are the hard ones.

They do not want the care of their children themselves, and expect animals to offer themselves to be tortured by these wretched children.

And if they defend themselves, refusing to have their eyes poked out with sticks, tin pails tied to their tails, and lighted matches held to their noses, and bite or scratch, then they are denounced as vile, and are given bad characters that will follow them through life.”

I had spoken with real feeling, and I could see that Sol believed me.

”You are right, I suppose,” he said. ”We are both of us fortunate cats; 'our lives have fallen in pleasant places.'”

Poor Sol! He was so wise he had to quote Scripture, even if he did not understand it; and in this he was no worse than human beings. Do half of them know the meaning of the pa.s.sages of Scripture they quote so confidently?

”We,” he continued in a sentimental tone, ”cannot realize how hard it is to be outcasts. These closed-up houses and boarded-up doors are gloomy enough during the summer months. At dusk the skeleton forms that steal out, too feeble to mew, start at every sound, fearing the stones and jeers they are sure to meet from the stray ragam.u.f.fin children who roam about this deserted region. Their hearts are broken,--for cats have hearts, and loving ones too,--and it is hard for them to believe that those who have sometimes noticed them have left them alone. I do not know,” he continued, ”where we are going, but I do not believe we were made in vain, and I think these heartless people will find in the hereafter that the animals they have abused will be avenged.”

”All I desire,” said I, ”is to be with my two dear friends.” And to this Solomon said, ”Amen.”

I like Sol very much. He is a very well educated cat and looks upon life in a serious manner. He has grown quite large and appreciates his good home. I think he is a Christian Endeavorer, and will do all he can for homeless cats. I remember his wise words; and when dear Mrs. Knight brings me some of his catmint, I enjoy it for itself, because I love it, and in memory of his friends.h.i.+p. One can remember his friends even if he does not meet them often. Perhaps if we were to see each other every day, we should disagree.

VIII

AN ACCIDENT

We had a very nice home in the country offered us, which we were very glad to take advantage of. The people who owned the place, going to the seash.o.r.e, preferred to have their house occupied rather than shut up, doing no one any good.

It was very pleasant there, and we had a very delightful time, though the accident which nearly cost me my life, and from which I shall never recover, happened there.

It was the day before the Fourth of July. Miss Milly had been to Boston to the funeral of our beloved Doctor. Miss Eleanor being too unwell to go, we kept each other company, and sad enough we were.

When Miss Milly returned, she was thoroughly worn out with grief at the loss of her dear friend and Doctor. It was a great loss to me, for I had been his special pet. During our dear Mrs. Rice's sickness I watched for his daily visit and knew his ring always. He would say: ”Well, Daisy, how is your health to-day? Put out your tongue.” Which, with Miss Milly's help, I would do. Then he would take my paw and feel my pulse in the most sober manner.

How nice it was! I would not give up this memory for a great deal of money. I could tell by his face just how our dear invalid was, and when he told them his skill was in vain, and that he could not save her, I saw the tears in his eyes as he took me in his arms. He was a perfect gentleman, and we all loved him and respected his great knowledge and skill.

We were sitting on the piazza talking about him, when I saw something move over under the trees. Supposing it might be a squirrel, I went to interview him, thinking that if I could kill something I should feel better. My mistresses were so preoccupied that when they went in to tea they never noticed that I had not followed them.

Finding no squirrel, I sat down under a pine tree, thinking about the beautiful flowers and the music Miss Milly had told us about, at the church funeral of our friend, and mourning that I should never see our dear Doctor again, and wondering what Miss Milly would do without him, when a rush, and a bark, and before I could face around a fierce bulldog buried his teeth in my shoulder. I fought for my life, though I felt the odds were against me. But let him kill me; I would die game. I did claw his eyes, blinding him and giving me chance to escape.

I crawled over the gra.s.s, then through the fence, into the neighboring estate, and hid myself in the bushes and deep gra.s.s. Then I lost consciousness. At times I realized my pain, and my brain was clear, for all my past life pa.s.sed before me.

How beautiful seemed my dear home and friends, that I should never see again! Then the old childish days, when I had frolicked with my poor mother, came to me so vividly I could smell the sweet clover where we played; and then the dreadful pain and faintness made me realize the end was near.

I said, ”I shall see our dear Doctor, and he will say, 'Why, Daisy! Have you followed me so soon?'” It was all dreamy; another fainting spell had come on, and it was nearly morning before I was again conscious. Then I thought, ”I must try to see my dear mistresses once more, even if to die in sight of their windows.” I was half crazed when I thought of their sorrow.