Part 15 (1/2)

Friskey came to a sad end. He was run over by a fast team and had to be chloroformed. Flossy was very unhappy about him. They said she acted just like a widow, and, probably, like most widows, got another admirer in his place. He was buried down in the garden quite a little distance from the house, and Flossy was often seen sitting on his grave.

The family thought it very pathetic, but there were others, people who like to destroy our best illusions (whom no one likes or cares for their opinions), who suggested an explanation of the interesting fact, by saying that a catmint bed was on each side of Friskey's grave, and Flossy went there for the catmint.

I do, for my part, hate to be disenchanted when I have indulged in a little bit of sentiment. I do not believe any one ever thanks the person who turns the poetry of life into prose.

My solution of the story is, that Flossy had often played with Friskey in that very catmint bed, and she went there to recall pleasant memories. I have a right to my own opinion, and I know I am very strange; but then, it would be a very stupid world if there were no variety.

I had a singular thought the other day, and it will do no harm to tell it, though I do not care one pin whether others agree with me or not. I think my mistress is original, and I know I am like her. My idea is this: I have heard the stories of Adam and Eve and Noah's Ark--indeed, I was brought up on Bible stories.

Now my thought is this: When Adam and Eve left the garden of Eden, there were two of their dumb companions whose hearts were sad for their master and mistress. They said, ”We will not let them go alone.” And when Adam and Eve left the garden, a dog walked by his master's side, and a cat by the side of the mistress--faithful in their misfortune.

XVII

THE STORY OF FREIDA

My mistress was not silly about me. She would say: ”I am perfectly satisfied with Daisy, just as G.o.d made him. I do not presume to improve what he has made perfect. I do all I can to bring out his good points, and leave the rest to nature.”

Then she told me the story of ”Adonis.” His mistress had his ears pierced and gold earrings put in them. He wore them at home only.

That cat did suffer for his mistress's vanity, and I could not help wis.h.i.+ng she had been the victim; for one day a lady called, bringing with her a pet dog. She said, ”My dog has a lovely disposition, and will not touch your cat.”

She had not calculated on Adonis having a temper, and the consequences were disastrous. Ever since his ears were pierced, Adonis had been fretful and snappish. His beautiful earrings were no pleasure to him, for he could not give them a pull without making his ears sore.

When he saw this pampered dog in his very home, he arose in his anger, and flew at the little pet in great wrath. Of course the dog retaliated, though frightened almost out of his skin. The result was, he tore out one of Adonis's earrings, making a long slit in his ear, and got repaid by having his own eyes almost scratched out.

His mistress was well paid for her cruelty in decorating her cat in this foolish manner. From a loving, happy cat he was transformed into a cross, quarrelsome creature that no one could love.

Then she cast him off and got a new plaything, this time a dog, all covered with bells and ribbons, that she could take around with her.

Poor Adonis was suffered in the house, but left to the servants, and his nice quarters given to the dog, while he was left in the kitchen, where his high temper made him disliked, and his torn and swollen ears made him an object of derision.

My mistress would say: ”Never, Daisy, shall you be made miserable by such foolishness. People who treat animals in this way are not their real friends; they use them selfishly as a decoration for themselves when they might make them intelligent companions and sincere friends.”

That there are many good people who appreciate animals, the stories that I have given you will prove. The story of Freida is an instance, and I can vouch for its truth.

Freida was a nice cat, aristocratic and refined in her ideas. She inherited her name from a Danish relative of her master, and brought the old home days back to memory.

She had a very beautiful home not many miles from Boston. It was a large house, and was called ”The Mansion.” It had a cupola where Freida could go up and overlook the high hills and see the gilded dome of the State House quite plainly.

Then there was the stable, and a beautiful flowerbed in front of the house.

It was rightly called ”The Mansion,” for it stood alone, surrounded by beautiful trees, and looked down with dignity on the smaller houses around it.

Freida was a very happy and fortunate cat. She had a kind master, and her mistress was very lovely and good. She was a very dear friend of Miss Milly, and was born in good old Salem, and, like all the people in that bewitching place, she thought a home was not perfect without the family cat.

All this would have been very delightful, had not a great change taken place in this charming home. But then, there would have been no story; for Freida's life would have been just like that of other cats, pleasant but uneventful.

The good mistress fell ill and was ordered a change of air, and a voyage to Europe.