Part 19 (1/2)
”He never quite recovered the use of his left hand, but he never complained; and when I was big enough I would walk out with him every day, for I distrusted every one, and made very few friends. He named me Pedro for a friend of his, a Spanish gentleman from whom he inherited some of his wealth.
”At his death he gave me to his sister, and left a large sum to be used for my benefit. He had given her a fine property and the estate where we now live. After her death it is to be used for charity and a home for animals.
”She has been very kind to me. The friends whom she has taken to live here and keep the home for her are very nice, and they understand just how I am situated. They are fond of animals, and make a great deal of me; but I can never care for people again. My mistress is not very strong, probably will not live much longer, and I hope when she dies I shall soon follow her. The horrible scene of my mother's death has taken all the pleasure of life from me. Do you wonder I do not make new friends or trust people?”
I a.s.sured him of my sympathy, saying that I hoped there were no such wicked people about now.
”Don't think that,” he said; ”there are hundreds of just such wicked, cruel acts committed all the time. Something should be done to stop the work now, and save the children from being murderers and criminals.”
I was very unhappy over Pedro's story. I did wish my mistress could hear this sad tale, for I know that she would try to help the poor abused creatures.
I had quite an ill turn from worry of mind over this sad story, and from the internal injury that I received from the encounter with that bulldog.
My mistress was quite anxious about me. She gave me catmint tea and made me a lovely little blanket, and this with a thick shawl folded under it was placed on the lounge for my bed. I was very comfortable, and I hope a grateful cat, when I contrasted my lot with others. I did not feel (even to the dog that attacked me) any bitterness, for had he been taught better by his master, he would not have treated me like an enemy.
How can we expect a life-long prejudice, such as dogs and cats have for each other, to be uprooted, unless they are taught better by their owners and by the good examples that ought to be set before them? How can human beings boast of being better than animals?
Think of the heathen cannibals, eating human flesh. To them the fat little baby is just like a chicken. Then the Indians--did a cat ever worry a rat worse than they tortured the white men? When you think of this, can you conscientiously say we are worse, or even as bad as human beings?
There is money, and eloquence, and sympathy for the heathen; but the poor animals are left to learn without teachers what ought to be taught them, to make them the faithful servants and intelligent companions of man.
I trust the day will come when these humble friends will be as much thought of in the family as the children; there is no doubt they will fully repay all kindness done them.
XIX
MEWS AND PURRS
In my humble opinion no one ever told stories to equal those of my friends. Miss Eleanor could tell the cutest little fox and pig stories, while Miss Milly excelled on cat stories.
During my sickness they entertained me finely. Miss Eleanor used to tell a story of the ”Pig Family,” and the boys were wild over it. No matter how many new ones were told, they never were satisfied to go to sleep without hearing the well-worn pig story.
One night when Miss Eleanor was away, Miss Milly put the children to bed, and of course told them stories. They were not satisfied without the pig story. She was in a hurry, and preferred to tell stories out of her own head, saying she did not know the Pig Family; that was Aunt Eleanor's story.
At last, as they would not go to sleep without it, she told it to them as she remembered it. When it was finished, she looked at Willie, and saw that his lip was quivering and his eyes were full of tears.
”What is the matter?” she said.
”You haven't told about the little blue pig,” he sobbed.
”Oh, nonsense!” she said; ”he is dead probably.”
This finished him. He cried as if his heart would break. She said she never killed a pig before, and had such a hard time bringing that blue one to life, she never would kill another.
Now I am just like the children. I love to hear the same stories over and over, and feel really acquainted with the little creatures that they tell about. And I take after my mistress. I build ”castles in the air,”
though I have heard her say she always got an axe ready to demolish them, for she knew they would have to go. I wish I did know what an axe is. I would have one too.
One day there was a real big snowstorm. I looked out of the window, and when I saw the big white snowflakes coming down, I did wonder about them. Miss Eleanor read one day of a little girl who, on seeing the snowflakes, asked her mother if the angels were shaking their feather beds.
What a little silly she was, for I know better than that. I do not believe even an angel would throw away feathers. They are so nice, I do love to sleep on them. But then cats know more; only they keep it to themselves.