Authors: Marshall Saunders
He was
never allowed to fly about the dining room during meals, and the table maid
drove him out before she set the table. It always annoyed him, and he perched
on the staircase, watching the door through the railings. If it was left open
for an instant, he flew in. One evening, before tea, he did this. There was a
chocolate cake on the sideboard, and he liked the look of it so much that he
began to peck at it. Mrs. Montague happened to come in, and drove him back to
the hall.
While she
was having tea that evening, with her husband and little boy, Barry flew into
the room again. Mrs. Montague told Charlie to send him out, but her husband
said, “Wait, he is looking for something.” He was on the sideboard, peering
into every dish, and trying to look under the covers. “He is after the
chocolate cake,” exclaimed Mrs. Montague. “Here, Charlie; put this on the
staircase for him.”
She cut
off a little scrap, and when Charlie took it to the hall, Barry flew after him,
and ate it up.
As for
poor, little, lame Dick, Carl never sold him, and he became a family pet. His
cage hung in the parlour, and from morning till night his cheerful voice was
heard, chirping and singing as if he had not a trouble in the world. They took
great care of him. He was never allowed to be too hot or too cold. Everybody
gave him a cheerful word in passing his cage, and if his singing was too loud,
they gave him a little mirror to look at himself in. He loved this mirror, and
often stood before it for an hour at a time.
The first
time I had a good look at the Morris cat, I thought she was the
queerest-looking animal I had ever seen. She was dark gray just the colour of a
mouse. Her eyes were a yellowish green, and for the first few days I was at the
Morrises’ they looked very unkindly at me. Then she got over her dislike and we
became very good friends. She was a beautiful cat, and so gentle and
affectionate that the whole family loved her.
She was
three years old, and she had come to Fairport in a vessel with some sailors,
who had gotten her in a faraway place. Her name was Malta, and she was called a
Maltese cat.
I have
seen a great many cats, but I never saw one as kind as Malta. Once she had some
little kittens and they all died. It almost broke her heart. She cried and
cried about the house till it made one feel sad to hear her. Then she ran away
to the woods. She came back with a little squirrel in her mouth, and putting it
in her basket, she nursed it like a mother, till it grew old enough to run away
from her.
She was a
very knowing cat, and always came when she was called. Miss Laura used to wear
a little silver whistle that she blew when she wanted any of her pets. It was a
shrill whistle, and we could hear it a long way from home. I have seen her
standing at the back door whistling for Malta, and the pretty creature’s head
would appear somewhere—always high up, for she was a great climber, and she
would come running along the top of the fence, saying, “Meow, meow,” in a
funny, short way.
Miss Laura
would pet her, or give her something to eat, or walk around the garden carrying
her on her shoulder. Malta was a most affectionate cat, and if Miss Laura would
not let her lick her face, she licked her hair with her little, rough tongue.
Often Malta lay by the fire, licking my coat or little Billy’s, to show her
affection for us.
Mary, the
cook, was very fond of cats, and used to keep Malta in the kitchen as much as
she could, but nothing would make her stay down there if there was any music
going on upstairs. The Morris pets were all fond of music. As soon as Miss
Laura sat down to the piano to sing or play, we came from all parts of the
house. Malta cried to get upstairs, Davy scampered through the hall, and Bella
hurried after him. If I was outdoors I ran in the house; and Jim got on a box
and looked through the window.
Davy’s
place was on Miss Laura’s shoulder, his pink nose run in the curls at the back
of her neck. I sat under the piano beside Malta and Bella, and we never stirred
till the music was over; then we went quietly away.
Malta was
a beautiful cat—there was no doubt about it. While I was with Jenkins I thought
cats were vermin, like rats, and I chased them every chance I got. Mrs. Jenkins
had a cat, a gaunt, long-legged, yellow creature, that ran whenever we looked
at it.
Malta had
been so kindly treated that she never ran from any one, except from strange
dogs. She knew they would be likely to hurt her. If they came upon her
suddenly, she faced them, and she was a pretty good fighter when she was put to
it. I once saw her having a brush with a big mastiff that lived a few blocks
from us, and giving him good fright; which just served him right.
I was shut
up in the parlour. Someone had closed the door, and I could not get out. I was
watching Malta from the window, as she daintily picked her way across the muddy
street. She was such a soft, pretty, amiable-looking cat. She didn’t look that
way, though, when the mastiff rushed out of the alleyway at her.
She sprang
back and glared at him like a little, fierce tiger. Her tail was enormous. Her
eyes were like balls of fire, and she was spitting and snarling, as if to say, “If
you touch me, I’ll tear you to pieces!”
The dog,
big as he was, did not dare attack her. He walked around and around, like a
great clumsy elephant, and she turned her small body as he turned his, and kept
up a dreadful hissing and spitting. Suddenly I saw a Spitz dog hurrying down
the street. He was going to help the mastiff, and Malta would be badly hurt. I
had barked and no one had come to let me out, so I sprang through the window.
Just then
there was a change. Malta had seen the second dog, and she knew she must get
rid of the mastiff. With an agile bound she sprang on his back, dug her sharp
claws in, till he put his tail between his legs and ran up the street, howling
with pain. She rode a little way, then sprang off, and ran up the lane to the
stable.
I was very
angry and wanted to fight something so I pitched into the Spitz dog. He was a
snarly, cross-grained creature, no friend to Jim and me, and he would have been
only too glad of a chance to help kill Malta.
I gave him
one of the worst beatings he ever had. I don’t suppose it was quite right for
me to do it, for Miss Laura says dogs should never fight; but he had worried
Malta before, and he had no business to do it. She belonged to our family. Jim
and I never worried
his
cat. I had been longing to give him a shaking
for some time, and now I felt for his throat through his thick hair and dragged
him all around the street. Then I let him go, and he was a civil dog ever
afterward.
Malta was
very grateful, and licked a little place where the Spitz bit me. I did not get
scolded for the broken window. Mary had seen from the kitchen window, and told
Mrs. Morris that I had gone to help Malta.
Malta was
a very wise cat. She knew quite well that she must not harm the parrot nor the
canaries, and she never tried to catch them, even though she was left alone in
the room with them.
I have
seen her lying in the sun, blinking sleepily, and listening with great pleasure
to Dick’s singing. Miss Laura even taught her not to hunt the birds outside.
For a long
time she had tried to get it into Malta’s head that it was cruel to catch the
little sparrows that came about the door, and just after I came, she succeeded
in doing so.
Malta was
so fond of Miss Laura, that whenever she caught a bird, she came and laid it at
her feet. Miss Laura always picked up the little, dead creature, pitied it and
stroked it, and scolded Malta till she crept into a corner. Then Miss Laura put
the bird on a limb of a tree, and Malta watched her attentively.
One day
Miss Laura stood at the window, looking out into the garden. Malta was lying on
the platform, staring at the sparrows that were picking up crumbs from the
ground. She trembled, and half rose every few minutes, as if to go after them.
Then she lay down again. She was trying very hard not to creep on them.
Presently a neighbor’s cat came stealing along the fence, keeping one eye on
Malta and the other on the sparrows. Malta was so angry! She sprang up and
chased her away, and then came back to the platform, where she lay down again
and waited for the sparrows to come back. For a long time she stayed there, and
never once tried to catch them.
Miss Laura
was so pleased. She went to the door, and said, softly, “Come here, Malta.”
The cat
put up her tail, and, meowing gently, came into the house. Miss Laura took her
up in her arms, and going down to the kitchen, asked Mary to give her a saucer
of her very sweetest milk for the best cat in the United States of America.
Malta got
great praise for this, and I never knew of her catching a bird afterward. She
was well fed in the house, and had no need to hurt such harmless creatures.
She was
very fond of her home, and never went far away, as Jim and I did. Once, when
Willie was going to spend a few weeks with a little friend who lived fifty
miles from Fairport, he took it into his head that Malta should go with him.
His mother told him that cats did not like to go away from home; but he said he
would be good to her, and begged so hard to take her, that at last his mother
consented.
He had
been a few days in this place, when he wrote home to say that Malta had run
away. She had seemed very unhappy, and though he had kept her with him all the
time, she had acted as if she wanted to get away.
When the
letter was read to Mr. Morris, he said, “Malta is on her way home. Cats have a
wonderful cleverness in finding their way to their own dwelling. She will be
very tired. Let us go out and meet her.”
Willie had
gone to this place in a coach. Mr. Morris got a buggy and took Miss Laura and
me with him, and we started out. We went slowly along the road. Every little
while Miss Laura blew her whistle, and called, “Malta, Malta,” and I barked as
loudly as I could. Mr. Morris drove for several hours, then we stopped at a
house, had dinner, and then set out again. We were going through a thick wood,
where there was a pretty straight road, when I saw a small, dark creature away
ahead, trotting toward us. It was Malta. I gave a joyful bark, but she did not know
me, and plunged into the wood.
I ran in
after her, barking and yelping, and Miss Laura blew her whistle as loudly as
she could. Soon there was a little gray head peeping at us from the bushes, and
Malta bounded out, gave me a look of surprise and then leaped into the buggy on
Miss Laura’s lap.
What a
happy cat she was! She purred with delight, and licked Miss Laura’s gloves over
and over again. Then she ate the food they had brought, and went sound asleep.
She was very thin, and for several days after getting home she slept the most
of the time.
Malta did
not like dogs, but she was very good to cats. One day, when there was no one
about and the garden was very quiet, I saw her go stealing into the stable, and
come out again, followed by a sore-eyed, starved-looking cat, that had been
deserted by some people that lived in the next street. She led this cat up to
her catnip bed, and watched her kindly, while she rolled and rubbed herself in
it. Then Malta had a roll in it herself, and they both went back to the stable.
Catnip is
a favorite plant with cats, and Miss Laura always kept some of it growing for
Malta.
For a long
time this sick cat had a home in the stable. Malta carried her food every day
and after a time Miss Laura found out about her and did what she could to make
her well. In time she got to be a strong, sturdy-looking cat, and Miss Laura
got a home for her with an invalid lady.
It was
nothing new for the Morrises to feed deserted cats. Some summers, Mrs. Morris
said that she had a dozen to take care of. Careless and cruel people would go
away for the summer, shutting up their houses, and making no provision for the
poor cats that had been allowed to sit snugly by the fire all winter. At last,
Mrs. Morris got into the habit of putting a little notice in the Fairport
paper, asking people who were going away for the summer to provide for their
cats during their absence.
The first
winter I was at the Morrises’, I had an adventure. It was a week before
Christmas, and we were having cold, frosty weather. Not much snow had fallen,
but there was plenty of skating, and the boys were off every day with their
skates on a little lake near Fairport.
Jim and I
often went with them, and we had great fun scampering over the ice after them,
and slipping at every step.
On this
Saturday night we had just gotten home. It was quite dark outside, and there was
a cold wind blowing, so when we came in the front door, and saw the red light
from the big hall stove and the blazing fire in the parlour they looked very
cheerful.
I was
quite sorry for Jim that he had to go out to his kennel. However, he said he
didn’t mind. The boys got a plate of nice, warm meat for him and a bowl of
milk, and carried them out, and afterward he went to sleep. Jim’s kennel was a
very snug one. Being a spaniel, he was not a very large dog, but his kennel was
as roomy as if he was a great Dane. He told me that Mr. Morris and the boys
made it, and he liked it very much, because it was large enough for him to get
up in the night and stretch himself, when he got tired of lying in one
position.
It was
raised a little from the ground, and it had a thick layer of straw over the
floor. Above was a broad shelf, wide enough for him to lie on, and covered with
an old catskin sleigh robe. Jim always slept here in cold weather, because it
was farther away from the ground.
To return
to this December evening. I can remember yet how hungry I was. I could scarcely
lie still till Miss Laura finished her tea. Mrs. Morris, knowing that her boys
would be very hungry, had Mary broil some beefsteak and roast some potatoes for
them; and didn’t they smell good!
They ate
all the steak and potatoes. It didn’t matter to me, for I wouldn’t have gotten
any if they had been left. Mrs. Morris could not afford to give to the dogs
good meat that she had gotten for her children, so she used to get the butcher
to send her liver, and bones, and tough meat, and Mary cooked them, and made
soup and broth, and mixed porridge with them for us.
We never
got meat three times a day. Miss Laura said it was all very well to feed
hunting dogs on meat, but dogs that are kept about a house get ill if they are
fed too well. So we had meat only once a day, and bread and milk, porridge, or
dog biscuits, for our other meals.
I made a
dreadful noise when I was eating. Ever since Jenkins cut my ears off, I had had
trouble in breathing. The flaps had kept the wind and dust from the inside of
my ears. Now that they were gone my head was stuffed up all the time. The cold
weather made me worse, and sometimes I had such trouble to get my breath that
it seemed as if I would choke. If I had opened my mouth, and breathed through
it, as I have seen some people doing, I would have been more comfortable, but
dogs always like to breathe through their noses.
“You have
taken more cold,” said Miss Laura, this night, as she put my plate of food on
the floor for me. “Finish your meat, and then come and sit by the fire with me.
What! do you want more?”
I gave a
little bark, so she filled my plate for the second time. Miss Laura never
allowed any one to meddle with us when we were eating. One day she found Willie
teasing me by snatching at a bone that I was gnawing. “Willie,” she said, “what
would you do if you were just sitting down to the table feeling very hungry,
and just as you began to eat your meat and potatoes, I would come along and
snatch the plate from you?”
“I don’t
know what I’d
do
,” he said, laughingly; “but I’d
want
to wallop you.”
“Well,”
she said, “I’m afraid that Joe will ‘wallop’ you some day if you worry him
about his food, for even a gentle dog will sometimes snap at any one who
disturbs him at his meals; so you had better not try his patience too far.”
Willie
never teased me after that, and I was very glad, for two or three times I had
been tempted to snarl at him.
After I
finished my tea, I followed Miss Laura upstairs. She took up a book and sat
down in a low chair, and I lay down on the hearth rug beside her.
“Do you
know, Joe,” she said with a smile, “why you scratch with your paws when you lie
down, as if to make yourself a hollow bed, and turn around a great many times
before you lie down?”
Of course
I did not know, so I only stared at her. “Years and years ago,” she went on,
gazing down at me, “there weren’t any dogs living in people’s houses, as you
are, Joe. They were all wild creatures running about the woods. They always scratched
among the leaves to make a comfortable bed for themselves, and the habit has
come down to you, Joe, for you are descended from them.”
This
sounded very interesting, and I think she was going to tell me some more about
my wild forefathers, but just then the rest of the family came in.
I always
thought that this was the snuggest time of the day when the family all sat
around the fire Mrs. Morris sewing, the boys reading or studying, and Mr.
Morris with his head buried in a newspaper, and Billy and I on the floor at
their feet.
This
evening I was feeling very drowsy, and had almost dropped asleep, when Ned gave
me a push with his foot. He was a great tease, and he delighted in getting me
to make a simpleton of myself. I tried to keep my eyes on the fire, but I could
not, and just had to turn and look at him.
He was
holding his book up between himself and his mother, and was opening his mouth
as wide as he could and throwing back his head, pretending to howl.
For the
life of me I could not help giving a loud howl. Mrs. Morris looked up and said,
“Bad Joe, keep still.”
The boys
were all laughing behind their books, for they knew what Ned was doing.
Presently he started off again, and I was just beginning another howl that
might have made Mrs. Morris send me out of the room, when the door opened, and
a young girl called Bessie Drury came in.
She had a
cap on and a shawl thrown over her shoulders, and she had just run across the
street from her father’s house. “Oh, Mrs. Morris,” she said, “will you let
Laura come over and stay with me tonight? Mamma has just gotten a telegram from
Bangor, saying that her aunt, Mrs. Cole, is very ill, and she wants to see her,
and papa is going to take her there by tonight’s train, and she is afraid I
will be lonely if I don’t have Laura.”
“Can you
not come and spend the night here?” said Mrs. Morris.
“No, thank
you; I think mamma would rather have me stay in our house.”
“Very
well,” said Mrs. Morris, “I think Laura would like to go.”
“Yes,
indeed,” said Miss Laura, smiling at her friend. “I will come over in half an
hour.”
“Thank
you, so much,” said Miss Bessie. And she hurried away.
After she
left, Mr. Morris looked up from his paper. “There will be someone in the house
besides those two girls?”
“Oh, yes,”
said Mrs. Morris; “Mrs. Drury has her old nurse, who has been with her for
twenty years, and there are two maids besides, and Donald, the coachman, who
sleeps over the stable. So they are well protected.”
“Very
good,” said Mr. Morris. And he went back to his paper.
Of course
dumb animals do not understand all that they hear spoken of; but I think human
beings would be astonished if they knew how much we can gather from their looks
and voices. I knew that Mr. Morris did not quite like the idea of having his
daughter go to the Drury’s when the master and mistress of the house were away,
so I made up my mind that I would go with her.
When she
came down stairs with her little satchel on her arm, I got up and stood beside
her. “Dear, old Joe,” she said, “you must not come.”
I pushed
myself out the door beside her after she had kissed her mother and father and
the boys. “Go back, Joe,” she said, firmly.
I had to
step back then, but I cried and whined, and she looked at me in astonishment. “I
will be back in the morning, Joe,” she said, gently; “don’t squeal in that way.”
Then she shut the door and went out.
I felt
dreadfully. I walked up and down the floor and ran to the window, and howled
without having to look at Ned. Mrs. Morris peered over her glasses at me in
utter surprise. “Boys,” she said, “did you ever see Joe act in that way before?”
“No,
mother,” they all said.
Mr. Morris
was looking at me very intently. He had always taken more notice of me than any
other creature about the house, and I was very fond of him. Now I ran up and
put my paws on his knees.
“Mother,”
he said, turning to his wife, “let the dog go.”
“Very
well,” she said, in a puzzled way. “Jack, just run over with him, and tell Mrs.
Drury how he is acting, and that I will be very much obliged if she will let
him stay all night with Laura.”
Jack
sprang up, seized his cap, and raced down the front steps, across the street,
through the gate, and up the gravelled walk, where the little stones were all
hard and fast in the frost.
The Drurys
lived in a large, white house, with trees all around it, and a garden at the
back. They were rich people and had a great deal of company. Through the summer
I had often seen carriages at the door, and ladies and gentlemen in light
clothes walking over the lawn, and sometimes I smelled nice things they were
having to eat. They did not keep any dogs, nor pets of any kind so Jim and I
never had an excuse to call there.
Jack and I
were soon at the front door, and he rang the bell and gave me in charge of the
maid who opened it. The girl listened to his message for Mrs. Drury, then she
walked upstairs, smiling and looking at me over her shoulder.
There was
a trunk in the upper hall, and an elderly woman was putting things in it. A
lady stood watching her, and when she saw me, she gave a little scream, “Oh,
nurse! look at that horrid dog! Where did he come from? Put him out, Susan.”
I stood
quite still, and the girl who had brought me upstairs, gave her Jack’s message.
“Certainly,
certainly,” said the lady, when the maid finished speaking. “If he is one of
the Morris dogs, he is sure to be a well-behaved one. Tell the little boy to
thank his mamma for letting Laura come over, and say that we will keep the dog
with pleasure. Now, nurse, we must hurry: the cab will be here in five minutes.”
I walked
softly into a front room, and there I found my dear Miss Laura. Miss Bessie was
with her, and they were cramming things into a portmanteau. They both ran out
to find out how I came there, and just then a gentleman came hurriedly
upstairs, and said the cab had come.
There was
a scene of great confusion and hurry but in a few minutes it was all over. The
cab had rolled away, and the house was quiet.
“Nurse,
you must be tired, you had better go to bed,” said Miss Bessie, turning to the
elderly woman, as we all stood in the hall. “Susan, will you bring some supper
to the dining room, for Miss Morris and me? What will you have, Laura?”
“What are
you going to have?” asked Miss Laura, with a smile.
“Hot
chocolate and tea biscuits.”
“Then I
will have the same.”
“Bring
some cake too, Susan,” said Miss Bessie, “and something for the dog. I dare say
he would like some of that turkey that was left from dinner.”
If I had
had any ears I would have pricked them up at this, for I was very fond of fowl,
and I never got any at the Morrises’, unless it might be a stray bone or two.
What fun
we had over our supper! The two girls sat at the big dining table, and sipped
their chocolate, and laughed and talked, and I had the skeleton of a whole
turkey on a newspaper that Susan spread on the carpet. I was very careful not
to drag it about, and Miss Bessie laughed at me till the tears came in her
eyes. “That dog is a gentleman,” she said; “see how he holds bones on the paper
with his paws, and strips the meat off with his teeth. Oh, Joe, Joe, you are a
funny dog! And you are having a funny supper. I have heard of quail on toast,
but I never heard of turkey on newspaper.”
“Hadn’t we
better go to bed?” said Miss Laura, when the hall clock struck eleven.
“Yes, I
suppose we had,” said Miss Bessie.
“Where is
this animal to sleep?”
“I don’t
know,” said Miss Laura; “he sleeps in the stable at home, or in the kennel with
Jim.”
“Suppose
Susan makes him a nice bed by the kitchen stove?” said Miss Bessie.
Susan made
the bed, but I was not willing to sleep in it. I barked so loudly when they
shut me up alone, that they had to let me go upstairs with them.
Miss Laura
was almost angry with me, but I could not help it. I had come over there to
protect her, and I wasn’t going to leave her, if I could help it.
Miss
Bessie had a handsomely furnished room with a soft carpet on the floor, and
pretty curtains at the windows. There were two single beds in it, and the two
girls dragged them close together so that they could talk after they got in
bed.
Before
Miss Bessie put out the light, she told Miss Laura not to be alarmed if she
heard any one walking about in the night, for the nurse was sleeping across the
hall from them, and she would probably come in once or twice to see if they
were sleeping comfortably.
The two
girls talked for a long time, and then they fell asleep. Just before Miss Laura
dropped off, she forgave me, and put down her hand for me to lick as I lay on a
fur rug close by her bed.
I was very
tired, and I had a very soft and pleasant bed, so I soon fell into a heavy
sleep. But I waked up at the slightest noise. Once Miss Laura turned in bed,
and another time Miss Bessie laughed in her sleep, and again, there were queer
crackling noises in the frosty limbs of the trees outside, that made me start
up quickly out of my sleep.