Title: The Book of the Cat
Author: Bonsall, Elizabeth Fearne, 1861-1956 [Illustrator], Humphrey, Mabel [Contributor]
Language: English
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THE BOOK OF THE CAT

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

With Facsimiles of Drawings in Colour by

ELISABETH F. BONSALL

And with Stories and Verses Written for the Pictures by

MABEL HUMPHREY



New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1903, by Frederick A. Stokes Company.
Published in October, 1903.

[Illustration]



Snowball and Ebony.


Down at my feet on the red tiles in front of a roaring great fire sit a
great black cat and a soft white Angora pussy. They are named Ebony and
Snowball and are as different in nature as they are in colour, but are
devoted friends for all that. Possibly _because_ of it! for where Snowball
is timid, Ebony will bravely lead the way; while if Ebony is cross,
Snowball will purr and coax and cuddle until he gradually grows peaceful
and pleasant again.

From the time he was a tiny kitten Ebony had known no home, and such
food as he had was picked up when and wherever he chanced to find it. He
had won many and lost few of his many cat battles, but he did not like
to fight and never did it unless obliged to.

Snowball had never struck or received a blow in all of her carefully
guarded life. She was a finely bred Angora that had taken many prizes at
the cat shows, while her meals--far from being irregularly picked
up--had always been brought to her on a silver tray as regularly as the
sun rose--and considerably oftener!

One bright cold November afternoon Snowball was wandering restlessly
around looking for something--anything--some excitement! As she passed
the Dresden saucer filled with rich cream she sniffed, and when she
caught sight of her silk-cushioned basket she fairly switched her tail.
Even the favourite spot on the warm hearth failed to allure.

Outside the wind blew the few remaining leaves from the trees in
tempting swirls to the pavement, but _she_ could not play with them. She
was shut indoors for fear she might be stolen or stray! Stray! She would
_run_ away as soon as she found the chance!

As she wandered into the broad hall some one opened the front door to
pass through it, and Miss Pussy saw and seized her chance. Like a flash
she darted down the steps and up the street, never stopping until she
was well out of sight of the house. Then she paused and looked curiously
around.

Close under the railing of a shabby area, not many blocks from
Snowball's home, she spied three rough-coated, gaunt cats greedily
drinking from a dish of sooty skim milk. The saucer was thick and
cracked, and--worse yet!--had not been washed since it contained boiled
onions, but to the pampered runaway it seemed far more desirable than
the cream she had left untasted in her own Dresden china plate.

As she edged slowly toward them the three waifs paid no attention to
her, beyond giving a warning growl or two, which Snowball--not
understanding that she could be unwelcome--mistook for their usual way
of speaking. With a friendly "P-r-r-r-rh!" of greeting she drew near,
and lapped daintily at the strongly flavoured milk. Was it hunger, or
the feeling of liberty and comradeship that made it taste so good and
made her for one short instant perfectly happy?

Then a stinging blow on one ear, followed immediately by a sharp slap on
the side of her head from the big grey cat, sent her reeling dizzily
away from the dish. She recovered herself and turned in abject terror,
her one thought to escape from this uncalled for abuse, but directly in
her path stood the black-and-white cat with lashing tail and flaming
eyes. Another turn, and she was again confronted by the grey, crouching
angrily ready for another attack.

Snowball's heart seemed to stand still, and she shut her eyes and waited
for the end, when with one bound the black cat stood between her and her
enemies. He began battle instantly, and so vigourously that it was
impossible to stand before the whirlwind of flying claws and snapping
teeth that he seemed to have become. Soon his opponents retired with
inglorious haste, and he was victor--Snowball was saved!

In the silence that followed Snowball cautiously opened an eye and
peeped around. Peace! And her deliverer again lapping at the puddle of
blue milk that was spreading from the overturned saucer across the
broken flagstones. He saw the timid glance and moved a little to one
side with a gesture of friendly invitation.

Gratefully she crept to his side; the black and white noses bobbed
busily up and down together as the pink tongues darted in and out, and
the milk rapidly disappeared.

That afternoon Snowball brought Ebony home with her and seemed so fond
of him that I could do no less than ask him to stay, and for the first
time they sat in their now usual resting place--down at my feet on the
warm red tiles.

How do I know about the rescue? Ah, that's quite a story, too; not
to-day, Dear.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



"Scat!"


    Said a greedy old tramp of a cat:
      "I declare, I heard someone say 'scat!'
    Of course I _might_ run;
      But t'would spoil all this fun,
    And I don't see much reason in that."



"Kittens will be Kittens."


The kittens were playing a sort of "follow-the-leader" in and out of
their comfortable box of straw, while Mrs. Tabby Cat sat patiently by,
only occasionally glancing at them to make sure that all three were
safe.

Things were very comfortably arranged for the little family of pussies
out in the barn, and the only possible danger to the cat babies was the
St. Bernard dog's drinking dish which was set down into the barn floor,
very near the wall, and kept filled with water. One of the grooms had
arranged it one idle afternoon, more for his own amusement than for any
real need so to place it.

"Mr-r-r-owh!" trilled Mother cat warningly as Frisker wobbled over
toward her greatest dread, that dreadful water! "Do stay near me,
kittens; then you won't tumble in and get drowned."

"Miew!" answered the three kittens, in three different keys. "Don't
worry about us: we're all right!"

Folly, the white-nosed kitty, rose gaily on her tottery hind-legs for an
instant and cuffed playfully at her mother's ear, then started across
the barn floor as fast as a fat three-weeks-old kitten can tumble,
followed at once by Frisker.

Calico saw them go and, anticipating a frolic, at once made up her mind
to be in it. She lifted her heavy little head and started eagerly toward
her stronger sisters; but the progress was slow, for Calico was feeble,
and the weak little legs _would_ slide apart, while her tail waved
wildly from side to side in the effort to keep her balance.

She was a strong-minded small pussy, though weak in body, and she kept
steadily on. As she drew near her goal she _felt_ very strong and proud!
One or two surprising sit-downs and a very hard bump on the pink nose in
no way dampened her enthusiasm; but alas! the fall that always follows
pride dampened both enthusiasm and her whole wee self for a time.

Just as she was becoming quite reckless, almost prancing, with feet
stepping at least half an inch from the floor, there suddenly yawned
directly in front of the astounded kitten the six-inch chasm of the
drinking dish! She toppled; her tail gave a single wild twirl; and she
splashed heels over head into two inches of water!

Mrs. Tabby, who had been anxiously watching the unsteady promenade
sprang to the basin at once and leaning down tried to pull Calico out by
the nape of the neck. To the frightened and shivering kitten--that had
upon touching bottom at once gained its feet--this would have been quite
as unpleasant as the cold water that was now chilling her through and
through, so she protested in shrill wails.

Though she was too heavy for the little mother to lift, still Mrs. Tabby
would not give up, and tried to claw her kitten out with sudden dabs, as
she took the fish from the brook. _This_ was more than any kitten could
stand, and Calico rebelled openly; she spat at her worried mamma! (Of
course, she did not know any better, for she was only a kitty.) The
water might be cold; but at least _it_ did not hurt, while her nose and
ears smarted sharply from her mother's well-meant scratches. Then Mother
Cat grew desperate and lost her head completely, circling round and
round her baby, now coaxing Calico to jump out--"As if I wouldn't if I
could!" thought the kitten--now crying piteously. After what seemed to
Tabby an age, but was really less than five minutes, the groom, who had
really been the innocent cause of all this trouble, sauntered in and put
an end to it by lifting Calico tenderly out. Gently he dried the little
trembling thing, and sat her down in her comfortable box once more,
where Mrs. Cat at once cuddled down close beside her. Suddenly spying
her sisters again, she made a fresh start only to be stopped by a
well-directed slap from her mother's swift paw. "M'you, M'you!" snapped
Mrs. Cat. "You just sit still for a while. I've had worry enough for one
day, and I _will_ not help you out again."

"I _don't_ want you to," sniffed Calico, rubbing her still smarting nose
thoughtfully.

Tabby sighed, as the kitten made yet another start for her sisters, but
wisely let her go.

"Did you _ever_?" she groaned; "but then, kittens will be kittens!"

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



A Feline Fantasy.


    "Oh, Maria?"
    "Tom?"
      "'Ria!"
    "Tom!"
      "'_R-r-ria_!"
          The two voices grew fervent, rose higher--
        Till their serenades sweet
          Interruption did meet
        From a bootjack that took a quick flyer.



A Night On.


"I've a very great longing for a sweet juicy robin; what do you say to
catching one or two, you old moon-gazer?"

Whitey gave Mr. Twinkletoes Black a playful chuck under the chin,
skipped gleefully across the moonlit roof and back, and sat down
sociably by him, before that leisurely pussy turned his head to look
scornfully at the youthful--I almost said "speaker," but as all of their
conversation is in cat language perhaps "mewer" would be more exact.

"You foolish kitten! Who ever caught a robin in December?"

"My _dear_ boy!"--Twinkletoes' tone made Whitey think he was anything but
a dear boy--"When you've lived three years as I have (Whitey was just
ten months old) you'll know December when you--er--_feel_ it! It's apt to
be cool, and snow--Ugh! Horrid stuff, it is; white--sticks to your feet
you know; wet!--" The fussy Mr. Black shook a dainty paw at the very
thought, while Whitey listened eagerly, so that the next time he would
know how December felt.

"There's one nice thing about it," added Twinkletoes: "the nights are
long, and one has time to sing--and sing! One could--"

"Why can't one, Twinky?" asked Whitey hopefully.

"Oh, we might try, but--er--well, bootjacks, you know, hair-brushes, old
shoes!--but it's very good exercise, this dodging."

"You said _singing_," corrected Whitey, rather puzzled. He didn't "know,"
but never having sung on roofs it was new and sounded thrilling. "Come
on," he urged; "let's!" They started in, and their voices rose into
awful sleep-destroying discords: "R-r-r-i-ah--M-m-r-r-riee--Mer-r-r-row!"
Louder and more banshee-like grew the noise till the expected missiles
began to arrive.

Twinkletoes Black was an expert dodger and skipped gracefully from place
to place, avoiding the brushes and bottles that dropped from the windows
of the tall apartment house next door.

Whitey had retired, silent, after the first old slipper landed heavily
on his tail; but he was admiring Mr. Black's prowess with his whole
heart. Nevertheless he was glad when the excitement was over with the
"song," and they settled down by the chimney once more. The crisp air
made him hungry, and again his thoughts turned birdward.

"Let's get some sparrows then," he said, as if there had been no
interruption since birds were spoken of. "The early bird, you know, and
it will be 'early' if we sit up much later. I never saw an early bird
myself, but I suppose there are such things. I prefer a morning nap
after these nights on. Haven't much use for _early_ birds, usually." (To
hear Whitey talk one would have thought he spent every night singing to
the moon--this was his first!)

"Not a bad idea, for a youngster," said Twinkletoes pleasantly.

The two edged a little nearer the warm bricks and waited, purring a
bumble-y duet to pass the time. "Just look at that moon!" sighed
Twinkletoes, still musically inclined. "Got whiskers or something,
hasn't it?" asked Whitey staring curiously at the illuminated
clock-face. Where he sat the moon was hidden by the chimney and
invisible to him.

"And it's sitting down on the tower!"

Stretching his neck excitedly that he might better see what made it act
so, he caught sight of the real moon and instantly subsided into the
meekest pussy that ever roamed a roof. "I--I don't understand December
moons very well," he apologized.

"So I see," Twinkletoes replied. "But how about your early birds? Hello!
Your _moon's whiskers_ say that it's after five o'clock, and that's not
early for birds. Now that I think of it, I don't believe they get up
till later--at least in December." Whitey was tired--this was the "last
straw." "_Early_ birds!" he snorted, "early fiddlesticks! after five
o'clock--just shows how much a cat may believe!" And he started home.
Mr. Twinkletoes followed lazily, observing calmly, "I think the early
milkman will be good enough for me!"

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



Great Panjandrum.


The cats had just been punished for trying to catch the canary and were
cross because of it.

On their way downstairs Topsy, without meaning to, brushed against
Pan--properly named Great Panjandrum because of his superior manner--who
promptly spat at her. As a return compliment, Topsy boxed his ears, then
scuttled off to the living-room.

Pan stalked into the library and choosing, cat-like, the one spot he
should have kept away from, curled up on a handsome book that was lying
open on the table and forgot his troubles in sleep. For some time Topsy
wandered aimlessly from room to room; then preferring Pan's society to
no society at all--she did not feel kindly towards human beings since
her late whipping--she leaped lightly on to the table and curled up near
him. For fully half an hour she sat idly with half-closed eyes, while
Pan slept on, a perfect picture of innocent slumber. Then his paws began
to jerk excitedly; his mouth twitched, and the tip of his tail waved
like a pennant in a stiff breeze. Topsy eyed him coldly.

"M'yow! m'yow-yow!" he gasped; his paws slipped from the book to the
table; and he awoke with a start.

"Pretty faces you've been making!" snapped Topsy. "And such talk--"

Pan seemed surprised; then he remembered that Topsy had had the worst of
the punishment and suddenly felt very forbearing. (He'd had a delightful
"cat-nap," and we all know how refreshing those are!)

"I dreamed--" he began; then paused impassively for questions.

"Guess you did," sniffed Topsy. "You acted like it!"

Pan looked grieved but remembered--it was _such_ a good nap he had!--that
when cats have trouble they are apt to be "catty."

"Dreamed"--he went on calmly--"that I had that yellow squalling thing on
the floor, and I was just going to put my paw on its soft feathers when
I awoke." He licked his chops dreamily at the thought.

"My!" sympathized Topsy, at last interested.

"Come to think of it, Tops, I'm hungry! And er-er--well, you know
Mistress doesn't always feed us heartily after--um--well--_after_, you
know."

Topsy bobbed the end of her tail understandingly, and Pan grew
confidential. "I know where's a dish of cream! It's down--"

The rest of the sentence was whispered so low that I really couldn't
tell you what it was; but Topsy understood, and the two hurried away as
noiselessly and gracefully,--yes, and as dignifiedly as only cats can
hurry.

The desired cream they found on a high shelf in the shed. They were
supposed never to enter this place, so Cook had thought it a safe spot
in which to set the cream.

A strong jump was needed to reach the shelf; but after several attempts
they managed it and lapped, lapped, lapped to their full content.

As they sat blissfully purring after this unusual treat they heard a
plaintive "Mew" from the ground close by, and peering down saw a strange
cat that had evidently entered through the open window, as they had
done. He looked hungry and wistful, while they had just had a delicious
meal and were correspondingly pleasant.

"Mrr-ow! Come on up; it's good!" called Pan.

Possibly hunger made the leap easier for this new-comer than for the
well-fed cats; possibly he was more agile than they, for with one spring
he landed by the saucer and dipping his head eagerly lapped long and
fast before he once raised his eyes. When he finished the pink tongue
was run out over his lips and whiskers, so that no delicious drop should
escape, and he heaved a satisfied sigh.

"Do you--ah--always have such dinners as this?" asked he.

Pan turned his head away and pretended to be interested in a black ant
that was crawling rapidly up the wall below him; he was a truthful pussy
and preferred to change the subject. The stranger was comfortable and
sat lazily waiting for the answer.

At that moment Cook went for the cream and seeing the cats started
angrily forward, shoo-ing and scat-ing with great vigour.

When after a wild exit the cats at last seated themselves up on a high
fence they paused a moment to get their breath again. Then the stranger
smiled--he actually _grinned_!

"I should judge you _don't_ always have such a dinner as that!" He spoke
pleasantly, but Pan looked sheepish.

"By Whiskers!" he muttered, his mind's eye still seeing Cook's vulgar,
flapping apron strings; "I should think not!"

"Thanks, just the same--_more_," said the visitor jumping down.

"Don't mention it," politely answered the host and hostess. "Come
again!"

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



An Autumn Frolic.


    One grey as dawn, one white as milk!
    With dainty paws, and eyes of flame,
    And thick coats soft as richest silk!

    They fly like wind, these pussies gay;
    Wheel madly round in dizzy game,
    Then sudden stop in whirling play.

    Up! Off! They follow breathlessly,
    With fawn-like grace, the glowing leaves
    That dance in farewell whirls of glee.

    The wind dies low; in dark'ning west
    The day's orb sets 'neath purpling clouds.
    At last the two cats pause, and rest.



Tabitha Tiger Reflects.


(_Tabitha Tiger._) Bless my claws and whiskers! but this suspense is
awful. Here I have been waiting for the last two hours behind this
horrid-smelling cheese, and no sign of a mouse yet. And it's just the
time for them, too.

I wonder why housekeepers expect us cats to keep the house free from
mice when they're away for the summer. No self-respecting cat can eat
mice morning, noon and night; and one would have to do so in order to
rid the house of them. Why, I should turn into a squeaking cheese-eater,
myself!

Strange place for Cook to leave cheese, strikes me--the kitchen table;
but it should make a fine hunting ground. If I'd only seen it before, I
needn't have wasted so much time in front of that hole up in the
attic--and I caught only three and a half mice during the whole week.

I suppose some boastful cats would call it four, but a first-class
mouser like myself doesn't have to stretch a tale (Tail! Good pun,
that--Ha! Ha!) to keep up her reputation, and that little Spring mouse
really had no more meat on than half a full-grown one.

Spring mice certainly are delicious if people only realized it--much
sweeter and juicier than Spring Chickens, and _tender_! My Furry Ear-tips!
It makes my mouth water to think of them! Their only drawback is their
drawing back. The best of them will never come out far enough from the
holes for

Gracious Cattails! What was that?

It _is_! There are his whiskers, now an eye--ear--Ah-h-h! _Now_ he's
coming! Yes, right over to this very table--I must keep still. Now down
so: close behind the cheese. It's a good thing I'm not a big cat.

Well, I never! That was a close squeak--I got that tail under just in
time! Pretty poor memory, I call it, to forget one's own tail. If that
mouse had seen--

What! There's another, and half way over here. The first one must be
close by the table leg, though I can't see him.

And still another just coming out of the hole! Claws and Whiskers! If my
heart beats like this I'll never on this table be able to jump
straight--never.

One more--_four_! Talk about your mouse hunting! Why my paws tremble so I
shall have regular "mouse-ague" in a minute.

They're all making for the cheese; I can hear their claws scampering up
the wood. One--two--three--where's the last? There's the fourth patter.
I _should_ get two, for they're close together and eating very intently.

_Now_ for it!

Dear, dear! What a noise that front door does make. Master Harold's
little voice, too--

Oh, my eyes and teeth! Why _need_ they have come just now? Those mice
heard it, too--they've stopped eating. Oh-h-h!

(Little boy bangs into kitchen and snatches Tabitha Tiger ecstatically
from table. Mice scatter back to hole.)

(_Tabitha Tiger_) Mr-r-r--owh! Sf-f-ft! Sf-f-ft! (_Scratch_, _scratch_.)

(_Little Boy_) Boo-hoo-hoo! (_Slap-slap._ _Boy runs away._)

(_Tabitha Tiger_) He spoiled the finest mouse-catch of the season, and I
_had_ to scratch him--a puss can't stand everything!

Gracious Cattails!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]



Dot's Beetles.


Since his fluffy kittenhood Dot has been afraid of beetles,
grasshoppers, crickets and, in fact, any large insect. That is rather
strange in a kitten, is it not? But he had one experience which I think
excuses his timidity.

It was on a warm summer morning that he and his twin--no, let us say
triplet--brother Dab (the three kittens were called Dot, Dab and Fluff,
for they were too tiny to toddle around under heavier names, their
mistress said) were lying sleepily in their favorite corner of the
piazza. To make sure he was missing nothing that a kitten should not
miss, Dot opened his drowsy eyes and looked around. Instantly the drowsy
look vanished and was replaced by one of intense interest.

For lo! crawling toward their corner was a many-legged, shiny black
thing with pinch-y, dangerous-looking horns! Dot did not altogether like
its looks; but curiosity was strong, and, calling to Dab, he started for
the intruder.

Keeping safely behind the more venturesome brother, Dab followed at a
slow trot.

"See-e-e! It's alive!" mewed Dot excitedly. "Let's play with it."

"Mee-_you_ try it first," squeaked Dab.

Dot cautiously extended a pink paw toward the beetle; it came steadily
on, and the paw was hastily withdrawn. Meanwhile Dab, too, had lifted a
paw to make a test of the small, awesome stranger, but thought better of
it. How dare he venture when Dot would not?

As the kittens hesitated, a wasp that had been hovering near alighted on
Dot's furry head and rested there for an instant. It would not have
harmed him, had not the beetle become alarmed at a sudden spat from Dab,
and blundered hurriedly away in another direction. This happened to be
directly at Dot, for whose tottering courage the sudden charge was too
much! He sprang to one side, in his turn startling the wasp which
promptly stung him.

With a pained cry the little kitten dashed wildly from the verandah, and
it was several days before he could be persuaded to go on it again--the
beetle had been on the piazza!

As he had not seen or felt the wasp until it stung him, his kitten mind
could only think that somehow the awful black thing had hurt him
cruelly. No more piazzas with painful "black things" for him, thank you!
Its name he heard afterward from his mistress.

Now the kittens are almost full-grown cats, and the ground is covered
with snow. Dot dislikes the snowflakes, but he prefers them to beetles,
and the beetles are gone! But even yet he does not quite forget his baby
terror.

One evening shortly before Christmas Mistress Dorothy went in to where
her pets sat basking in the warmth of the kitchen stove, carrying with
her their usual supply of warm milk. The cats were on their feet at
once, while the girl mischievously held the milk just beyond their
reach. Mewing softly beneath their breath they were surely trying to say
"please!" just as politely as they could.

Still the milk was withheld, and they grew restless; they shifted from
one foot to another working their claws madly in and out; they purred
sonorously and walked rapidly around one another. They rubbed sides so
vigorously as almost to knock each other over but never forgot to keep
an anxious eye toward the coveted supper.

Dorothy at last relented--as they knew she would!--and, stopping to set
the dish down, a sprig of holly dropped from her belt, just as Dot,
turning, gave a particularly ecstatic hump to his back.

Suddenly his tail bushed out like a bolster, his eyes fairly bulged, and
he jumped clean off the floor. In front of him was the holly which a
quick puff of air through the open door had blown scratching unevenly
over the floor directly at poor Dot.

"Sft-sft-ft-sft! Beetle!" spat the terrified pussy. He was far too
scared to run--fairly stiff with fright, for this unknown thing
might--it might--_anything_!

Laughing so heartily that she was almost helpless, Dorothy snatched up
the offending branch and again placed it at her waist. Then Dot saw his
mistake, and as his mistress seated herself he sprang upon her lap and
commenced to play with the bright berries--very brave he was, since he
understood!

Dorothy let him pretend he had been playing before; but she really knew
that he hadn't been--just as well as you and I know.


THE BOOK

OF THE

CAT



[Illustration]





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