Shot at Black Cat; Never Touched It.
Daniel Taylor’s notion of the proper manner for a black cat to conduct itself is to walk ever and anon in a straight line. If it turns in either direction, he is firmly convinced that it should be shot at sunrise, nightfall, or whenever the turn is made, and to show that he lives up to his convictions, he took a shot at a cat shortly before the milkman appeared on his rounds, missed it, and, about twelve hours later, paid twenty-five dollars for the error in the city court. If he had hit the cat, he says, it would have cost him nothing.
When Taylor was a year and a half old, he was taking a turn about the nursery, when a large cat, blue-black, walked in front of him. It stopped, he stumbled, and it took five neighbors to regain his teething ring, which he lost control of on the downward trip. From that day until one afternoon, at fourteen minutes after three, he has believed that a cat passing in front of him means hard luck. Now, however, he knows it.
“What have you to say?” asked the court, when Taylor was arraigned, charged with missing the cat.
“If I repeated what I have in my mind,” replied Taylor, “I would be sent to Siberia. I missed that pestiferous cat, and I am sorry for it. I am a good citizen, but a poor marksman, and if I were not, I would be elsewhere now. If I ever lay hands on that blamed cat, your excellency, I’ll manipulate her nine lives with éclat and finish. I’ll count them over one by one, and——”
“You talk too much,” said the court.
“Perhaps,” answered Mr. Taylor; “but I have the advantage of knowing what I am talking about. I know that when a black cat passes in front of me, it means[{59}] hard luck, and, unless I kill it, misfortune will befall me. I know——”
“I fine you twenty-five dollars,” said the court.
“I need say no more,” remarked Taylor, counting the money out. “This proves everything.”
Mr. Taylor lives in Pittsburgh, Pa.