Dixie Kitten

by Eva March Tappan

Dixie and the Cottage

Lady was always kind to Dixie when they were under the trees together, but she had a way of going into the house and closing the door which the kitten thought was rather unfriendly. Some weeks passed; then, as Lady turned to close the door one morning, she saw a round black face with two shining yellow eyes pushing in shyly. “I don’t know about this, kitty,” said Lady; but Somebody Else said, “Oh, let her come in just a minute”; and Lady held the door ajar. The kitten crept in, but very timidly, for she had not forgotten that when she had run into a house before, she had been sent out at once. She did not venture very far, but she did put her little feet on a soft rug, and in a room beyond she saw cushions and a sofa that she thought would be a most delightful place for a kitten to lie down and have a nap. She took only one look, then she ran back to the door and slipped out, for she did not know what might happen if she stayed longer.

Every day the kitten became a little less timid, though she was still easily startled by anything that was new to her. All cats like to be rubbed gently under the chin; but when Lady first rubbed her there, right over her dainty bit of white fur that looked so like lace, the kitten drew her head away and looked back over her shoulder at Lady’s hand as if it was something she had never seen before and she did not know what strange things it might do. It was not long, however, before she learned that nothing Lady did would ever hurt her. She had now grown brave enough to follow Lady about under the trees and among the grapevines and roses and syringas; and when Lady stooped to pick a spray of forget-me-nots, she was very likely to feel a smooth black furry head pushed under her hand, for the wild little kitten who had made up her mind never to go near People was fast learning that to have a good friend among them was the best thing in all a cat’s little world.

Before long Lady said to the kitten, “Little cat, you really must have a name. Some dear friends of mine once had a pretty cat whose name was Dixie, and I am going to call you Dixie. Do you like it?” The kitten made no answer, for a fly was creeping slowly up the gate-post, and she was getting ready to jump for it; but it was only a short time before she knew her name as well as anybody. The other kittens would come if any one called “Kitty, Kitty,” but this one paid no attention to any calling unless she heard some one say “Dixie.”

So it was that Dixie found a friend and a name. Mothercat had watched this new friendship, and she did not seem to disapprove of it; but she never allowed Lady to come near herself. People had never been unkind to her, but still she was afraid of them. Lady always believed that if she had lived longer, she would have become friendly; but about this time Mothercat got a bone in her throat and could not get it out. Master and Mistress both tried their best to help her; but she was so wild and frightened that she would not let them do much for her, and before long Mothercat was dead.

All this time Mothercat and Dixie had been going to the barn for their food, and as the weather grew colder, they were finally obliged to go there to sleep. The stranger cats had taken the best places, of course, but they made warm nests for themselves and were not uncomfortable. After Mothercat died, Dixie hated to go to the barn. The stranger cats looked upon it as their home, and treated Dixie as if she were the stranger and had no right to come there. Sometimes they growled at her, and although she was a stout-hearted little fighter and was not one bit afraid of them, it was not at all pleasant to have to eat and sleep with cats who did not want her. She began to do some more thinking in her wise little head. She did not like the barn, and she did like Lady’s cottage. There were no other kittens in the cottage, and there was plenty of room; but would Lady let her come? She had followed Lady about the lawn, they had sat on the piazza together, and once or twice she had jumped into Lady’s lap. Lady had always seemed glad to see her, but had never invited her into the house. Nevertheless, Dixie meant to see what could be done.

The result of all this thinking was that one day, when there was a remarkably good smell coming from Lady’s kitchen, a little black nose was stretched up to the partly open door and a little red mouth was opened wide. Dixie seldom mewed, but when other cats would have mewed, she only opened her mouth appealingly. “Well, isn’t that cunning!” cried Somebody Else. “Dixie has come to dinner.” “Don’t feed her,” said Lady; “she belongs to Master and Mistress. She must understand that she can come to visit, but that the barn is her home.” Lady was called away just then. If she had not been, I am afraid that before long she would have done just what Somebody Else did, that is, cut off a nice bit of lamb and put it into the tiny red mouth.

So it went on day after day. At first Lady said firmly, “Somebody Else, you must not feed that cat.” After a while she said, “I am afraid it will make trouble if you keep feeding the kitten.” Then she said, “Somebody Else, we really ought not to feed Dixie”; and before long she came to the kitchen after every meal to make sure that there was a saucer of something good set down on the floor. At length matters actually came to the point where she said one day, “Somebody Else, we’ll have those oysters fried instead of scalloped; Dixie likes them much better fried.”

Dixie was now a happy little cat. She perched herself on the piazza railing and ran up the apple trees and played with the beetles and grasshoppers as much as ever she chose. When she wanted to come into the house, she jumped up on the sill of the piazza window, and there was always some one ready to let her in. When she ate her dinner, no other cat was there to growl at her, for was she not the one and only kitten of the house?