Dixie Kitten

by Eva March Tappan

Of course the stranger cats had noticed what was going on, and sometimes they tried to come in and get a taste of the good things that smelled so tempting; but this Dixie would never permit. She did not growl or spit, but if any other kitten dared to take bite or sup from her dish, then a resolute black paw shot out quick as an arrow and struck the intruder with a hard little cuff that sent her scampering out of the door. Once or twice some one of the stranger cats slipped in first and emptied the saucer. Then Dixie was so angry that she dashed out of doors like a little black whirlwind, ran up the path toward the gate, and sat down with her back to the house. She swished her tail angrily and occasionally looked back over her shoulder reproachfully at Lady and Somebody Else, who had permitted such cruel things to happen.

Room after room, Dixie went over the house. She examined every foot of the cellar, for she hoped to find a mouse or two there. Early one morning she ventured upstairs for the first time. It was all new and strange and quiet, and Lady was nowhere to be seen. Dixie gave a faint timid mew, which meant, “I am lonesome and frightened. Lady, where are you?” Lady called, “Come, Dixie,” and Dixie sprang upon the great bed, the happiest little cat in the city. When Mistress came in, she often saw her kitten lying on the sofa or in Lady’s lap, or running about from one room to another, and she said, “You know she is only a barn cat, and she has never been taught how to behave. She may break things or get into the food.” But Dixie had pretty clear notions in her small head of how kittens should act, and she was a charming little visitor. Of course she made a few mistakes. One day Somebody Else found her on a shelf in the pantry having a fine time with a dish of corn. Dixie glanced at her with a look that seemed to say, “Of course this is all right, isn’t it?” and went on eating. Somebody Else set her down on the floor, saying, “No, Dixie, you must not touch that”; and Dixie understood that, no matter how tempting food might look, she must not touch it unless it was given to her. She learned her lesson so well that never again did she meddle with anything eatable, not even when she was shut into the storeroom by mistake one day and left there for half an hour. Here were corn and fish and milk, all on low shelves in plain view, and it was dinner-time; but not one mouthful did she take. When People sat down to the table, Dixie curled herself up on a cushion as if this business of eating was a matter with which she had nothing to do. Just once she broke through her rule of good behavior. There were guests at the table. They were busy talking, and it must have seemed a long, long time for a hungry kitten to wait for her supper. One of the guests had just said, “How well your cat behaves at meal-times,” and Lady was replying, “Yes, she never pays the least attention to us when we are eating,” when, behold, an impatient little cat made one bound to the sideboard and prepared for another to the table. This, however, was the only time that she ever did such a thing; and there are not many People who have not made at least one mistake.

Dixie’s Troubles

Dixie was very happy, but even the happiest little cat has her troubles, and Dixie had one great grief and disappointment. Every evening, just as she was having the most delightful nap that could be imagined, Lady began to straighten out the books and papers, push the chairs back, and fasten the windows. Dixie watched all this with her bright, round eyes, for she knew that the next thing would be, “Come, Dixie, time to go to bed”; and then she would be put out of the door and have to go back to the barn to sleep. It seemed very hard that while the soft cushion was to be there alone all night long, she could not be permitted to use it; but Lady always said, “No, Dixie, you must run home now”; and one night when it was snowing fast, Lady put on some rubber boots and carried her over to the hole in the barn door rather than let her lie on that warm cushion all night.

This, then, was Dixie’s one trouble, for a cat’s home is where her bed is, and Dixie did so want to make her home with Lady and not in that barn. The trouble became worse and worse, for Dixie was going to have some kittens of her own, and where should she make a cosy nest for them? She could not bear to have them in the barn, for she did not feel that she was a barn cat any longer, she was a house cat, even if she did have to go to the barn to sleep. In every pretty coaxing way that she knew she begged Lady to let her stay in the house. She picked out one corner after another that she thought would be just the place for baby kittens. One was on the padded cover of a shirt-waist box in Lady’s room. Another was in the deep drawer of an old-fashioned bureau that chanced to be left open a few minutes. Her favorite place, however, was in a big, round basket. She learned to push the cover off with her paw, and she would cuddle herself down in a little ring and look up at Lady pleadingly. “No, Dixie,” was always the answer to her begging, “you must not stay there.” She lay on the sofa much of the time. If Lady was near her, all was well; but when Lady went anywhere else, Dixie followed. When Lady sat down, Dixie seated herself directly in front of her, and made plaintive little moans and gazed straight up into her eyes so beseechingly that more than once Lady slipped out of sight and went away from the house rather than to have to say no again and again.

“She must think it is pretty hard,” said Somebody Else, “to be petted as long as everything goes smoothly, and then turned out of doors as soon as she is in trouble.”

“But,” replied Lady, “you must remember that she is not our cat. She is a dear little visitor, but she belongs to Master and Mistress, and we must not let her make this her home.”

Dixie seemed to understand that they were talking about her, and she pleaded more earnestly than ever. When Lady sat down upon the sofa, Dixie would snuggle up beside her as close as possible, she would touch Lady’s fingers with the tip of her tiny red tongue, she would purr and look up into Lady’s face more and more coaxingly every day. Still Lady said, “No, Dixie, the barn is your home, and you must make a nest there for your kittens.” She even carried Dixie over to the barn two or three times, but the poor little cat always hurried back again.