A lady tells me that when she is writing, her cat will sometimes come and plant herself right in the way, and when gently pushed off, she suddenly loses her temper, and pitches the writing materials right and left on to the floor.
The following anecdote is highly illustrative of the kind and quantity of pussy’s revenge:—
“Now for the story of the cat; she was a lovely black and white Kâbul cat (the same as Persian) with hair like floss silk, as long as one’s finger; and as wise—as a great many human beings. She had a great dislike to roast mutton cold, and when I had nothing else to offer her, her resentment was most marked: she refused my caresses, and walked straight off to my dressing-room, where on the top of the chest of drawers stood my bonnet-box. She jumped up and administered slaps to the box, until it fell on the floor, when she would come away at once, her revenge being gratified. This occurred on several occasions, and only when she was offered a cold mutton dinner. Was not the knowledge of what would distress my feminine feelings a wonderful piece of intelligence? We quite looked out for it after the first few times, and would watch her walking off to my room, and then in a minute or two there would be ‘bump, bump,’ and my husband would say, ‘There goes your bonnet!’” (See [Note V], Addenda.)
I only know one instance of what might be called revenge proper. It was a large black cat of the name of Imp. The poor fellow was exceedingly ill-used by the servant maid, who used to beat him on every occasion possible. Imp’s dislike to the girl was very great, although he evidently was afraid to attack her, but one day this servant was coming downstairs with a tray of dishes, and seeing both her hands full, Imp thought he ought not to miss such a golden opportunity for retaliation. He accordingly flew at her, and scratched both her arms and face severely. So we see that cats, although gentle and forgiving in the extreme to those who love them, do not easily forget an injury from the hands of a stranger or cat-hater. (See [Note W], Addenda.)
The reader must have often heard that cats seem to possess some wonderful instinct which enables them to predict certain kinds of coming calamities,—such as earthquakes, and different sorts of explosion. Personally, I know one instance of this, although I cannot explain it, viz., our ship’s cat taking to the rigging and sitting on the main-truck before our vessel was discovered to be on fire. Another I have from my grandfather—an officer in the 1st Royals at the time of the last Anglo-Franco war. My grandmother was bending down, taking something from a chest on the floor, when suddenly the whole window was blown to splinters—dust almost—around her, with the thunder of some dreadful explosion. It was a transport that had entered the harbour—Kiel, I think—some days before, laden with war munitions, and which had blown up with all hands. But it was remarked by every one on the quay, that the ship’s cat had been sitting all the morning of the explosion, on the vessel’s main-truck.
Cats are sometimes very fond of horses. I know an instance of this where the stable-cat was very much attached to a certain horse, and that animal evidently reciprocated the cat’s kindly feelings. And Pussy used to stand quietly, and allow the horse to lick her fur the wrong way, and indeed seemed to enjoy it. (See [Note G], Addenda.)
We all know how proud Miss Puss is of her song. Barring a certain drowsy monotony, which acts like a narcotic both on herself and kittens, and at times even on human beings, there isn’t much melody in it, however. This power of singing becomes lost in sickness, and also in extreme old age. I know of a cat, of very advanced years, that had given up singing for many a day, until a kitten—a famous musician in its way—came to reside at her house. Then poor old Pussy tried hard to get out a bar or two, and her efforts to succeed were quite ludicrous. Being laughed at she flew into a passion, and put her spite out on the happy little kitten. The more this spirited pussy was thrashed however, the louder it sang; so the old cat left the room in disgust.