“At Artea, in the province of Orissa, a cobra had his den under a mulberry-tree, near a garden walk. One day our English tabby cat, Beda, had been missing with all her kits for some hours. She was found at the foot of the mulberry-tree, teaching her children to pat the cobra on the head, every time he popped it out. When the head was protruded too far, a stroke from puss herself, caused its speedy withdrawal. Thinking the game dangerous, the cobra, which measured two inches in diameter, was dug out and killed. We were afterwards told by the natives, that no snake will kill a cat, as they dislike the fur.”
Cats are like dogs, and generally have a favourite among the litter, the handsomest. Once when Beda was nursing in India, a wild cat sprang in by the open window, and tried to seize the kittens. Beda made off with her pet, and the wild cat was beaten out. Beda, however, forgot where she had hidden the favourite, nor would she be consoled with the other members of her family. A search was accordingly made, and the pet kitten at last found on a sofa, in an adjoining bungalo.
This lady’s cat never attempted to touch the canary, nor indeed any birds about the place.
CHAPTER IX.
THE TWO “MUFFIES.”—A TALE.
While I was yet a little school-boy, there came about my father’s house and premises a plague of rats. They came in their thousands, as if summoned by the trumpet-tones of a rodentine Bradlaugh or Odger. They took the farm-yard and outhouses by storm, laid siege to the dwelling-house, and, from the thoroughly business-like manner they conducted their operations, and went into winter quarters, it was quite evident they meditated a stay of some duration. Sappers and miners, or royal engineers, were employed to drive tunnels and galleries under every floor, with passages leading to the grain-lofts above. Foraging parties were appointed to every stack of corn and rick of hay. The henhouse was laid under contribution to furnish eggs and feathers, and black-mail was levied from the very cows. The eaves of the well-thatched barns and byres were apportioned to their wives, their aged, and infirm, while the poor sparrows were dislodged from their comfortable, well-lined nests to make room for little naked baby rats; and so effectually was every department worked, and so well did every branch of the service do its duty, that Cardwell himself, nay, even Bismarck, Moltke & Co., could not have suggested anything in the way of improvement.
At all these doings my honest father looked very blue, and employed his time principally in expending various sums of money in vermin-killers, and in reading works on toxicology. The result of his study was, that many tempting morsels and savoury tit-bits were placed in convenient corners, for the benefit of the invaders. It seemed indeed for their benefit: they didn’t care a straw for tartar-emetic, appeared to get fat on arsenic, while strychnia only strengthened their nervous systems, and morphia made them fierce.
Now Gibbie was the house cat, a very large and beautiful red tabby. In his prime he had been a perfect Nimrod of the feline race. Scorning such feeble game as the domestic mouse, his joy was to ramble free and unfettered among the woods and forests, by the loneliest spots at the river’s brink, and among the mountains and rocks; often prolonging his hunting excursions for days together, but never returning without a leveret or fine young rabbit. These fruits of the chase he did not always bring home, but often presented to his various human friends in the adjoining village; for Gibbie was known far and near, and even his lordship’s surly old gamekeeper, though he raised his gun at the sight of the cat, forbore to fire when he saw who the bold trespasser was. Many a rare and beautiful bird did Gibbie carry home alive, among others, I remember, a beautiful specimen of the corn-crake; nor can I forget pussie’s manifest disgust, when the bird was allowed to fly away. Just two days after, he brought home a crow, but this time the head was wanting. By the banks of the Denburn he one day fought and slew a large pole-cat; this he carefully skinned, and dragged home. Gibbie was as well-known in the country-side as the witch-wife, or the pack-merchant, and more respected than either; and people often came to our house to beg for “ae nicht o’ Gibbie,” as “the rottens (rats) at their town (farm) were gettin’ raither thrang and cheeky.”