My friend only remained there for six weeks, when he changed his residence for a house he had taken only a few streets off, but when he left, that bonnie blue tabby trotted by his side all the way home, and it has not returned yet.
But there is no doubt pussy is extremely attached to her home; and nothing, I think, shows her warm-heartedness more, than her willingness to leave that home with a kind owner. A cat has so many home-ties, that we need not wonder at her unwillingness to change her residence. Custom has so endeared her to the old place, that she cannot all at once like the new. She knows every hole and corner of it, knows every mouse-walk, the cupboards, the cosy nooks for a quiet snooze, and the places where she may hide when hiding becomes a necessity, she is acquainted with the manner of egress and ingress, and is familiar with every sound, so that her rest is undisturbed by night, and her finely-strung nervous system not put on the rack by day. Out of doors, too, everything about the old place is familiar, the trees on which the sparrows perch, the field where she often finds an egg, the distant meadow corner where the rabbits play, and the path that leads thereto, which she can traverse unseen and free from danger, either from farmers’ dogs or boys with stones, and above all, the dear old trysting place, where she knows she can always meet her lovers in the moonlight. But if she changes her quarters, all this knowledge has to be learned over again. New dangers have to be encountered, fresh troubles, and bother of every description. Her new residence, and everything about and around it, has to be thoroughly surveyed, mentally mapped out, and got by heart before she can feel anything like at home. So that if pussy has not the love of a kind human friend, to counterbalance all her trials, it is no wonder she will do anything or walk any length, to get back to the place where she was so happy. And when she goes back, what does she find?
“A change,
Faces and footsteps and all things strange.”
She is treated as a stray cat, and sent adrift every time she dares to put her unhappy nose inside the door. But, nevertheless, she will hang about her old home for days and weeks, until, impelled by the pangs of hunger, she casts aside the mantle of virtue, becomes a thief, and revenges herself on the new inhabitant’s pigeons, rabbits, and chickens. Facilis descensus Averni. Having once robbed a roost, she would rob a church; so she takes to thieving as a means of subsistence. The way of the transgressor is hard: her coat becomes dry and hard, her ribs stick out; she loses all respect for her personal appearance, frequents low neighbourhoods, keeps low company, makes night “hideous with her howling,” and in a general way does everything she can to earn for herself and the whole cat community a bad name; and finally, in a few months—if not sooner by accident—succumbs to disease and dies on a dunghill.
It is with a feeling of deep regret, that even the best-treated cat bids farewell to a place, which has so long been her home. You shall often see poor pussy, after all the furniture and fixings have been packed in the vans, run back and take a walk all round the empty desolate chambers, then return and submit herself to be quietly taken off to her new abode. On arriving there, her very first act will be to make a tour of inspection, through every room and corner of the house; she will then count the members of the family, and if all she loves are present, if she gets a drink of milk, and especially if there be a good fire, she will at once settle down and begin to sing.
Some time ago, a pussy of my acquaintance was condemned to death for taking a slight liberty with the canary—in fact, she ate him. It was certainly very thoughtless of poor puss; however she suffered for it, although not to the extent that was intended. She was confined in a sack with a large stone, and sunk in the adjoining river. Nothing more was seen or heard of pussy—which, under the circumstances, wasn’t considered at all surprising—for a fortnight, when one evening she walked in, and laid herself down before the fire as if nothing had happened. Wherever she had been, the cat had lived well, for she was both plump and sleek. Probably, on escaping from the river, she had thought that a two weeks’ holiday in the woods would both benefit her health, after treatment so rough, and give time for the evil impression which her crime had induced to wear off. If so, she was right; for she was received with open arms, and freely forgiven, and is still alive and well.
A cat will travel almost incredible distances to regain her home.
I know of a cat that, along with her three kittens, was sent in a hamper a long journey across country, to a mill, where it was intended she should mount guard over the rats. Pussy, however, had no such intention; and next morning, to the great surprise of the inmates, she was found sitting at her own door with one kitten beside her. She disappeared that same evening, and next morning returned with another kitten. In the same manner, next night she brought home the third and last, and so settled quietly down to rear her family. This cat, I think, showed great determination, and a knowledge of country that would have pleased Von Moltke himself.
Dozens of such anecdotes might be given, but I will only trouble the reader with one more. There is a river in Scotland called the Spey; that I suppose is no news. You will also know that this river is celebrated for two things—salmon and celerity, it being the most rapid river in the kingdom. Near this river, on one side, is the farm of Dandilieth; and on the other, but four miles distant, stands the dwelling-house of Knockan. Once upon a time, then, the tenants of Dandilieth were removing to Knockan; and after the household furniture was packed on the carts, a search was made for the household cat. She was found in a corner of the empty house, on some straw, faithfully nursing her family of three blind kittens. A bed was made for her in the lap of one of the children; and in due time all arrived safe at Knockan, and pussy and her family were duly installed in the new house. But pussy was not happy. She longed for her old home at Dandilieth; and to think, with her, was to act; and this she did to some purpose, for on the farmer returning next day to his old place for the purpose of conveying home the farm implements, he was astonished to find the cat in her old corner, and the three kittens safe beside her. Now, as the nearest bridge is twenty miles distant, it is quite evident that pussy must have swum the Spey five times in a single night (three times with a kitten in her mouth), to say nothing of the long journeys backwards and forwards between the two farms.
Although of a nature not so demonstrative as that of the dog, still a cat is capable of loving its master or mistress with a love equally strong, if not stronger. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” may certainly be said with regard to pussy.