“I witnessed, only last week,” says a young lady, “while residing with my married sister, down in Kent, an instance of great patience and endurance in a cat. A Dandie Dinmont dog was dragging her round and round the garden walks by the tail, and instead of being annoyed, pussy seemed really to enjoy it.”—(See [Note G], Addenda.)
Cats know as well as a human beings, that, when you are examining and treating their hurts—whether inflicted by traps or stones—you mean to do them good. Cats, even strange cats, often lick my hands when I am probing a wound and inflicting the most severe pain on them.
Cats always show gratitude by licking your hand; it is the greatest compliment a cat can pay you, for they are not so ready as dogs, to sow their kisses and caresses broad-cast.
I was amused the other day, at seeing the care and attention a little girl was bestowing on a pet cat. Tom had been out all night, and came in next day on three legs; the one he carried was wounded, bruised, and much swollen, and Tom himself looked generally seedy and out of sorts. Now, had it been a boy instead of a girl, he would, in all probability, have done nothing useful. But females are always practical; and this embryo Miss Nightingale, after having a good cry, set about at once to put matters straight for poor Tom. She bathed the leg in warm water, and encircled it with a large poultice. Then she rolled him in an old shawl, and put him to bed in a basket. Tom kept his bed for ten days, during which time, she fed him from a plate, not allowing him to get up; and every time the poultice was changed, the cat licked her hand in evident gratitude. In fact, Tom made the best of patients, being more like a sincere Christian than anything else; and his little nurse was finally rewarded, by having her pet gambolling around her as usual.
A cat, some time ago, received a charge of ragged shot in his shoulder. He fainted from loss of blood, and afterwards had high fever, just as a human being would have done, under like circumstances. The greater portion of the shot was extracted, or worked out in the process of healing; one portion, however, pussy carried to his grave with him. During the painful process of having his wounds probed for shot, pussy never even groaned. (See [Note H], Addenda.)
But it is in long and severe illnesses that pussy’s patience is best exemplified.
A poor cat, many years ago, took a severe illness—jaundice. He was a fine large Tom cat, of the name of Tacket, and a very great pet; but in a short time he got reduced to a mere bag of bones; his fine fur came out in parts, and in parts hung about him like tassels. So pitiful an object looked he, that his master and mistress had the sin of keeping him alive forcibly pointed out to them by their friends. Indeed, he was now so weak as to be unable to move from his bed by the kitchen fire. On the 10th day, when he was at his very worst, a little raw meat was given him; and, his head being supported, he managed to swallow it. This was the turning point of his illness; he began to rally, and soon got well, and plump, and sleek; and the other day died at the age of twelve. But it was a treat to see how patiently poor Tacket bore his illness. Every morning, when his master went to see him, although he could not rise, he tried to sing. But the power of purring left him as he got weaker; on the 9th day he could just sing one bar, and on the 10th day only one note. This cat had a great dislike, for months afterwards, to milk in any shape or form; from having been continually dosed with it while sick, he used positively to shiver at the sight of it. (See [Note I], Addenda.)
But I have, I believe, said enough to prove pussy’s claim to the virtues of both patience and gratitude.
ANGORA.
First Prize—Owned by Miss M. Armitage.