Chapter Eleven.
Tricks and Training.
Before going on to speak of the training of youthful pussy, there is one subject which deserves a word or two at least—namely, the humane destruction of cats, when such destruction becomes necessary.
Kittens, at least, people have often to get rid of, or the whole world would be peopled with cats, and that would hardly do. Although I am no advocate for the rash and hasty condemnation of the sickest cat that ever is, still, I must confess that, at times, to destroy a cat is to be merciful to it.
Never give kittens poison, it is cruel in the extreme; you might chloroform them to death, but one doesn’t like to waste much time in taking life, if merely a kitten’s; the pail is always handy, and the poor wee things don’t really suffer much if you do it properly. Always sink them, and keep the pail for three hours, after which bury them at once. I’ll give you an example of the wrong way of doing things. Miss M—n, who lived not a stone’s throw from where I now write, and who is an old maid (and may a merciful Providence keep her so!), was changing her residence last month, and at the last moment thought she couldn’t be bothered with more than one of her kittens—little Persian beauties, whom she had let live a whole month—so one was snatched from its mother’s arms, and pitched carelessly into a pail of water. She never heeded its cries, nor the mother’s piteous appeal to save her offspring; so presently kitty was dead, to all appearance, and the bucket was emptied over the wall into an adjoining field. This was at eleven o’clock in the morning, and late that evening some boys, in passing, were attracted to the spot by plaintive mews, and there they found the kitten crawling in the grass, with sadly swollen body and inflamed mouth. The boys drowned and buried it, being more humane than old maid M—n.
If necessity, then, compels you to part by death with an old cat, and probably an old friend and favourite, I do not advise you to have her drowned. It is cruel in many ways; there is the catching of her, the putting of her into the sack with the stone, and the march to the waterside, the cat knowing all the while what is to happen, and that her mistress ordered her death. Do not drown her. If there is any one you can really trust, that you are sure knows the difference between a gun and a washing-stick, by all means have her shot. It is over in a moment. The next best plan is to administer morphia. Don’t grudge her a good dose—five or even ten grains. Cats are wonderfully tenacious of life, but they can’t stand that. Make the morphia into a pill, with a little of the extract of liquorice, and force it down the throat. Pussy will sleep the sleep that knows no waking, and you will have the satisfaction of knowing she did not suffer.
Apart from teaching a cat tricks, which tend to amuse children or older folks, there is a training which every pussy needs when young—viz, to be cleanly and honest. For some weeks after the kitten has been taken from its mother, and gone to its new abode, a flower-pot saucer filled with sand, or, what is better, a small box of garden mould, must be placed in a particular corner of the room, and the kitten taught to go there; two or three lessons are usually sufficient. By degrees wean her from the box, and teach her to go out of doors.