London Labour and the London Poor, Vol. 3

by Henry Mayhew

“The cats and the birds are very good friends indeed; they’ll perch on her back, and I’ve even seen them come on her head and pick up the bits of dirt as you’ll generally find in a cat’s head. I’ve tried a very curious experiment with cats and birds. I’ve introduced a strange cat into my cage, and instantly she gets into the cage she gets frightened, and looks round for a moment, and then she’ll make a dart upon almost the first thing that is facing her. If it’s the owl, monkey, small birds, or any thing, she’ll fly at it. It’s in general then that the monkey is the greatest enemy to the strange cat of anything in the cage. He’ll go and bite her tail, but he won’t face her. Then the other cats will be all with their hairs up and their tails swelled up to fly at the stranger, but then I generally takes her out, or else there would be a fight. All the rats will be on the look-out and run away from the strange cat, and the little birds fly to the top of the cage, fluttering and chirriping with fear.

“The hawk I had a good deal of difficulty with to make him live happily with the small birds. When training a hawk, I always put him in with the large things first, and after he’s accustomed to them, then I introduce smaller birds. He’s always excited when he first comes amongst the smaller birds. I find Mr. Monkey is always the guard, as he doesn’t hurt them. When he sees the hawk fluttering and driving about after the small birds, Mr. Monkey will go and pat him, as much as to say, ‘You mustn’t hurt them,’ and also to take his attention off. After Mr. Hawk has been in the cage four, five, or six different times in training, the starlings gets accustomed to him, and will perch alongside of him; and it’s as common as possible to see the starlings, when the hawk was feeding, go and eat off the same raw meat, and actually perch on his back and pick the bits off his bill as he is eating them.

“A magpie in a cage has as much as he can do to look after himself to keep his tail all right. It’s a bird that is very scared, and here and there and everywhere, always flying about the cage. His time is taken up keeping out of Mr. Monkey’s way. It’s very rarely you see Mr. Monkey interfere with him. A magpie will pitch upon something smaller than himself, such as pigeons, which is inoffensive, or starlings, as is weaker; but he never attempts to tackle anything as is likely to be stronger than himself. He fights shy of the big animals.

“A good jackdaw, well trained to a happy family, is the life of the cage next to the monkey. He’s at all the roguishness and mischief that it is possible for a man to be at. If he sees a cat or a dog, or anything asleep and quiet, he’ll perch on its head, and peck away to rouse it. He’s very fond of pitching on the top of the cat and turning the fur over, or pecking at the ears, till the cat turns round, and then he’s off. If there’s a rat in his way, he’ll peck at its nose till it turns round, and then peck at its tail. If Mr. Rat gets spiteful he’ll fly to the perches for it, and then hollow out Jack Daw, as much as to say, ‘I had the best of you.’ The people are very fond of the jackdaw, too, and they like putting their fingers to the wires, and Jack’ll peck them. He’s very fond of stealing things and hiding them. He’ll take the halfpence and conceal them. He looks round, as if seeing whether he was watched, and go off to some sly corner where there is nothing near him. If he can get hold of any of the others’ food, that pleases him better than anything. My monkey and the jackdaw ain’t very good company. When Mr. Jack begins his fun, it is generally when Mr. Monkey is lying still, cuddling his best friend, and that’s one of the little dogs. If Mr. Monkey is lying down with his tail out, he’ll go and peck him hard on it, and he’ll hollow out ‘Jackdaw,’ and off he is to the perches. But Mr. Monkey will be after him, climbing after him, and he’s sure to catch hold of him at last, and then Mr. Jack is as good as his master, for he’ll hollow out to attract me, and I have to rattle my cane along the wires, to tell them to give over. Then, as sure as ever the monkey was gone, the jack would begin to crow.

“I had a heron once, and it died; I had it about fourteen months. The way as he met with his death was—he was all well in the cage, and standing about, when he took a false step, and fell, and lamed himself. I was obliged to leave him at home, and then he pined and died. He was the only bird I ever had, or the only creature that ever was in a happy-family cage, that could keep Mr. Monkey at bay. Mr. Monkey was afraid of him, for he would give such nips with his long bill that would snip a piece out of Mr. Monkey, and he soon finds out when he would get the worst of it. I fed my heron on flesh, though he liked fish best. It’s the most daintiest bird that is in its eating.

“The cotamundi was an animal as was civil and quiet with everything in the cage. But his propensity and habits for anything that was in a cage was a cat. It was always his bed-fellow; he’d fight for a cat; he’d bully the monkey for a cat. He and the cat were the best of friends, and they made common cause against Mr. Monkey. He was very fond of routing about the cage. He had very good teeth and rare claws, and a monkey will never stand against any thing as punishes him. Anything as is afraid of him he’ll bully.

“I had an old crow once, who was a great favourite of mine, and when he died I could almost have cried. To tell you what he could do is a’most too much for me to say, for it was everything he was capable of. He would never stand to fight; always run away and hollow. He and the jackdaw was two birds as always kept apart from each other: they was both of a trade, and couldn’t agree. He was very fond of getting on a perch next to any other bird—an owl, for instance—and then he’d pretend to be looking at nothing, and then suddenly peck at the feet of his neighbour on the sly, and then try and look innocent. After a time the other bird would turn round on him, and then he was off, screaming ‘Caw’ at the top of his beak, as I may say. He was a general favourite with everybody. It’s a curious thing, but I never know a crow, or a jackdaw either, to be hungry, but what they’d come and ask for food by hollowing out the same as in their wild state. Mine was a carrion crow, and eat flesh. At feeding-time he’d always pick out the biggest pieces he could, or three or four of them, if he could lay hold of them in his beak, and then he’d be off to a corner and eat what he could and then hide the remainder, and go and fetch it out as he felt hungry again. He knew me perfectly well, and would come and perch on my shoulder, and peck me over the finger, and look at me and make his noise. As soon as he see me going to fetch the food he would, if he was loose in the court where I lived in, run to me directly, but not at other times. He was a knowing fellow. I had him about one year and nine months. I used to call him the pantaloon to Mr. Monkey’s clown, and they was always at their pantomime tricks. Once an old woman came down our court when he was loose, and he cut after her and pecked at her naked feet, and she was so frightened she fell down. Then off he went, ‘caw, caw,’ as pleased as he could be. He always followed the children, picking at their heels. Nothing delighted him so much as all the roguishness and mischief as he could get into.

“For finding a happy family in good order, with 2 monkeys, 3 cats, 2 dogs, 16 rats, 6 starlings, 2 hawks, jackdaw, 3 owls, magpie, 2 guinea pigs, one rabbit, will take about 1s. 4d. a-day. I buy leg of beef for the birds, about 1½lb., and the dogs have two pen’orth of proper dogs’ meat; and there are apples and nuts for the monkey, about one pen’orth, and then there’s corn of different kinds, and seeds and sopped bread for the rats, and hay and sand-dust for the birds. It all tells up, and comes to about 1s. 4d. a-day.

“There are two happy families in London town, including my own. I don’t know where the other man stands, for he moves about. Now I like going to one place, where I gets known. It isn’t a living for any man now. I wouldn’t stick to it if I could get any work to do; and yet it’s an ingenious exhibition and ought to be patronized. People will come and stand round for hours, and never give a penny. Even very respectable people will come up, and as soon as ever I hand the cup to them, they’ll be off about their business. There are some gentlemen who give me regularly a penny or twopence a-week. I could mention several professional actors who do that to me. I make the most money when the monkey is at his tricks, for then they want to stop and see him at his fun, and I keep asking them for money, and do it so often, that at last they are obliged to give something.

“My cage has wire-work all round, and blinds to pull down when I change my pitch. There are springs under the cage to save the jolting over the stones.