The Greek monks of the Island of Cyprus used to train the Cats to hunt and kill the serpents with which they were plagued. In Sicily the Cat is sacred to Saint Martha, and whoever, either by design or accident, kills one, it is believed, undergoes seven years of punishment. In Hungary they believe that a Cat must necessarily be a good mouser, and she is highly prized there for her inestimable qualities.
[VII.]
SOME REMARKABLE TRUE STORIES.
The delicate movement, characteristic reserve and native modesty of the Cat may account for the supposition of the ignorant and unappreciative that Pussy is stupid. This foolish supposition has been refuted by innumerable instances of her intelligence, which, in many cases on record and thoroughly authenticated, are marvelous in the extreme. I will not delve into ancient history for proofs of the astonishing intelligence of the Cat and relate what is already patent to the world, but will give some of the best authenticated incidents which have occurred within a few years in our own land. Very recently the New York Sun gave an authenticated account of a Cat owned by Mr. Chester F. Hall, of Danville, Ind., who, when she desires to enter the house, invariably rings the bell of the front door and is admitted by the servants. This, I imagine, is an expression of more intelligence than is often evinced by many of the Cat's traducers among the country bumpkins who, with the bell handle under their noses, have frequently been known to knock upon the door for admission to the house.
The camaraderie of dogs and Cats, in every land, has been significantly narrated in every tongue, innumerable times. It has always been noticed that in such associations the dog have always bossed the Cat, demonstrating his arrogant spirit, resulting from his appreciation of the fact that he is the stronger animal and that "might makes right." But within my personal observation this bossism is of a good-natured character, and often amusing. Frequently, too, the canine in the full knowledge of his superior strength, uses it generously for the protection of the weaker comrade, and I propose to give an instance of this fact, together with an illustration of the characteristic insouciance of Pussy, and the sense of order and the amenities of private life as manifested by the stronger comrade.
Some years ago my Skye terrier, "Gyp," had a litter of puppies, and we saved one of them, "Jessie," who was brought up with a pretty little kitten. From Jessie's birth she manifested a great liking for Kitty, and played with her as good-naturedly and freely as if she had been a dog. It is true that Gyp, the mother of Jessie, looked upon this fraternizing with disapprobation, often telling her puppy that she was lowering herself by such close intimacy with the Cat, but the intimacy went on and on. One never saw Kittie scratch or hurt Jessie, nor did the latter ever injure, nor even anger, the Cat. Pussy permitted Jessie to play all sorts of pranks with her tail, and the laughter of the entire household has often been provoked by the seeming cunning little ways of both. Jessie would hide behind the door, and as Pussy came gingerly along in search of her playfellow suddenly dash out upon Kittie, to her palpable consternation, and the two would roll over and over each other, on the kitchen floor, in each other's arms. Neither dog ever interfered with the food set apart for Kittie, nor was there ever a wistful glance at the dainties upon her plate.
One remarkable circumstance, however, proved the dogs' ideas of "the right of domain," and demonstrated the fact that they considered the kitchen the proper place for Kittie. She had always been kept "downstairs," and never ventured to go above the kitchen floor, excepting upon one memorable occasion. The little dogs were permitted to remain in the dining room during the time when the family were eating. At all other times they were at liberty to roam about the house at their own sweet will. One day, the kitchen door being left open, Kittie thought she would make a new departure, and accordingly strolled up the kitchen stairs and into the dining room, tail erect and a "lovely day, to-day" kind of a look upon her smiling face. Pussy's appearance and her nonchalant impudence overpowered the dogs for a moment, and before they had recovered from their astonishment Pussy had pre-empted a soft cushion on a rocking chair, which was the especial resting place of the mother, Gyp, and always regarded as particularly sacred to her aristocratic ladyship. This was too much for the dogs. Every member of the family vacated that chair when Gyp claimed it, and as for Jessie, she never dared to get upon that sacred cushion.
When the dogs had recovered their equilibrium, after their astonishment at the temerity of the "kitchen cat," as they evidently regarded her, they put their noses together and compared notes, after the fashion of canines, and then Gyp and Jessie proceeded to the development of their theory concerning Cats in the dining room. Together they went up to the chair, and each seized a corner of the cushion upon which Kittie had made herself comfortable and at home, and with a suggestion that she was not asked to sit down, deliberately pulled both Cat and cushion from the chair, landing Kittie unceremoniously upon the floor in a very indecorous manner and very much to her disgust. But the affair did not end here. Kittie looked from one to the other of her household companions as if doubting the evidence of her senses, and as much as to ask them if they did not feel ashamed of themselves for treating a lady in such an undignified manner? She cast a withering glance at them and sidled toward the table, as it seeking protection from some one of the family, who were at dinner, and with an injured air sat down at my side. This was altogether too much presumption for the dogs to stand, and their good nature left them as, prompted by the mother, Jessie sidled up to Kittie, who looked at the dogs, appealingly, while they said, as plainly as could be said by dogs, "You are not an upstairs Cat, Kittie—you are nothing but a kitchen Cat, and you have no rights here that we are bound to respect. Go downstairs, like a good little kitten, and the cook will feed you."
To this remark Kittie shrugged her shoulders and refused to budge. Then came the funny part of it, which was not at all funny to the Cat. Jessie edged up to Kittie upon one side and Gyp sidled up to the other side of the Cat, and together they actually pushed her along to the kitchen stairs and forced her to descend to her own quarters on the floor below. Kittie struggled to get away from them and remain in the dining room, but they were too quick for her, and downstairs she went, full of dudgeon, and never after attempted to encroach upon the territory which the little dogs claimed for their own.