Although he had made himself tidy, after the manner of cats, he looked as if this intervening year had not been entirely good to him. His disreputable appearance gave proof, that however gentle we had found him in peace, he must be terrible in war, for his glossy fur was soiled and shabby and in a pitiable state of rags and tatters, showing the scars of many a hard-fought battle, but honorable battles and honorable scars we were sure.
Older now, and as one who had experienced hard, his calm eyes held in their dark depths the mystery of many a bandit night under the stars. He was like the "shabby genteel," doing his painful best to make the most of a decidedly disreputable appearance, ignoring all things that were even suggestive of a blank page unaccounted for. He was still plucky and sublimely dignified in that impregnable reserve which even our kindness had never been able to penetrate, but there was something gone from his old-time militant buoyancy, and in its place a kind of desperate air, as of one who assumes a bravado of happiness he does not feel.
This time he manifested a decided gratitude for all the good things that came to him. As his hollow skeleton filled out with good and regular food, and his relaxed sinews stiffened, we thought that at last the days of roving and the vagabondage of lusty youth were over and that he had come to a realizing sense of what a comfortable old age would mean. Surely now he would accept a trifling bondage for the sake of peace, rather than yield again to the vague uncertainty of irresponsible freedom and the disastrous results he had plainly experienced. The old love for the prodigal came back and he was reinstated with joy. But alas, the straight and narrow path seemed to have no charms for this incorrigible, and his case seemed hopeless. Just as his hollow curves were filling out into decent plumpness and his thick glossy coat beginning to look like an aristocrat's the symptoms of the inevitable "parting of our ways" were again apparent. It was the usual attack, violent and urgent, leading him to dare and defy all, even death, in following the beckoning call.
It was mortifying to us that he should even occasionally prefer the low company of his alley associates, and the shame of being a skulking gutter shadow, dodging abuse, but that he should have these periodical spells of the "inevitable interval," unconscious of any restraint, wandering and living as a tramp for months away from us, his ways and life entirely shrouded in mystery, was too exasperating even for our loving forbearance. In our wrath, we determined that if he went this time from our home, it should be forever. We had lost all patience with his delightful weakness and had at last made up our minds that if he could not be contented to remain this time, we would depose him everlastingly from our hospitality and erase him from our hearts, for we felt that we were wasting our affection and anxious sympathy on false pretenses.
In our high estimation of him, we had given him credit for what was not there, and an appreciation far above what he had proven capable of. We were baffled and perplexed beyond endurance by this strange fascination which seduced him with such passionate persistence, driving him from our protection into great spaces in his life which were a sealed book to us. During all these years of our intermittent friendship, we were never able to solve this riddle. It was as if he heard some compelling challenge, like the sounding notes of the Pied Piper, calling and calling him from that far-off unknown, and try as he would to oppose it, his scandalous legs would eventually force their independence and get him there in spite of a hostile and honorable will. There was something so piteously appealing in the cat's evident helplessness to combat these siren summons, which threw him into a white heat of daring, that it finally disarmed our antagonism. Resigned to what we had now found was inevitable we compassionately waited and watched, realizing the fierceness of the strife that was raging in his complex nature, and knowing that he was powerless to thwart it.
This time the battle was a short one, for he had lost the shame of it, and had not the strength or desire to fight it. With no apology but with the steady, brooding look of a thousand defiant devils in his gray eyes, he soon made a hasty escape, the stiff hair lifting eagerly along the ridge of his back as he set out again on the long weary road that was forever drawing him from the narrow path of peace and rectitude. He had evidently sunk very low, even in his own estimation, for our last glimpse of him caught him adroitly dodging a shower of rocks well-aimed by the eternal small boy, ever on the lookout for such targets, as he disappeared over the alley fence.
We gave him up surely this time and mourned him as dead, knowing that the pluck and endurance of youth was long past. His wandering irregular life had done its worst, weakening his one-time rugged frame that was wont to withstand so defiantly, the hardships and privations of a tramp life.
JIMINY CHRISTMAS, THE FREE SPIRIT
Born Free, He Kept His Own Wanton
Will Free from Enslavement to the End,
Living His Own Life in Honor and
Honesty in an Out-Doors
All His Own