Daisy: the autobiography of a cat

by Miranda Eliot Swan

Very soon the young lady from the next room came in. She said: "I was just coming in to tell you this sad story. I leave the house next week to go West. Had I not proposed going there, I should not have remained in this house another day. As it is, I have never been downstairs since you left, and I never shall go to that table again."

Then she told her story. She said the night after our friend went away she saw Blackie at her door, and petted her and carried her down to her box and helped the girl give her some food. In the morning she did not get down to the table till late, and then there seemed something very unusual in the atmosphere of the house. She went out as usual to see Blackie, but the mistress of the house shut the door, saying, "That old black cat is dead, and I want to hear nothing about her." The young lady said she was so faint she ran upstairs to her room and burst out crying.

Later, when the servant girl came up, she made her tell the story. She said the girl had been told that if she should let Blackie's friend know how she died, that she should lose her place, but the girl said, "I don't care. I hate her; and as soon as I can I will leave here."

She said Blackie had four kittens. As soon as the last one was born, and poor Blackie lay back exhausted, this fiend in human shape, this cruel woman, took her and thrust her into a tub of water, holding her down with all her strength till her struggles and shrieks ended. It was a wholesale slaughter. Next she put the two good-sized kittens of Kitty Gray in, and then the four helpless ones of Blackie. The boy and girl looked on, dancing and yelling till the cries of the kittens were all still.

The girl said she thought Hell could not be worse than that scene. They were thrown into the city cart, a dreadful sight, and one calculated to harden the hearts of the children, who looked on at the exhibition of these neglected remains.

The lady was speechless. She said she could not bear even to see Kitty Gray, and she wished the poor little creature had been destroyed with the others. She wrote a note, giving a week's notice that her rooms would be at liberty, sent for a carriage, and left the house. She sent a friend to pack her things, and never entered the house again. But she wrote a note to the woman, saying that she knew the laws of the land did not punish such crimes, but she said: "God will avenge that poor black creature; and the sight that you allowed your children to look upon, of wholesale cruelty, will prove a curse to them. You will never prosper."

And she never has. The loss of her two best boarders, then the sickness and death of her husband, the children both of them with some troublesome disease all the time, filled her cup of woe. In one year's time her house was empty, and she was obliged to give it up. Wherever she is, the curse she brought on herself, in the murder of Blackie, will follow her forever; and she will yet see her children made to suffer for the cruel natures she encouraged in them.

Many a murderer can trace back his first wrong act to just such crimes as this one. The first lessons in cruelty are the ones to be dreaded; the children cannot reason, and they follow the example of those older than themselves, and their hearts harden, and no later instructions will ever counteract their influence. And soon the teaching in our institutions supplement their home lessons of cruelty, and they are ready for the pastime of vivisection. No wonder that they are adepts in this criminal abuse of creatures in their power. And God suffers it just as he allows men and women to follow their wicked natures and commit crimes for which they have to pay the penalty. I heard my mistress say this, and I did comprehend it; therefore I do not hesitate to write it even if it does sound too deep for a cat. There are cats—and cats, and I am of the second kind.

I have told you the story of Blackie that you may know what is passing around you all the time. It is heartrending to see the poor cats stealing about, trembling and hiding at the sound of a footstep. Half starved and homeless, what can they do but steal, to satisfy the pangs of hunger? Think how many people steal dress and jewels to decorate their sinful bodies, while cats are satisfied with the forms and clothes their Maker gave them; and they keep themselves clean without the expense of a ticket to the public bath-houses.

There is much said about not giving to the poor, for fear of encouraging laziness. There, again, cats are superior to the human race. You never find a lazy cat. Give a cat a home, enough to eat, and then give her work to do, to clear your house of rats, and she will spend days patiently watching, allowing nothing to divert her attention till she has accomplished her task, and the rats are all killed or driven away.