Daisy: the autobiography of a cat

by Miranda Eliot Swan

Cats are sensitive to air, full of motion and electricity, which seems to put them in good spirits; while a warm lifeless atmosphere makes them languid.

Sailors are as a class very superstitious in regard to cats. Their family, when the father, son, or brother has gone on a voyage, watch the family cat to know about the absent one. If a cat sickens or disappears, it is looked upon as an indication of the illness or death of the absent one. A sailor's family will make a pet and companion of the family cat. The cat that chances to go to sea is just worshipped by all on board the ship and is the real captain.

There is another little story that comes to my mind just now, as illustrating how much a cat notices and remembers. The cat in question was called Ole. Why, or wherefore, I cannot say. Perhaps he was a Norwegian, from the name, or his ancestors may have been Norwegians. He lived in Syracuse, New York, perhaps he was named for that most perfect musician and gentleman, Ole Bull, as people have a craze for naming their children for celebrated people, and they often name their pets for them. There is no doubt that animals do greater credit to their names than pampered children.

The cat called Ole was a great favorite in the family where he belonged. He had his place at the table and was very fond of his master, following his every movement when carving, with great interest. Even though he craved what was being carved, he never made a movement to hasten his dinner. Subsequent events proved he had not watched in vain.

One day the daughter of the family was attracted to the dining room by the loud and peremptory calls of Ole. She opened the door, and there sat Ole in his master's place at the head of the table. The large mat for the meat platter to rest on he had drawn in front of him, and on it lay a large rat.

The satisfaction with which he greeted her was evident, and he purred forth his delight at having provided and served up a game dinner. It proved that he had thought about the etiquette of the table. Having no platter, he had taken the next best thing, the mat, where the platter usually rested.

It is needless to say Ole was more petted then ever, though people, when told the story, would say, "How wonderful!" but behind their backs would say they guessed it was a fish instead of a rat that Ole had caught. But I believe in the rat. A cat detects and despises shams.

A friend of my mistress said that in a country house where she was visiting they had an open fireplace in one of the rooms, and one of those very absurd gas-logs.

The family cat walked in one day, and, going over to the rug, prepared to have a delightful snooze. But she no sooner approached the fireplace than the idea of the sham fire arrested her. She gave one resentful look at her mistress and walked out of the room. She never went into that room again, preferring the reality of the kitchen fire to an elegant sham. There is very little danger that a cat will ever be deceived after she has had the chance to investigate.

If the ravens and birds were half as bright as Pussy, the best gotten-up scarecrow in the field would never cause them one moment of disquiet or the loss of one good meal. She has such quick ears that even the moving of a leaf in the wind or the creak of a window is enough to bring her to her feet ready for an encounter.