Among the ignorant, the waving of a tail by any member of the Cat family is taken to mean anger. According to my own observations, it may also indicate joy. Darwin has distinguished several canine emotions which are distinctively expressed in the bark. Correlatively, I have tabulated eight emotions expressed by the caudalis appendagis felinis, according to the method of waving it—down, up, right, left, twice to the right, once to the left, then up, and so on. These discoveries I reserve for a future article, as I began to tell about Little Upsidaisi.
When I reached my home in the wilderness, it was nearly nightfall. I had only time to unpack my books, place them upon a rough shelf I hastily constructed, draw out the rude table which happened to be in a corner of my cabin, and place upon it my observation ledger, my pocket note-book, and my red and maltese inks.
Tom-Tom watched my proceedings with great interest, and after I had built my camp-fire, just outside the cabin door, we ate our frugal meal of bologna, wienerwursts, pretzels, and canned salmon, relying upon the cracker-box for bread, which Tom-Tom did not seem to care for. I was too tired to make either bread or coffee, but promised myself both for breakfast the following morning.
Before retiring, I made a pilgrimage to the beach and secured nearly a peck of fine sand. I scattered this all about my cabin, that in the morning I might see what visitors had left their cards, so to speak, upon this tell-tale medium of communication.
My first night in the clearing was uneventful. The unusual quiet kept me awake, and I thought that if someone would only pound a tin pan under my window, I could soon lose consciousness. The Cat purred methodically in the hollow of my arm, but even with the noise of my Tom-Tom in my ears, it was four o’clock, according to my jewelled repeater, before I finally got to sleep.
When I awoke, it was broad day, and after dressing hurriedly, I ran out to look at the sand, which the Cat had not disturbed, being sound asleep still. Poor Tom-Tom! Perhaps he, too, found a cabin in the wilderness an unusual resting place.
Much to my delight, though hardly to my surprise, the sand was covered with a fine tracery, almost like lace-work. The prints of tiny toes were to be discovered here and there, and now and then a broad sweep, evidently made by a tail.
I would have thought it the work of fairies, dancing in the moonlight, had I not dedicated my life to Science. As it was, I surmised almost instantly that it was the Field Mouse—the common species, known as rodentia feminis scarus, and reference to my books proved me right.
By measuring the prints, according to the metric system, with delicate instruments I had brought for the purpose, I soon discovered that these tracks were all made by the same individual. The Bertillon method has its uses, but unfortunately I was not sufficiently up in my calling, as yet, to reconstruct the entire animal from a track. I have since done it, but I could not then.
Tom-Tom came out into the sunlight, waving his glorious, plumed tail, yawning, and loudly demanding food. I called him to me, using the old, familiar Cat-call which I have always employed with the species, and the faithful pet made a great bound toward me. Suddenly he stopped, as if caught on a foul half-way to the grand stand, and began to sniff angrily. His back arched, his tail enlarged, and began to wave in a circle. Great agitation possessed Tom-Tom, and he, too, was scrutinising the sand.