WILD CAT.
In country places, where rabbits are abundant,—and, we may add, the smaller, but not less destructive, rodents, and a variety of feathered game,—the barn-door cat is sometimes tempted to abscond and take to a romantic and semi-wild life in the woods. Kittens born of such parents have no desire for the domestic hearth, and are wild and suspicions to a degree. Were it not for the vigilance and unremitting persecution of gamekeepers and others, which has robbed our land of the noble Felis catus, in common with many other rare and interesting creatures, it is probable that but very few consecutive generations would suffice to produce a truly wild race.
CHAPTER II.
GENERAL CHARACTERISTICS.
(Continued.)
A short time ago I had two kittens which were born in the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park, and bred between the domestic tortoiseshell and the British wild cat, that have for several years occupied together a cage in the winter aviary. This crescent-shaped row of cages, although originally an aviary, has for some years been occupied by animals of a decidedly bird-fancying character. There the animals in question may have been seen, and in an adjoining cage a specimen of the Viverrine cat—so named from the somewhat civet-like form of the muzzle. But it is a true cat, every inch, and bears every cat in countenance by its love of fish. Being most unusually adroit at capturing fish from shallow water, it is commonly named the Fishing Cat. The specimen I allude to was brought from India by the Prince of Wales, and graciously presented to the Zoological Society. These cages contain also other animals of interest, such as the Civet, Poradoxure, etc.[1] But to return to the kittens. When only able to crawl, as I examined the litter, the little things spat most vigorously, for probably they had not before seen anybody in the cage except their keeper. The two I selected were a red tabby and a tortoiseshell. The red tabby was a male, as red tabby cats generally are, and he decidedly resembled his father, if not in colour, in disposition and temperament. I took them from the litter at the early age of nearly seven weeks. The contrast between their behaviour and that of tame kittens was most remarkable. At the slightest surprise or displeasure they would spit with wide-open mouth and a display of ivory fangs in a most threatening manner. When I gave them milk, they would in a very unpolite fashion growl together. They never ate near each other, but pouncing upon their meat and carrying it to a far corner apart, would growl in a most warning tone, and answer back again and again till the last morsel should be consumed. On one occasion they had quite a desperate tug of war over the same piece of meat, and it was with some difficulty that I could part them, for fear of using too much force and hurting their young teeth. But when not feeding, the tortoiseshell became not only docile, but most affectionate and pleasing, in her little ways. She would fondle and purr in a manner that won the affection of my heart. On the other hand, the tabby was, at the best, passively composed, but always watchful, and never certain in mood. I can hardly say which of the two I prized most. In the one I admired the manifestations of its inborn nature, and would on no account check or discourage such signs of high blood. Towards the other I felt there was a mutual and spiritual bond of affection, which I can better conceive than describe. Dryden’s lines upon a tame leopard express very nearly my feelings respecting these two little beasts (see page 21). Unfortunately, the kittens died very suddenly, and at the same hour, after a short career of three months. There is reason to suspect that poison was the cause of their untimely end. Nothing now remains but the stuffed skins, mounted in admirable style, under a glass case.
Probably the veneration with which the Egyptians regarded the cat was in no way diminished by the probable utility of their revered favourites in keeping under the increase of such remarkably prolific and fast-growing rodents as are mice and rats; and it is reasonable to suppose these little animals must have been harmful in the vast stores of grain which are recorded in ancient history. Pussy’s valuable qualities as a mouser are to the present day too well known to need much comment. A friend of mine told me the other day that once, when he removed to another house, and had also deposited his favourite cat, with the usual precaution of buttering paws, and consolation of a more solid nature in addition, the servant, on entering the kitchen in the morning, found fourteen mice lying dead on the hearth-rug, most of them decapitated. The usual preference which cats have for the heads of their prey is remarkable, and has been noticed in both tame and wild animals. One of the most noticeable characteristics of the cat kind is the silent tread. Even the footfall of the huge tigers, as they pace to and fro in their roomy cages or in their open-air enclosures at the Zoological Gardens is hardly to be heard. For not only is the cat a digitigrade animal, walking absolutely “tiptoe” in the most perfect manner, but the toes are furnished with a most elastic membrane, constituting what are commonly called pussy’s “pads.” She is thus enabled to skulk stealthily in search of her desired prey, and can on all occasions move with that unobtrusive grace and silent ease peculiarly characteristic of her race. The retractile construction of the peculiarity sharp claws is also a beautiful adaptation to the requirements of these Nimrods of creation. Generally these useful weapons are held back, nicely sheathed and safe from harm. They are readily, however, protruded at will when required for offensive or defensive service, in holding secure an unfortunate victim, or as hooks to assist in climbing trees, etc. The senses of the cat are all highly developed. That of hearing is most acute. The sense of smell is not so acute as in the dog and some other animals—at least, it is assumed so; but it is quite evident that the ear and the eye are put to the best service by the cat. But dirt and bad smells are much disliked, while, on the other hand, there is a remarkable partiality for some smells. Cats appear to enjoy the perfume of many flowers, and their fondness for the odour of cat-mint or valerian is remarkable. As may be noticed by the prompt, unerring manner in which a cat will dart at a mouse or any small moving object in almost total darkness, she has the power to see near objects without the light required by ourselves and most animals. Absolutely total darkness is evidently not advantageous to pussy’s vision, and the assertion that the cat can see better in the dark must not be regarded in an abstract, but in a comparative, sense. The pupil of the eye has the round shape, as in ourselves, only during darkness, when it is dilated so as to receive every ray of light available. By day, on the other hand, when there is more light than the eye requires, the pupil contracts to an ellipse, or, in the strongest light, to a mere line. This peculiarity is absent in the lion and tiger and a few others. A peculiarity in the cat and some other animals may be noticed in the highly-developed bristles, commonly called “whiskers,” but more appropriately termed “feelers.” These are not, as some may suppose, only common hairs of larger growth, but are deeply implanted, having large swollen roots, somewhat in the form of young onions, and are connected with highly sensitive nerves which communicate with the brain. By means of these bristles the cat is enabled to feel its way the more stealthily, avoiding the clumsy disturbance of surrounding objects that might impede its progress.