“When the summer was over and the time approached for our departure,” said mistress, “grandpa had become so attached to Meow, he invited her to stay with him; and as she had a family I was glad to let her remain.”
“And is she there yet?” asked Aunt Minnie.
“No,” said mistress. “She lived there seven years, and then grandpa went to live on another farm. On the day they moved he put her into a bag to take her to the new house; but, instead of putting her into a closed room until she recovered from the excitement caused by the removal, he opened the bag in the yard, and she ran away as fast as she could.
“Some months later grandpa learned that she had gone back to the old place; for on the morning after the new family moved in, they found her lying in her cheese box, very ill and unable to move, and on that same day she died. She had traveled three miles and crossed a wide creek in order to reach her old home.”
When I heard this story I remembered mistress’ remark on that first morning, that I looked like “Meow,” and it dawned upon me why I was given that name. And having become acquainted with grandpa I was glad to be named after an animal that had given him so much pleasure, and I was more determined than ever to be a good and useful cat. That’s why I never beg when I sit at the table, and very often when mistress has finished I jump from my chair up to her shoulder and kiss her cheek. Sometimes I can hardly wait till she gets through.
But I am very sorry that Meow left grandpa in such a hasty manner, and no doubt the good old man thought she was a poor homeless cat until he heard of her death. I would not be afraid at any place to which Guy or mistress might take me, as long as they were with me.
Having heard the history of Meow, my namesake, Aunt Minnie wanted to know what had become of Old Blackie.
“Old Blackie,” said mistress, “came to a very sad end. During my absence I had my milkman leave milk for her every day, and my butcher brought her meat regularly; I also left a dozen cans of salmon so that Blackie and her kittens could have one every week. After we had been gone about two months, the little girl wrote that Blackie had died, and that she had found homes for all the kittens but one, which she would like to keep herself. Upon my return home I learned that Blackie’s death was due to gangrene poisoning, caused by eating salmon that had been left in the can after opening.”
“This is a very sad ending to a most interesting story,” said Aunt Minnie; and I thought so too. I think we cats ought all to feel very grateful to Old Blackie, because it was she that got mistress interested in cats again, after she had been so long a time without any, and in this I am sure Blackie did all cats a great service.