By the way, the boy’s name is Guy. His eyes are just like Miss Virgie’s, and he has beautiful flaxen hair.
Guy
Before I knew Guy, I supposed all boys were rude and cruel, but I feel sure now that I was mistaken. One of Guy’s dearest friends is Teddy, who was with the boy that threw stones at me on that sad day when I was a homeless cat. Teddy came to see Guy quite often, but he always treated me very kindly. I really think it a pity that he should ever have been with that cruel boy.
My Friend Dennis
After Guy had finished reading the story of Black Beauty, he read one written by a dog, “Beautiful Joe.” I saw his picture in the book, but I did not think him half as beautiful as my friend Dennis that visits me every day. But Joe had a beautiful spirit, and that counts far more than a beautiful body. Who could read of the cruel blows and kicks and all the other insults which he suffered so patiently at the hands and feet of old Jenkins, without feeling in his inmost soul that henceforth he would defend and protect all helpless and harmless creatures? In this way Joe conferred a lasting benefit upon his fellow-dogs, and even I, who am only a cat, with no natural fondness for dogs, must say that I learned many things from Joe that made me have more respect for dogs. I also became filled with a desire to be as good and useful a cat as Joe was a dog, and it was during those long, lonesome days when I was without any companions that the thought came to me about writing this story. May be you think a cat does not even have thoughts. How dreadful! Well, I thought if dogs and horses can write stories, why can’t I? And so I concluded to try.
I had often heard mistress read stories about cats, cat shows and cat clubs, but it was always about Persian cats and Angoras, and I made up my mind that my story should be about tigers and Maltese and black cats, because they are considered to be of so very little importance. I have known of many a poor, sick cat just treated as a nuisance, and compelled to stay outdoors; whereas then, if ever, she needs a warm, comfortable place, and nourishing food.
And when a cat has kittens, she is usually put into the barn, or the basement, if tolerated in the house at all. Now very few kittens will learn orderly habits when raised in a place where they can do as they please; and when such a kitten is taken into a home it causes no end of trouble. In many cases it is abused and made very miserable, not for any fault of its own, but because it has not been properly trained. This is one reason why there are so many poor tramp cats. Another reason is, that some people will let a cat raise five or six kittens without paying any attention to her needs as to food or shelter, and the poor things somehow live, or rather, they exist. Then when nobody wants them, as is always the case with kittens raised in this way, they are given to the milkman or to some farmer to be “strayed” out in the country, where no other fate awaits them but slow starvation. In a case like this, five cents’ worth of chloroform administered to the kittens at the time of birth, leaving only one alive for the mother cat, would have saved them from the terrible tortures of starvation.
Then too some people who are very kind-hearted themselves, have cruel servants who look upon a pet in the household as an added burden, and who will utterly neglect, if not positively abuse them. Right here I am reminded of an incident told to mistress by a young lady who called one evening. She was doing some writing for a minister, and she said that almost daily her feelings were wrought up at sight of an old black cat, gaunt looking, half-starved, and with a broken leg, hobbling around in the yard. “To-day,” said she, “I had some milk left over from my lunch, and I asked the cook for the cat’s dish.”