This Etext prepared by Bill Stoddard - e-mail: hscrr@vgernet.net
Animal Heroes
by Ernest Thompson Seton
Note to Reader
A hero is an individual of unusual gifts and achievements.
Whether it be man or animal, this definition applies; and it is
the histories of such that appeal to the imagination and to the
hearts of those who hear them.
In this volume every one of the stories, though more or less
composite, is founded on the actual life of a veritable animal
hero. The most composite is the White Reindeer. This story I
wrote by Utrovand in Norway during the summer of 1900, while the
Reindeer herds grazed in sight on the near uplands.
The Lynx is founded on some of my own early experiences in the
backwoods.
It is less than ten years since the 'Jack Warhorse' won his
hero-crown. Thousands of "Kaskadoans" will remember him, and by
the name Warhorse his coursing exploits are recorded in several
daily papers.
The least composite is Arnaux. It is so nearly historical that
several who knew the bird have supplied additional items of
information.
The nest of the destroying Peregrines, with its owners and their
young, is now to be seen in the American Museum of Natural
History of New York. The Museum authorities inform me that Pigeon
badges with the following numbers were found in the nest: 9970-S,
1696, U. 63, 77, J. F. 52, Ex. 705, 6-1894, C 20900.
Perhaps some Pigeon-lover may learn from these lines the fate of
one or other wonderful flier that has long been recorded "never
returned."
THE SLUM CAT
LIFE I
I
M-e-a-t! M-e-a-t!" came shrilling down Scrimper's Alley. Surely
the Pied Piper of Hamelin was there, for it seemed that all the
Cats in the neighborhood were running toward the sound, though
the Dogs, it must be confessed, looked
scornfully indifferent.
"Meat! Meat! "and louder; then the centre of attraction came in
view--a rough, dirty little man with a push-cart; while
straggling behind him were a score of Cats that joined in his cry
with a sound nearly the same as his own. Every fifty yards, that
is, as soon as a goodly throng of Cats was gathered, the
push-cart stopped. The man with the magic voice took out of the
box in his cart a skewer on which were pieces of strong-smelling
boiled liver. With a long stick he pushed the pieces off. Each
Cat seized on one, and wheeling, with a slight depression of the
ears and a little tiger growl and glare, she rushed away with her
prize to devour it in some safe retreat.
"Meat! Meat!" And still they came to get their portions. All were
well known to the meat-man. There was Castiglione's Tiger; this
was Jones's Black; here was Pralitsky's "Torkershell," and this
was Madame Danton's White; there sneaked Blenkinshoff's Maltee,
and that climbing on the barrow was Sawyer's old Orange Billy, an
impudent fraud that never had had any financial backing,--all to
be remembered and kept in account. This one's owner was sure pay,
a dime a week; that one's doubtful. There was John Washee's Cat,
that got only a small piece because John was in arrears. Then
there was the saloon-keeper's collared and ribboned ratter, which
got an extra lump because the 'barkeep' was liberal; and the
rounds-man's Cat, that brought no cash, but got unusual
consideration because the meat-man did. But there were others. A
black Cat with a white nose came rushing confidently with the
rest, only to be repulsed savagely. Alas! Pussy did not
understand. She had been a pensioner of the barrow for months.
Why this unkind change? It was beyond her comprehension. But the
meat-man knew. Her mistress had stopped payment. The meat-man
kept no books but his memory, and it never was at fault.
Outside this patrician 'four hundred' about the barrow, were
other Cats, keeping away from the push-cart because they were not
on the list, the Social Register as it were, yet fascinated by
the heavenly smell and the faint possibility of accidental good
luck. Among these hangers-on was a thin gray Slummer, a homeless
Cat that lived by her wits--slab-sided and not over-clean. One
could see at a glance that she was doing her duty by a family in
some out-of-the-way corner. She kept one eye on the barrow circle
and the other on the possible Dogs.
She saw a score of happy Cats slink off with their delicious
'daily' and their tiger-like air, but no opening for her, till a
big Tom of her own class sprang on a little pensioner with intent
to rob. The victim dropped the meat to defend herself against the
enemy, and before the 'all-powerful' could intervene, the gray
Slummer saw her chance, seized the prize, and was gone.
She went through the hole in Menzie's side door and over the wall
at the back, then sat down and devoured the lump of liver, licked
her chops, felt absolutely happy, and set out by devious ways to
the rubbish-yard, where, in the bottom of an old cracker-box, her
family was awaiting her. A plaintive mewing reached her ears. She
went at speed and reached the box to see a huge Black Tom-cat
calmly destroying her brood. He was twice as big as she, but she
went at him with all her strength, and he did as most animals
will do when caught wrong-doing, he turned and ran away. Only one
was left, a little thing like its mother, but of more pronounced
color--gray with black spots, and a white touch on nose, ears,
and tail-tip. There can be no question of the mother's grief for
a few days; but that wore off, and all her care was for the
survivor. That benevolence was as far as possible from the
motives of the murderous old Tom there can be no doubt; but he
proved a blessing in deep disguise, for both mother and Kit were
visibly bettered in a short time. The daily quest for food
continued. The meat-man rarely proved a success, but the ash-cans
were there, and if they did not afford a meat-supply, at least
they were sure to produce potato-skins that could be used to
allay the gripe of hunger for another day.
One night the mother Cat smelt a wonderful smell that came from
the East River at the end of the alley. A new smell always needs
investigating, and when it is attractive as well as new, there is
but one course open. It led Pussy to the docks a block away, and
then out on a wharf, away from any cover but the night. A sudden
noise, a growl and a rush, were the first notice she had that she
was cut off by her old enemy, the Wharf Dog. There was only one
escape. She leaped from the wharf to the vessel from which the
smell came. The Dog could not follow, so when the fish-boat
sailed in the morning Pussy unwillingly went with her and was
seen no more.
II
The Slum Kitten waited in vain for her mother. The morning came
and went. She became very hungry. Toward evening a deep-laid
instinct drove her forth to seek food. She slunk out of the old
box, and feeling her way silently among the rubbish, she smelt
everything that seemed eatable, but without finding food. At
length she reached the wooden steps leading down into Jap Malee's
bird-store underground. The door was open a little. She wandered
into a world of rank and curious smells and a number of living
things in cages all about her. A negro was sitting idly on a box
in a corner. He saw the little stranger enter and watched it
curiously. It wandered past some Rabbits. They paid no heed. It
came to a wide-barred cage in which was a Fox. The gentleman with
the bushy tail was in a far corner. He crouched low; his eyes
glowed. The Kitten wandered, sniffing, up to the bars, put its
head in, sniffed again, then made toward the feed-pan, to be
seized in a flash by the crouching Fox. It gave a frightened
"mew," but a single shake cut that short and would have ended
Kitty's nine lives at once, had not the negro come to the rescue.
He had no weapon and could not get into the cage, but he spat
with such copious vigor in the Fox's face that he dropped the
Kitten and returned to the corner, there to sit blinking his eyes
in sullen fear.
The negro pulled the Kitten out. The shake of the beast of prey
seemed to have stunned the victim, really to have saved it much
suffering. The Kitten seemed unharmed, but giddy. It tottered in
a circle for a time, then slowly revived, and a few minutes later
was purring in the negro's lap, apparently none the worse, when
Jap Malee, the bird-man, came home.
Jap was not an Oriental; he was a full-blooded Cockney, but his
eyes were such little accidental slits aslant in his round, flat
face, that his first name was forgotten in the highly descriptive
title of "Jap." He was not especially unkind to the birds and
beasts whose sales were supposed to furnish his living, but his
eye was on the main chance; he knew what he wanted. He didn't
want the Slum Kitten.
The negro gave it all the food it could eat, then carried it to a
distant block and dropped it in a neighboring iron-yard.
III
One full meal is as much as any one needs in two or three days,
and under the influence of this stored-up heat and power, Kitty
was very lively. She walked around the piled-up rubbish, cast
curious glances on far-away Canary-birds in cages that hung from
high windows; she peeped over fences, discovered a large Dog, got
quietly down again, and presently finding a sheltered place in
full sunlight, she lay down and slept for an hour. A
slight'sniff' awakened her, and before her stood a large Black
Cat with glowing green eyes, and the thick neck and square jaws
that distinguish the Tom; a scar marked his cheek, and his left
ear was torn. His look was far from friendly; his ears moved
backward a little, his tail twitched, and a faint, deep sound
came from his throat. The Kitten innocently walked toward him.
She did not remember him. He rubbed the sides of his jaws on a
post, and quietly, slowly turned and disappeared. The last that
she saw of him was the end of his tail twitching from side to
side; and the little Slummer had no idea that she had been as
near death to-day, as she had been when she ventured into the
fox-cage.
As night came on the Kitten began to feel hungry. She examined
carefully the long invisible colored stream that the wind is made
of. She selected the most interesting of its strands, and,
nose-led, followed. In the corner of the iron-yard was a box of
garbage. Among this she found something that answered fairly well
for food; a bucket of water under a faucet offered a chance to
quench her thirst.
The night was spent chiefly in prowling about and learning the
main lines of the iron-yard. The next day she passed as before,
sleeping in the sun. Thus the time wore on. Sometimes she found a
good meal at the garbage-box, sometimes there was nothing. Once
she found the big Black Tom there, but discreetly withdrew before
he saw her. The water-bucket was usually at its place, or,
failing that, there were some muddy little pools on the stone
below. But the garbage-box was very unreliable. Once it left her
for three days without food. She searched along the high fence,
and seeing a small hole, crawled through that and found herself
in the open street. This was a new world, but before she had
ventured far, there was a noisy, rumbling rush--a large Dog came
bounding, and Kitty had barely time to run back into the hole in
the fence. She was dreadfully hungry, and glad to find some old
potato-peelings, which gave a little respite from the
hunger-pang. In the morning she did not sleep, but prowled for
food. Some Sparrows chirruped in the yard. They were often there,
but now they were viewed with new eyes. The steady pressure of
hunger had roused the wild hunter in the Kitten; those Sparrows
were game--were food. She crouched instinctively and stalked from
cover to cover, but the chirpers were alert and flew in time. Not
once, but many times, she tried without result except to confirm
the Sparrows in the list of things to be eaten if obtainable.
On the fifth day of ill luck the Slum Kitty ventured forth into
the street, desperately bent on finding food. When far from the
haven hole some small boys opened fire at her with pieces of
brick. She ran in fear. A Dog joined in the chase, and Kitty's
position grew perilous; but an old-fashioned iron fence round a
house-front was there, and she slipped in between the rails as
the Dog overtook her. A woman in a window above shouted at the
Dog. Then the boys dropped a piece of cat-meat down to the
unfortunate; and Kitty had the most delicious meal of her life.
The stoop afforded a refuge. Under this she sat patiently till
nightfall came with quiet, then sneaked back like a shadow to her
old iron-yard.
Thus the days went by for two months. She grew in size and
strength and in an intimate knowledge of the immediate
neighborhood. She made the acquaintance of Downey Street, where
long rows of ash-cans were to be seen every morning. She formed
her own ideas of their proprietors. The big house was to her, not
a Roman Catholic mission, but a place whose garbage-tins abounded
in choicest fish scrapings. She soon made the acquaintance of the
meat-man, and joined in the shy fringe of Cats that formed the
outer circle. She also met the Wharf Dog as well as two or three
other horrors of the same class. She knew what to expect of them
and how to avoid them; and she was happy in being the inventor of
a new industry. Many thousand Cats have doubtless hung, in hope,
about the tempting milk-cans that the early milk-man leaves on
steps and window-ledges, and it was by the merest accident that
Kitty found one with a broken lid, and so was taught to raise it
and have a satisfying drink. Bottles, of course, were beyond her,
but many a can has a misfit lid, and Kitty was very painstaking
in her efforts to discover the loose-jointed ones. Finally she
extended her range by exploration till she achieved the heart of
the next block, and farther, till once more among the barrels and
boxes of the yard behind the bird-man's cellar.
The old iron-yard never had been home, she had always felt like a
stranger there; but here she had a sense of ownership, and at
once resented the presence of another small Cat. She approached
this newcomer with threatening air. The two had got as far as
snarling and spitting when a bucket of water from an upper window
drenched them both and effectually cooled their wrath. They fled,
the newcomer over the wall, Slum Kitty under the very box where
she had been born. This whole back region appealed to her
strongly, and here again she took up her abode. The yard had no
more garbage food than the other and no water at all, but it was
frequented by stray Rats and a few Mice of the finest quality;
these were occasionally secured, and afforded not only a
palatable meal, but were the cause of her winning a friend.
IV
Kitty was now fully grown. She was a striking-looking Cat of the
tiger type. Her marks were black on a very pale gray, and the
four beauty-spots of white on nose, ears, and tail-tip lent a
certain distinction. She was very expert at getting a living, and
yet she had some days of starvation and failed in her ambition of
catching a Sparrow. She was quite alone, but a new force was
coming into her life.
She was lying in the sun one August day, when a large Black Cat
came walking along the top of a wall in her direction. She
recognized him at once by his torn ear. She slunk into her box
and hid. He picked his way gingerly, bounded lightly to a shed
that was at the end of the yard, and was crossing the roof when a
Yellow Cat rose up. The Black Torn glared and growled, so did the
Yellow Tom. Their tails lashed from side to side. Strong throats
growled and yowled. They approached each other with ears laid
back, with muscles a-tense.
"Yow-yow-ow!" said the Black One.
"Wow-w-w!" was the slightly deeper answer.
"Ya-wow-wow-wow!" said the Black One, edging up half an inch
nearer.
"Yow-w-w!" was the Yellow answer, as the blond Cat rose to full
height and stepped with vast dignity a whole inch forward.
"Yow-w!" and he went another inch, while his tail went swish,
thump, from one side to the other.
"Ya-wow-yow-w!" screamed the Black in a rising tone, and he
backed the eighth of an inch, as he marked the broad, unshrinking
breast before him.
Windows opened all around, human voices were heard, but the Cat
scene went on.
"Yow-yow-ow!" rumbled the Yellow Peril, his voice deepening as
the other's rose.
"Yow! " and he advanced another step.
Now their noses were but three inches apart; they stood sidewise,
both ready to clinch, but each waiting for the other. They glared
for three minutes in silence and like statues, except that each
tail-tip was twisting.
The Yellow began again. "Yow-ow- ow!" in deep tone.
"Ya-a-a--a-a!" screamed the Black, with intent to strike terror
by his yell; but he retreated one sixteenth of an inch. The
Yellow walked up a long half-inch; their whiskers were mixing
now; another advance, and their noses almost touched.
"Yo-w-w!" said Yellow, like a deep moan.
"Y-a-a-a-a-a-a !" screamed the Black, but he retreated a
thirty-second of an inch, and the Yellow Warrior closed and
clinched like a demon.
Oh, how they rolled and bit and tore, especially the Yellow One!
How they pitched and gripped and hugged, but especially the
Yellow One!
Over and over, sometimes one on top, sometimes another, but
mostly the Yellow One; and farther till they rolled off the roof,
amid cheers from all the windows. They lost not a second in that
fall to the junk-yard; they tore and clawed all the way down, but
especially the Yellow One. And when they struck the ground, still
fighting, the one on top was chiefly the Yellow One; and before
they separated both had had as much as they wanted, especially
the Black One! He scaled a wall and, bleeding and growling,
disappeared, while the news was passed from window to window that
Cayley's Nig had been licked at last by Orange Billy.
Either the Yellow Cat was a very clever
seeker, or else Slum Kitty did not hide very
hard; but he discovered her among the boxes,
and she made no attempt to get away, probably because she had
witnessed the fight. There is nothing like success in warfare to
win the female heart, and thereafter the Yellow Tom and Kitty
became very good friends, not sharing each other's lives or
food,--Cats do not do that way much,--but recognizing each other
as entitled to special friendly privileges.
V
September had gone. October's shortening days were on when an
event took place in the old cracker-box. If Orange Billy had come
he would have seen five little Kittens curled up in the embrace
of their mother, the little Slum Cat. It was a wonderful thing
for her. She felt all the elation an animal mother can feel, all
the delight, and she loved them and licked them with a tenderness
that must have been a surprise to herself, had she had the power
to think of such things.
She had added a joy to her joyless life, but she had also added a
care and a heavy weight to her heavy load. All her strength was
taken now to find food. The burden increased as the offspring
grew up big enough to scramble about the boxes, which they did
daily during her absence after they were six weeks old. That
troubles go in flocks and luck in streaks, is well known in
Slumland. Kitty had had three encounters with Dogs, and had been
stoned by Malee's negro during a two days' starve. Then the tide
turned. The very next morning she found a full milk-can without a
lid, successfully robbed a barrow pensioner, and found a big
fish-head, all within two hours. She had just returned with that
perfect peace which comes only of a full stomach, when she saw a
little brown creature in her junk-yard. Hunting memories came
back in strength; she didn't know what it was, but she had killed
and eaten several Mice, and this was evidently a big Mouse with
bob-tail and large ears. Kitty stalked it with elaborate but
unnecessary caution; the little Rabbit simply sat up and looked
faintly amused. He did not try to run, and Kitty sprang on him
and bore him off. As she was not hungry, she carried him to the
cracker-box and dropped him among the Kittens. He was not much
hurt. He got over his fright, and since he could not get out of
the box, he snuggled among the Kittens, and when they began to
take their evening meal he very soon decided to join them. The
old Cat was puzzled. The hunter instinct had been dominant, but
absence of hunger had saved the Rabbit and given the maternal
instinct a chance to appear. The result was that the Rabbit
became a member of the family, and was thenceforth guarded and
fed with the Kittens.
Two weeks went by. The Kittens romped much among the boxes during
their mother's absence. The Rabbit could not get out of the box.
Jap Malee, seeing the Kittens about the back yard, told the negro
to shoot them. This he was doing one morning with a 22-calibre
rifle. He had shot one after another and seen them drop from
sight into the crannies of the lumber-pile, when the old Cat came
running along the wall from the dock, carrying a small Wharf Rat.
He had been ready to shoot her, too, but the sight of that Rat
changed his plans: a rat-catching Cat was worthy to live. It
happened to be the very first one she had ever caught, but it
saved her life. She threaded the lumber-maze to the cracker-box
and was probably puzzled to find that there were no Kittens to
come at her call, and the Rabbit would not partake of the Rat.
Pussy curled up to nurse the Rabbit, but she called from time to
time to summon the Kittens. Guided by that call, the negro
crawled quietly to the place, and peering down into the
cracker-box, saw, to his intense surprise, that it contained the
old Cat, a live Rabbit, and a dead Rat.
The mother Cat laid back her ears and snarled. The negro
withdrew, but a minute later a board was dropped on the opening
of the cracker-box, and the den with its tenants, dead and alive,
was lifted into the bird-cellar.
"Say, boss, look a-hyar--hyar's where de
little Rabbit got to wot we lost. Yo' sho t'ought Ah stoled him
for de 'tater-bake."
Kitty and Bunny were carefully put in a large wire cage and
exhibited as a happy family till a few days later, when the
Rabbit took sick and died.
Pussy had never been happy in the cage. She had enough to eat and
drink, but she
craved her freedom--would likely have gotten 'death or liberty'
now, but that during the four days' captivity she had so cleaned
and slicked her fur that her unusual coloring was seen, and Jap
decided to keep her.
LIFE II
VI
Jap Malee was as disreputable a little Cockney bantam as ever
sold cheap Canary-birds in a cellar. He was extremely poor, and
the negro lived with him because the 'Henglish-man' was willing
to share bed and board, and otherwise admit a perfect equality
that few Americans conceded. Jap was perfectly honest according
to his lights, but he hadn't any lights; and it was well known
that his chief revenue was derived from storing and restoring
stolen Dogs and Cats. The half-dozen Canaries were mere blinds.
Yet Jap believed in himself. "Hi tell you, Sammy, me boy, you'll
see me with 'orses of my own yet," he would say, when some
trifling success inflated his dirty little chest. He was not
without ambition, in a weak, flabby, once-in-a-while way, and he
sometimes wished to be known as a fancier. Indeed, he had once
gone the wild length of offering a Cat for exhibition at the
Knickerbocker High Society Cat and Pet Show, with three not
over-clear objects: first, to gratify his ambition; second, to
secure the exhibitor's free pass; and, third, "well, you kneow,
one 'as to kneow the valuable Cats, you kneow, when one goes
a-catting." But this was a society show, the exhibitor had to be
introduced, and his miserable alleged half-Persian was scornfully
rejected. The 'Lost and Found' columns of the papers were the
only ones of interest to Jap, but he had noticed and saved a
clipping about 'breeding for fur.' This was stuck on the wall of
his den, and under its influence he set about what seemed a cruel
experiment with the Slum Cat. First, he soaked her dirty fur with
stuff to kill the two or three kinds of creepers she wore; and,
when it had done its work, he washed her thoroughly in soap and
warm water, in spite of her teeth, claws, and yowls. Kitty was
savagely indignant, but a warm and happy glow spread over her as
she dried off in a cage near the stove, and her fur began to
fluff out with wonderful softness and whiteness. Jap and his
assistant were much pleased with the result, and Kitty ought to
have been. But this was preparatory: now for the experiment.
"Nothing is so good for growing fur as plenty of oily food and
continued exposure to cold weather," said the clipping. Winter
was at hand, and Jap Malee put Kitty's cage out in the yard,
protected only from the rain and the direct wind, and fed her
with all the oil-cake and fish-heads she could eat. In a week a
change began to show. She was rapidly getting fat and sleek--she
had nothing to do but get fat and dress her fur. Her cage was
kept clean, and nature responded to the chill weather and the
oily food by making Kitty's coat thicker and glossier every day,
so that by midwinter she was an unusually beautiful Cat in the
fullest and finest of fur, with markings that were at least a
rarity. Jap was much pleased with the result of the experiment,
and as a very little success had a wonderful effect on him, he
began to dream of the paths of glory. Why not send the Slum Cat
to the show now coming on? The failure of the year before made
him more careful as to details. "'T won't do, ye kneow, Sammy, to
henter 'er as a tramp Cat, ye kneow," he observed to his help;
"but it kin be arranged to suit the Knickerbockers. Nothink like
a good noime, ye kneow. Ye see now it had orter be 'Royal'
somethink or other--nothink goes with the Knickerbockers like
'Royal' anythink. Now 'Royal Dick,' or 'Royal Sam,' 'ow's that?
But 'owld on; them's Tom names. Oi say, Sammy, wot's the noime of
that island where ye wuz born?"
"Analostan Island, sah, was my native vicinity, sah."
"Oi say, now, that's good, ye kneow. 'Royal Analostan,' by Jove!
The onliest pedigreed 'Royal Analostan' in the 'ole sheow, ye
kneow. Ain't that foine?" and they mingled their cackles.
"But we'll 'ave to 'ave a pedigree, ye kneow." So a very long
fake pedigree on the recognized lines was prepared. One dark
afternoon Sam, in a borrowed silk hat, delivered the Cat and the
pedigree at the show door. The darkey did the honors. He had been
a Sixth Avenue barber, and he could put on more pomp and lofty
hauteur in five minutes than Jap Malee could have displayed in a
lifetime, and this, doubtless, was one reason for the respectful
reception awarded the Royal Analostan at the Cat Show.
Jap was very proud to be an exhibitor; but he had all a Cockney's
reverence for the upper class, and when on the opening day he
went to the door, he was overpowered to see the array of
carriages and silk hats. The gate-man looked at him sharply, but
passed him on his ticket, doubtless taking him for stable-boy to
some exhibitor. The hall had velvet carpets before the long rows
of cages. Jap, in his small cunning, was sneaking down the side
rows, glancing at the Cats of all kinds, noting the blue ribbons
and the reds, peering about but not daring to ask for his own
exhibit, inly trembling to think what the gorgeous gathering of
fashion would say if they discovered the trick he was playing on
them. He had passed all around the outer aisles and seen many
prize-winners, but no sign of Slum Kitty. The inner aisles were
more crowded. He picked his way down them, but still no Kitty,
and he decided that it was a mistake; the judges had rejected the
Cat later. Never mind; he had his exhibitor's ticket, and now
knew where several valuable Persians and Angoras were to be
found.
In the middle of the centre aisle were the high-class Cats. A
great throng was there. The passage was roped, and two policemen
were in place to keep the crowd moving. Jap wriggled in among
them; he was too short to see over, and though the richly gowned
folks shrunk from his shabby old clothes, he could not get near;
but he gathered from the remarks that the gem of the show was
there.
"Oh, isn't she a beauty!" said one tall woman.
"What distinction!" was the reply.
"One cannot mistake the air that comes only from ages of the most
refined surroundings."
"How I should like to own that superb creature!"
"Such dignity--such repose!"
"She has an authentic pedigree nearly back to the Pharaohs, I
hear"; and poor, dirty little Jap marvelled at his own cheek in
sending his Slum Cat into such company.
"Excuse me, madame." The director of the show now appeared,
edging his way through the crowd. "The artist of the'sporting
Element' is here, under orders to sketch the 'pearl of the show'
for immediate use. May I ask you to stand a little aside? That's
it; thank you.
"Oh, Mr. Director, cannot you persuade him to sell that beautiful
creature?"
"Hm, I don't know," was the reply. "I understand he is a man of
ample means and
not at all approachable; but I'11 try, I'll try, madame. He was
quite unwilling to exhibit his treasure at all, so I understand
from his butler. Here, you, keep out of the way," growled the
director, as the shabby little man eagerly pushed between the
artist and the blue-blooded Cat. But the disreputable one wanted
to know where valuable Cats were to be found. He came near enough
to get a glimpse of the cage, and there read a placard which
announced that "The blue ribbon and gold medal of the
Knickerbocker High Society Cat and Pet Show" had been awarded to
the "thoroughbred, pedigreed Royal Analostan, imported and
exhibited by J. Malee, Esq., the well-known fancier. (Not for
sale.)" Jap caught his breath and stared again. Yes, surely;
there, high in a gilded cage, on velvet cushions, with four
policemen for guards, her fur bright black and pale gray, her
bluish eyes slightly closed, was his Slum Kitty, looking the
picture of a Cat bored to death with a lot of fuss that she likes
as little as she understands it.
VII
Jap Malee lingered around that cage, taking in the remarks, for
hours--drinking a draught of glory such as he had never known in
life before and rarely glimpsed in his dreams. But he saw that it
would be wise for him to remain unknown; his "butler" must do all
the business.
It was Slum Kitty who made that show a success. Each day her
value went up in her owner's eyes. He did not know what prices
had been given for Cats, and thought that he was touching a
record pitch when his "butler" gave the director authority to
sell the Analostan for one hundred dollars.
This is how it came about that the Slum Cat found herself
transferred from the show to a Fifth Avenue mansion. She evinced
a most unaccountable wildness at first. Her objection to petting,
however, was explained on the ground of her aristocratic dislike
of familiarity. Her retreat from the Lap-dog onto the centre of
the dinner-table was understood to express a deep-rooted though
mistaken idea of avoiding a defiling touch. Her assaults on a pet
Canary were condoned for the reason that in her native Orient she
had been used to despotic example. The patrician way in which she
would get the cover off a milk-can was especially applauded. Her
dislike of her silk-lined basket, and her frequent dashes against
the plate-glass windows, were easily understood: the basket was
too plain, and plate-glass was not used in her royal home. Her
spotting of the carpet evidenced her Eastern modes of thought.
The failure of her several attempts to catch Sparrows in the
high-walled back yard was new proof of the royal impotency of her
bringing up; while her frequent wallowings in the garbage-can
were understood to be the manifestation of a little pardonable
high-born eccentricity. She was fed and pampered, shown and
praised; but she was not happy. Kitty was homesick! She clawed at
that blue ribbon round her neck till she got it off; she jumped
against the plate-glass because that seemed the road to outside;
she avoided people and Dogs because they had always proved
hostile and cruel; and she would sit and gaze on the roofs and
back yards at the other side of the window, wishing she could be
among them for a change.
But she was strictly watched, was never allowed outside--so that
all the happy garbage-can moments occurred while these
receptacles of joy were indoors. One night in March, however, as
they were set out a-row for the early scavenger, the Royal
Analostan saw her chance, slipped out of the door, and was lost
to view.
Of course there was a grand stir; but Pussy neither knew nor
cared anything about that--her one thought was to go home. It may
have been chance that took her back in the direction of Gramercy
Grange Hill, but she did arrive there after sundry small
adventures. And now what? She was not at home, and she had cut
off her living. She was beginning to be hungry, and yet she had a
peculiar sense of happiness. She cowered in a front garden for
some time. A raw east wind had been rising, and now it came to
her with a particularly friendly message; man would have called
it an unpleasant smell of the docks, but to Pussy it was welcome
tidings from home. She trotted down the long Street due east,
threading the rails of front gardens, stopping like a statue for
an instant, or crossing the street in search of the darkest side,
and came at length to the docks and to the water. But the place
was strange. She could go north or south. Something turned her
southward; and, dodging among docks and Dogs, carts and Cats,
crooked arms of the bay and straight board fences, she got, in an
hour or two, among familiar scenes and smells; and, before the
sun came up, she had crawled back -weary and foot-sore through
the same old hole in the same old fence and over a wall to her
junk-yard back of the bird-cellar--yes, back into the very
cracker-box where she was born.
Oh, if the Fifth Avenue family could only have seen her in her
native Orient!
After a long rest she came quietly down from the cracker-box
toward the steps leading to the cellar, engaged in her old-time
pursuit of seeking for eatables. The door opened, and there stood
the negro. He shouted to the bird-man inside:
"Say, boss, come hyar. Ef dere ain't dat dar Royal Ankalostan am
comed back!"
Jap came in time to see the Cat jumping the wall. They called
loudly and in the most seductive, wheedling tones: "Pussy, Pussy,
poor Pussy! Come, Pussy!" But Pussy was not prepossessed in their
favor, and disappeared to forage in her old-time haunts.
The Royal Analostan had been a windfall for Jap--had been the
means of adding many comforts to the cellar and several prisoners
to the cages. It was now of the utmost importance to recapture
her majesty. Stale meat-offal and other infallible lures were put
out till Pussy, urged by the reestablished hunger-pinch, crept up
to a large fish-head in a box-trap; the negro, in watching,
pulled the string that dropped the lid, and, a minute later, the
Analostan was once more among the prisoners in the cellar.
Meanwhile Jap had been watching the 'Lost and Found' column.
There it was, "$25 reward," etc. That night Mr. Malee's butler
called at the Fifth Avenue mansion with the missing cat. "Mr.
Malee's compliments, sah. De Royal Analostan had recurred in her
recent proprietor's vicinity and residence, sah. Mr. Malee had
pleasure in recuperating the Royal Analostan, sah." Of course Mr.
Malee could not be rewarded, but the butler was open to any
offer, and plainly showed that he expected the promised reward
and something more.
Kitty was guarded very carefully after that; but so far from
being disgusted with the old life of starving, and glad of her
ease, she became wilder and more dissatisfied.
VIII
The spring was doing its New York best. The dirty little English
Sparrows were tumbling over each other in their gutter brawls,
Cats yowled all night in the areas, and the Fifth Avenue family
were thinking of their country residence. They packed up, closed
house and moved off to their summer home, some fifty miles away,
and Pussy, in a basket, went with them.
"Just what she needed: a change of air and scene to wean her away
from her former owners and make her happy."
The basket was lifted into a Rumble-shaker. New sounds and
passing smells were entered and left. A turn in the course was
made. Then a roaring of many feet, more swinging of the basket; a
short pause, another change of direction, then some clicks, some
bangs, a long shrill whistle, and door-bells of a very big front
door; a rumbling, a whizzing, an unpleasant smell, a hideous
smell, a growing horrible, hateful choking smell, a deadly,
griping, poisonous stench, with roaring that drowned poor Kitty's
yowls, and just as it neared the point where endurance ceased,
there was relief. She heard clicks and clacks. There was light;
there was air. Then a man's voice called, "All out for 125th
Street," though of course to Kitty it was a mere human bellow.
The roaring almost ceased--did cease. Later the rackety-bang was
renewed with plenty of sounds and shakes, though not the
poisonous gas; a long, hollow, booming roar with a pleasant dock
smell was quickly passed, and then there was a succession of
jolts, roars, jars, stops, clicks, clacks, smells, jumps, shakes,
more smells, more shakes,--big shakes, little shakes,--gases,
smokes, screeches, door-bells, tremblings, roars, thunders, and
some new smells, raps, taps, heavings, rumblings, and more
smells, but all without any of the feel that the direction is
changed. When at last it stopped, the sun came twinkling through
the basket-lid. The Royal Cat was lifted into a Rumble-shaker of
the old familiar style, and, swerving aside from their past
course, very soon the noises of its wheels were grittings and
rattlings; a new and horrible sound was added--the barking of
Dogs, big and little and dreadfully close. The basket was lifted,
and Slum Kitty had reached her country home.
Every one was officiously kind. They wanted to please the Royal
Cat, but somehow none of them did, except, possibly, the big, fat
cook that Kitty discovered on wandering into the kitchen. This
unctuous person smelt more like a slum than anything she had met
for months, and the Royal Analostan was proportionately
attracted. The cook, when she learned that fears were entertained
about the Cat staying, said: "Shure, she'd 'tind to thot; wanst a
Cat licks her futs, shure she's at home." So she deftly caught
the unapproachable royalty in her apron, and committed the
horrible sacrilege of greasing the soles of her feet with
pot-grease. Of course Kitty resented it--she resented everything
in the place; but on being set down she began to dress her paws
and found evident satisfaction in that grease. She licked all
four feet for an hour, and the cook triumphantly announced that
now "shure she'd be apt to shtay." And stay she did, but she
showed a most surprising and disgusting preference for the
kitchen, the cook, and the garbage-pail.
The family, though distressed by these distinguished
peculiarities, were glad to see the Royal Analostan more
contented and approachable. They gave her more liberty after a
week or two. They guarded her from every menace. The Dogs were
taught to respect her. No man or boy about the place would have
dreamed of throwing a stone at the famous pedigreed Cat. She had
all the food she wanted, but still she was not happy. She was
hankering for many things, she scarcely knew what. She had
everything--yes, but she wanted something else. Plenty to eat and
drink--yes, but milk does not taste the same when you can go and
drink all you want from a saucer; it has to be stolen out of a
tin pail when you are belly-pinched with hunger and thirst, or it
does not have the tang--it isn't milk.
Yes, there was a junk-yard back of the house and beside it and
around it too, a big one, but it was everywhere poisoned and
polluted with roses. The very Horses and Dogs had the wrong
smells; the whole country round was a repellent desert of
lifeless, disgusting gardens and hay-fields, without a single
tenement or smoke-stack in sight. How she did hate it all! There
was only one sweet-smelling shrub in the whole horrible place,
and that was in a neglected corner. She did enjoy nipping that
and rolling in the leaves; it was a bright spot in the grounds;
but the only one, for she had not found a rotten fish-head nor
seen a genuine garbage-can since she came, and altogether it was
the most unlovely, unattractive, unsmellable spot she had ever
known. She would surely have gone that first night had she had
the liberty. The liberty was weeks in coming, and, meanwhile, her
affinity with the cook had developed as a bond to keep her; but
one day after a summer of discontent a succession of things
happened to stir anew the slum instinct of the royal prisoner.
A great bundle of stuff from the docks had reached the country
mansion. What it contained was of little moment, but it was rich
with a score of the most piquant and winsome of dock and slum
smells. The chords of memory surely dwell in the nose, and
Pussy's past was conjured up with dangerous force. Next day the
cook 'left' through some trouble over this very bundle. It was
the cutting of cables, and that evening the youngest boy of the
house, a horrid little American with no proper appreciation of
royalty, was tying a tin to the blue-blooded one's tail,
doubtless in furtherance of some altruistic project, when Pussy
resented the liberty with a paw that wore five big fish-hooks for
the occasion. The howl of downtrodden America roused America's
mother. The deft and womanly blow that she aimed with her book
was miraculously avoided, and Pussy took flight, up-stairs, of
course. A hunted Rat runs down-stairs, a hunted Dog goes on the
level, a hunted Cat runs up. She hid in the garret, baffled
discovery, and waited till night came. Then, gliding down-stairs,
she tried each screen-door in turn, till she found one unlatched,
and escaped into the black August night. Pitch-black to man's
eyes, it was simply gray to her, and she glided through the
disgusting shrubbery and flower-beds, took a final nip at that
one little bush that had been an attractive spot in the garden,
and boldly took her back track of the spring.
How could she take a back track that she never saw? There is in
all animals some sense of direction. It is very low in man and
very high in Horses, but Cats have a large gift, and this
mysterious guide took her westward, not clearly and definitely,
but with a general impulse that was made definite simply because
the road was easy to travel. In an hour she had covered two miles
and reached the Hudson River. Her nose had told her many times
that the course was true. Smell after smell came back, just as a
man after walking a mile in a strange street may not recall a
single feature, but will remember, on seeing it again, "Why, yes,
I saw that before." So Kitty's main guide was the sense of
direction, but it was her nose that kept reassuring her, "Yes,
now you are right--we passed this place last spring."
At the river was the railroad. She could not go on the water; she
must go north or south. This was a case where her sense of
direction was clear; it said, "Go south," and Kitty trotted down
the foot-path between the iron rails and the fence.
LIFE III
IX
Cats can go very fast up a tree or over a wall, but when it comes
to the long steady trot that reels off mile after mile, hour
after hour, it is not the cat-hop, but the dog-trot, that
counts. Although the travelling was good and the path direct, an
hour had gone before two more miles were put between her and the
Hades of roses. She was tired and a little foot-sore. She was
thinking of rest when a Dog came running to the fence near by,
and broke out into such a horrible barking close to her ear that
Pussy leaped in terror. She ran as hard as she could down the
path, at the same time watching to see if the Dog should succeed
in passing the fence. No, not yet! but he ran close by it,
growling horribly, while Pussy skipped along on the safe side.
The barking of the Dog grew into a low rumble--a louder rumble
and roaring--a terrifying thunder. A light shone. Kitty glanced
back to see, not the Dog, but a huge Black Thing with a blazing
red eye coming on, yowling and spitting like a yard full of Cats.
She put forth all her powers to run, made such time as she had
never made before, but dared not leap the fence. She was running
like a Dog, was flying, but all in vain; the monstrous pursuer
overtook her, but missed her in the darkness, and hurried past to
be lost in the night, while Kitty crouched gasping for breath,
half a mile nearer home since that Dog began to bark.
This was her first encounter with the strange monster, strange to
her eyes only; her nose seemed to know him and told her this was
another landmark on the home trail. But Pussy lost much of her
fear of his kind. She learned that they were very stupid and
could not find her if she slipped quietly under a fence and lay
still. Before morning she had encountered several of them, but
escaped unharmed from all.
About sunrise she reached a nice little slum on her home trail,
and was lucky enough to find several unsterilized eatables in an
ash-heap. She spent the day around a stable where were two Dogs
and a number of small boys, that between them came near ending
her career. It was so very like home; but she had no idea of
staying there. She was driven by the old craving, and next
evening set out as before. She had seen the one-eyed
Thunder-rollers all day going by, and was getting used to them,
so travelled steadily all that night. The next day was spent in a
barn where she caught a Mouse, and the next night was like the
last, except that a Dog she encountered drove her backward on her
trail for a long way. Several times she was misled by angling
roads, and wandered far astray, but in time she wandered back
again to her general southward course. The days were passed in
skulking under barns and hiding from Dogs and small boys, and the
nights in limping along the track, for she was getting foot-sore;
but on she went, mile after mile, southward, ever
southward--Dogs, boys, Roarers, hunger--Dogs, boys, Roarers,
hunger--yet on and onward still she went, and her nose from time
to time cheered her by confidently reporting, "There surely is a
smell we passed last spring."
X
So a week went by, and Pussy, dirty, ribbon-less, foot-sore, and
weary, arrived at the Harlem Bridge. Though it was enveloped in
delicious smells, she did not like the look of that bridge. For
half the night she wandered up and down the shore without
discovering any other means of going south, excepting some other
bridges, or anything of interest except that here the men were as
dangerous as the boys. Somehow she had to come back to it; not
only its smells were familiar, but from time to time, when a
One-eye ran over it, there was that peculiar rumbling roar that
was a sensation in the springtime trip. The calm of the late
night was abroad when she leaped to the timber stringer and
glided out over the water. She had got less than a third of the
way across when a thundering One-eye came roaring at her from the
opposite end. She was much frightened, but knowing their
stupidity and blindness, she dropped to a low side beam and there
crouched in hiding. Of course the stupid Monster missed her and
passed on, and all would have been well, but it turned back, or
another just like it came suddenly spitting behind her. Pussy
leaped to the long track and made for the home shore. She might
have got there had not a third of the Red-eyed Terrors come
screeching at her from that side. She was running her hardest,
but was caught between two foes. There was nothing for it but a
desperate leap from the timbers into-she didn't know what. Down,
down, down-plop, splash, plunge into the deep water, not cold,
for it was August, but oh, so horrible! She spluttered and
coughed when she came to the top, glanced around to see if the
Monsters were swimming after her, and struck out for shore. She
had never learned to swim, and yet she swam, for the simple
reason that a Cat's position and actions in swimming are the same
as her position and actions in walking. She had fallen into a
place she did not like; naturally she tried to walk out, and the
result was that she swam ashore. Which shore? The home-love never
fails: the south side was the only shore for her, the one nearest
home. She scrambled out all dripping wet, up the muddy bank and
through coal-piles and dust-heaps, looking as black, dirty, and
unroyal as it was possible for a Cat to look.
Once the shock was over, the Royal-pedigreed Slummer began to
feel better for the plunge. A genial glow without from the bath,
a genial sense of triumph within, for had she not outwitted three
of the big Terrors?
Her nose, her memory, and her instinct of direction inclined her
to get on the track again; but the place was infested with those
Thunder-rollers, and prudence led her to turn aside and follow
the river-bank with its musky home-reminders; and thus she was
spared the unspeakable horrors of the tunnel.
She was over three days learning the manifold dangers and
complexities of the East River docks. Once she got by mistake on
a ferryboat and was carried over to Long Island; but she took an
early boat back. At length on the third night she reached
familiar ground, the place she had passed the night of her first
escape. From that her course was sure and rapid. She knew just
where she was going and how to get there. She knew even the more
prominent features in the Dog-scape now. She went faster, felt
happier. In a little while surely she would be curled up in her
native Orient--the old junk-yard. Another turn, and the block was
in sight.
But--what! It was gone! Kitty couldn't believe her eyes; but she
must, for the sun was not yet up. There where once had stood or
leaned or slouched or straggled the houses of the block, was a
great broken wilderness of stone, lumber, and holes in the
ground.