Beautiful Joe, Marshall Saunders [historical books to read .TXT] 📗
- Author: Marshall Saunders
Book online «Beautiful Joe, Marshall Saunders [historical books to read .TXT] 📗». Author Marshall Saunders
The first time I had a good look at the Morris cat, I thought she was
the queerest-looking animal I had ever seen. She was dark gray--just the
color of a mouse. Her eyes were a yellowish green, and for the first few
days I was at the Morrises' they looked very unkindly at me. Then she
got over her dislike and we became very good friends. She was a
beautiful cat, and so gentle and affectionate that the whole family
loved her.
She was three years old, and she had come to Fairport in a vessel with
some sailors, who had gotten her in a far-away place. Her name was
Malta, and she was called a maltese cat.
I have seen a great many cats, but I never saw one as kind as Malta.
Once she had some little kittens and they all died. It almost broke her
heart. She cried and cried about the house till it made one feel sad to
hear her. Then she ran away to the woods. She came back with a little
squirrel in her mouth, and putting it in her basket, she nursed it like
a mother, till it grew old enough to run away from her.
She was a very knowing cat, and always came when she was called. Miss
Laura used to wear a little silver whistle that she blew when she wanted
any of her pets. It was a shrill whistle, and we could hear it a long
way from home. I have seen her standing at the back door whistling for
Malta, and the pretty creature's head would appear somewhere--always
high up, for she was a great climber, and she would come running along
the top of the fence, saying, "Meow, meow," in a funny, short way.
Miss Laura would pet her, or give her something to eat, or walk around
the garden carrying her on her shoulder. Malta was a most affectionate
cat, and if Miss Laura would not let her lick her face, she licked her
hair with her little, rough tongue. Often Malta lay by the fire, licking
my coat or little Billy's, to show her affection for us.
Mary, the cook, was very fond of cats, and used to keep Malta in the
kitchen as much as she could, but nothing would make her stay down there
if there was any music going on upstairs. The Morris pets were all fond
of music. As soon as Miss Laura sat down to the piano to sing or play,
we came from all parts of the house. Malta cried to get upstairs, Davy
scampered through the hall, and Bella hurried after him. If I was
outdoors I ran in the house, and Jim got on a box and looked through the
window.
Davy's place was on Miss Laura's shoulder, his pink nose run in the
curls at the back of her neck. I sat under the piano beside Malta and
Bella, and we never stirred till the music was over; then we went
quietly away.
Malta was a beautiful cat--there was no doubt about it. While I was with
Jenkins I thought cats were vermin, like rats, and I chased them every
chance I got. Mrs, Jenkins had a cat, a gaunt, long-legged, yellow
creature, that ran whenever we looked at it.
Malta had been so kindly treated that she never ran from any one, except
from strange dogs. She knew they would be likely to hurt her. If they
came upon her suddenly, she faced them, and she was a pretty good
fighter when she was put to it. I once saw her having a brush with a big
mastiff that lived a few blocks from us, and giving him a good fright,
which just served him right.
I was shut up in the parlor. Some one had closed the door, and I could
not get out. I was watching Malta from the window, as she daintily
picked her way across the muddy street. She was such a soft, pretty,
amiable-looking cat. She didn't look that way, though, when the mastiff
rushed out of the alleyway at her.
She sprang back and glared at him like a little, fierce tiger. Her tail
was enormous. Her eyes were like balls of fire, and she was spitting and
snarling, as if to say, "If you touch me, I'll tear you to pieces!"
The dog, big as he was, did not dare attack her. He walked around and
around, like a great clumsy elephant, and she turned her small body as
he turned his, and kept up a dreadful hissing and spitting. Suddenly I
saw a Spitz dog hurrying down the street. He was going to help the
mastiff, and Malta would be badly hurt. I had barked and no one had come
to let me out, so I sprang through the window.
Just then there was a change. Malta had seen the second dog, and she
knew she must get rid of the mastiff. With an agile bound she sprang on
his back, dug her sharp claws in, till he put his tail between his legs
and ran up the street, howling with pain. She rode a little way, then
sprang off and ran up the lane to the stable.
I was very angry and wanted to fight something, so I pitched into the
Spitz dog. He was a snarly, cross-grained creature, no friend to Jim and
me, and he would have been only too glad of a chance to help kill Malta.
I gave him one of the worst beatings he ever had. I don't suppose it was
quite right for me to do it, for Miss Laura says dogs should never
fight; but he had worried Malta before, and he had no business to do it.
She belonged to our family. Jim and I never worried 'his' cat. I
had been longing to give him a shaking for some time, and now I felt for
his throat through his thick hair, and dragged him all around the
street. Then I let him go, and he was a civil dog ever afterward.
Malta was very grateful, and licked a little place where the Spitz bit
I did not get scolded for the broken window. Mary had seen me fromthe kitchen window, and told Mrs. Morris that I had gone to help Malta.
Malta was a very wise cat. She knew quite well that she must not harm
the parrot nor the canaries, and she never tried to catch them, even
though she was left alone in the room with them.
I have seen her lying in the sun, blinking sleepily, and listening with
great pleasure to Dick's singing. Miss Laura even taught her not to hunt
the birds outside.
For a long time she had tried to get it into Malta's head that it was
cruel to catch the little sparrows that came about the door, and just
after I came, she succeeded in doing so,
Malta was so fond of Miss Laura, that whenever she caught a bird, she
came and laid it at her feet. Miss Laura always picked up the little,
dead creature, pitied it and stroked it, and scolded Malta till she
crept into a corner. Then Miss Laura put the bird on a limb of a tree,
and Malta watched her attentively from her corner.
One day Miss Laura stood at the window, looking out into the garden.
Malta was lying on the platform, staring at the sparrows that were
picking up crumbs from the ground. She trembled, and half rose every few
minutes, as if to go after them. Then she lay down again. She was trying
very hard not to creep on them. Presently a neighbor's cat came stealing
along the fence, keeping one eye on Malta and the other on the sparrows.
Malta was so angry! She sprang up and chased her away, and then came
back to the platform, where she lay down again and waited for the
sparrows to come back. For a long time she stayed there, and never once
tried to catch them.
Miss Laura was so pleased. She went to the door, and said, softly, "Come
here, Malta."
The cat put up her tail, and, meowing gently, came into the house. Miss
Laura took her up in her arms, and going down to the kitchen, asked Mary
to give her a saucer of her very sweetest milk for the best cat in the
United States of America.
Malta got great praise for this, and I never knew of her catching a bird
afterward. She was well fed in the house, and had no need to hurt such
harmless creatures.
She was very fond of her home, and never went far away, as Jim and I
did. Once, when Willie was going to spend a few weeks with a little
friend who lived fifty miles from Fairport, he took it into his head
that Malta should go with him. His mother told him that cats did not
like to go away from home; but he said he would be good to her, and
begged so hard to take her, that at last his mother consented.
He had been a few days in this place, when he wrote home to say that
Malta had run away. She had seemed very unhappy, and though he had kept
her with him all the time, she had acted as if she wanted to get away.
When the letter was read to Mr. Morris, he said, "Malta is on her way
home. Cats have a wonderful cleverness in finding their way to their own
dwelling. She will be very tired. Let us go out and meet her."
Willie had gone to this place in a coach. Mr. Morris got a buggy and
took Miss Laura and me with him, and we started out. We went slowly
along the road. Every little while Miss Laura blew her whistle, and
called, "Malta, Malta," and I barked as loudly as I could. Mr. Morris
drove for several hours, then we stopped at a house, had dinner, and
then set out again. We were going through a thick wood, where there was
a pretty straight road, when I saw a small, dark creature away ahead,
trotting toward us. It was Malta. I gave a joyful bark, but she did not
know me, and plunged into the wood.
I ran in after her, barking and yelping, and Miss Laura blew her whistle
as loudly as she could. Soon there was a little gray head peeping at us
from the bushes, and Malta bounded out, gave me a look of surprise and
then leaped into the buggy on Miss Laura's lap.
What a happy cat she was! She purred with delight, and licked Miss
Laura's gloves over and over again. Then she ate the food they had
brought, and went sound asleep. She was very thin, and for several days
after getting home she slept the most of the time.
Malta did not like dogs, but she was very good to cats. One day, when
there was no one about and the garden was very quiet, I saw her go
stealing into the stable, and come out again, followed by a sore-eyed,
starved-looking cat, that had been deserted by some people that lived in
the next street. She led this cat up to her catnip bed, and watched her
kindly, while she rolled and rubbed herself in it. Then Malta had a roll
in it herself, and they both went back to the stable.
Catnip is a favorite plant with cats, and Miss Laura always kept some of
it growing for Malta.
For a long time this sick cat had a home in the stable. Malta carried
her food every day, and after a time Miss Laura found out about her, and
did what she could to make her well. In time she got to be a strong,
sturdy-looking cat, and Miss Laura got a home for her with an invalid
lady.
It was nothing new for the Morrises to feed deserted cats. Some summers,
Mrs.
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