Brothers of Pity and Other Tales of Beasts and MenEwing, Juliana Horatia
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Brothers of Pity and Other Tales of Beasts and Men
Ewing, Juliana Horatia
Animals -- Juvenile fiction
Perhaps it was because she had no cream to whip, that she tried to whip
me. Certainly, during the next half-hour, I had reason to be much
confused as to the meaning of the word "Toots." In the soft voice of my
mistress it had always seemed to me to mean cream; now it seemed to mean
kicks, blows, flapping dish-cloths, wash-leathers and dusters, pokers,
carpet brooms, and every instrument of torture with which a poor cat
could be chased from garret to cellar. I am pretty nimble, and though I
never felt less disposed for violent exercise, I flatter myself I led
them a good dance before, by a sudden impulse of affectionate
trustfulness, I sprang straight into my mistress's arms for shelter.
"You must beat him, miss," gasped the cook, "or there'll never be no
bearing him in the house. Every drop of that lovely cream gone, and half
the sweets for the ball supper throwed completely out of calculation!"
"Naughty Toots, naughty Toots, naughty Toots!" cried the young lady,
and with every "Toots" she gave me a slap; but as her paws had no claws
in them, I was more offended than hurt.
This was my first lesson in honesty, and it was also the beginning of
that train of reasoning in my own mind, by which I came to understand
that when people called "Toots" they meant me. And as--to do them
justice--they generally called me with some kind intention, I made a
point of responding to my name.
Indeed, they were so kind to me, and my position was such a very
comfortable one, that when a lean tabby called one day for a charitable
subscription, and begged me to contribute a few spare partridge bones to
a fund for the support of starving cats in the neighbourhood, who had
been deserted by families leaving town, I said that really such cases
were not much in my line. There is a great deal of imposition
about--perhaps the cats had stolen the cream, and hadn't left off
stealing it when they were chased by the family. I doubted if families
where the cats deserved respect and consideration ever did leave town.
One has so many calls, if one once begins to subscribe to things; and I
am particularly fond of partridge.
But when, a few months later, the very words which the lean tabby had
spoken passed between the butler and the cook in reference to our own
household, and I learnt that "the family" were going "to leave town," I
felt a pang of conscience, and wished I had subscribed the merry
thought, or even the breast-bone--there was very little on it--to the
Deserted Cats' Fund.
But it was my young mistress who told me (with regrets and caresses,
which in the circumstances were mere mockery) that I was to be left
behind.
I have a particularly placid temper, and can adapt myself pretty
comfortably to the ups and downs of life; but this news made my tail
stand on end.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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