The Alley Cat’s Kitten

By

Caroline Fuller

Author of “Across the Campus,” a Story for Girls

Illustrated from Photographs by the Author

Boston Little, Brown, and Company 1904

Copyright, 1904, By Little, Brown, and Company.

All rights reserved

Published October, 1904

THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.

TO HER

WHO HELPED US BUILD THE RABBIT HOUSES,

AND

BEFRIENDED ALLEY CATS

[vii]

List of Illustrations

[1]

CHAPTER ONE

THE ALLEY CAT

SHE had not really minded being an Alley Cat until the kittens came. But every one who has had children knows that one feels being poor much more keenly on their account, than on one’s own. And the strawless corner of a deserted shed did not seem a suitable bed for her mother’s grandchildren.

The Alley Cat took no pride in her own appearance. Indeed, it had been said when she was born that her mother, the blooded tortoise-shell of a beautiful home, had never produced such a terrible kitten. She would[2] not have been allowed to live, if an accident had not deprived her mother of the others. And as she grew up even her own parent saw that she was homely.

It may be thought that homely cats have no feelings; but this is not the case, for homely cats, like plain people, are sensitive, and have even more feelings than others. So one day when some particularly unkind remark had been made about the brindled kitten with yellow sides, she left her home and ran away to become an alley cat.

She was sorry for this afterwards, of course, like every other kitten that runs away. But she would not go home, and slept all summer in empty boxes and under the barns of people who did not like cats. She visited garbage pails, and learned to dash off with the others when the maid opened the kitchen door. She learned to walk on her stomach when crossing the street, and by the time that winter came, she had cobwebs in her whiskers, and looked at everybody out of frightened green eyes.

[3]

She was naturally a good mouser, but when the weather grew cold, people shut up their barns, and every cat knows that the open-air mice who live around unused sheds are very poor eating. But she managed to get along until the kittens came, and then she became desperate enough to beg at back doors, and purr for a piece of meat. But some people cannot appreciate even the finest kind of a purr, and the Alley Cat’s purr was hoarse and miserable like herself.

“I once had a good soprano,” she told the friendly barn cat who brought her a second joint of rat. “But I’m out of voice now, being up so much daytimes with the kittens.”

There were only two kittens,—one ugly like herself, and the other the very image of that beautiful mother who had never loved her. But the Alley Cat remembered this, and made a point of loving the ugly kitten best.

It was soon after their eyes were opened that the coldest weather came, and the Alley[4] Cat made her first acquaintance with The Back Yard.

She had visited other back yards in her time, but this was very different, because kind children played there,—the children of a mother who loved all helpless things. It is true that she did not particularly yearn after alley cats, and was glad when this one refused to be tamed, and brought into the house.

But she said, “You may put some milk and meat for her out on the coal box, Eunice. She probably knows who she is, even if we don’t!”

So very often after that, when the Alley Cat leaped with a crash of snow and icicles to the side fence, she would smell a nice warm luncheon waiting for her on the coal box, and go home with a happy, purring heart.

But just before Christmas, the family went away on a visit and the house was closed, so when the crash of icicles came, and an anxious gray face looked over the fence, there was nothing to be seen or smelled that a body could eat.

[5]

The pleasant barn cat who had brought her the second joint of rat, came to tell his friend of a place that he had found down-town behind a restaurant, where many things could be had without asking. He was really a very kind cat, although he had but one hole in his nose, instead of two, owing to the partition having been torn through in a fight.

THE ALLEY CAT

But she could not move her kittens, and indeed had told him very little about them, fearing that he might not like children.

It was soon after this that the gray kitten[6] died, and the tortoise-shell kitten became so thin that there was scarcely room on her sides for all her beautiful tortoise-shell spots. But it was not until the day before Christmas that the family of kind children came home; and that night, when the mother and grandmother were out in the woodshed unpacking holly wreaths, the Alley Cat came into the yard. The mother of the children noticed her at once, because there had been a heavy snow, and her little dark figure showed quite plainly against it. “Mother, that cat is carrying something. I believe it’s a kitten!” she said, and went to the door to look.

The Alley Cat came with her head held high, for it was a heavy kitten, and her poor little back strained under the burden. But she managed to reach the shed, and laid her baby at the feet of Her who loved all helpless things, then turned and went out again into the snow.

“Mother, did you see that? Ah, Mother, look!” She took up the kitten with pitiful[7] hands, and held it to her cheek. Its little nose was quite white with cold, and snow was on its tail.

“Do you suppose there’d be any danger in keeping it?” she asked. “Eunice wants a kitten dreadfully, and has been praying for one every night for a month.”

“Danger? what nonsense! I’ll disinfect it,” Grandmother said sharply. “Somebody heard that prayer, if the Lord didn’t, and the cat’s come for Christmas morning.”

“It’s a perfect beauty, even if it is thin,” said the children’s mother. “But it’s pretty young to keep.”

“I kept my babies when they were younger than that, and I’ll warrant this cat won’t make half so much trouble. Besides, its mother trusted you, so there’s nothing else to do.”

But it was not until after they had warmed some milk for the kitten, and Grandmother had wrapped her up in a First Aid bichloride bandage, that they remembered how the Alley Cat had gone out again into the night.

[8]

“She looked hungry,” said the children’s mother, with tears in her eyes, “and I know she must have been hungry. But she thought she wasn’t wanted, and went away. Oh, poor Alley Cat!”

She opened the outside door, and called, “Come back, kitty, come back, poor kitty, kitty! Come back, poor kitty-cat!”

But nothing entered except the wind and the snow. And they never saw the Alley Cat again.

[9]

CHAPTER TWO

THE ALLEY CAT’S KITTEN

EUNICE and Kenneth were allowed to get up at six o’clock on Christmas morning, if they would promise not to wake anybody else. But this was a very funny rule, because when they ran into the play-room where the stockings were hung, Mother and Grandmother were always there before them; and Franklin, who had pretended to be fast asleep, would give a wild whoop from behind his door. This happened every time, and for years afterwards the striking of a match would set Eunice’s heart beating, and she would think, “Oh, it’s Christmas, and six o’clock has come!” when it might not be Christmas at all, and she would have to shake herself very hard to remember that she was grown-up.

[10]

This morning Kenneth was the first to reach the play-room, and so it was he who first saw—but Grandmother grabbed him by the seat of his legged nighty, and put her hand over his mouth, saying, “Wait till Eunice comes!”

It was then that Eunice saw too, and gave a little squeal of delight,—the kind that she always gave when she saw one, although she had never seen one looking out of the top of a stocking before. And this one had a lace ruff around its neck. Otherwise the stocking was just as usual, all bunchy, with a queer, fat foot made by the orange in the toe. But she could not believe that what she saw at the top of the stocking was true.

“Bang!” went Kenneth on one of his new noisy presents that Franklin had given him; and “E-ow!” went the thing in the top of Eunice’s stocking. Then it was true after all!

“Do take her out, quick!” said Mrs. Wood, laughing. “I’m so afraid she’ll stick to the candy elephant underneath.”

[11]

“There, I’m glad that’s over!” said Grandmother, with a sigh. “I wasn’t up with her but seven times last night.”

“Aren’t you going to look at your other things?” asked Kenneth, blissfully sucking a hind leg of sugar dog.

“Oh, Mother, it has white toes!” Eunice cried.

“Say, Mother, this is bully!” exclaimed Franklin, from the other side of the room where his table was set. Franklin considered himself too old to hang up a stocking now.

“My present for Grandma’s on the breakfast-table,” Kenneth explained. “It cost thirteen cents. Eunice’s didn’t cost but nine.”

“And a white end to its tail,” said Eunice.

“This book’s better than the one that other fellow had,” said Franklin.

“And it spit at me—such a cunning baby spit! Mother, did you hear it spit?”

“Well, I believe that I’ll take another nap,” said Grandmother, with a yawn.

[12]

“I’ll go back and get dressed,” said Mrs. Wood. “Kenny dear, sit off that gum-drop, please. And don’t eat but three candy animals before breakfast.”

“Eunice did!”

“Never mind what Eunice does. It’s your business to look after Kenny. Yes, Mother, I’m coming.”

And before the children had really looked at all their presents, it was breakfast-time.

“What’ll you name your cat?” asked Franklin over the oatmeal. All Franklin’s rabbits had names, and could tell each other apart.

“I don’t know yet,” said Eunice. “I think I’ll have to wait and see what her yell is.”

Eunice had a language of what Franklin called “yells,” in which she talked to all animals, and the strange part of it was that the animals seemed to like it. Some of these yells were a kind of song, and others appeared to mean certain things which the animals understood.

[13]

Eunice did not call her new Christmas present “Kitty, kitty,” but “Wee-je-wee-je, wee-je, kim-um-sing!” which meant “Come.” So in a few days the kitten was known as “Weejums,” and Eunice said that Weejums had chosen the name for herself.

“SHE MISSED HER OWN MOTHER”

She was a very lonely little kitten at first, and spit at everybody who tried to feed her. But this was only because she missed her own[14] mother, and had not yet learned to trust these new friends. She wept nights, and her baby face sometimes had the look of quite an old cat, it was so sad.

“And she never smiled,” Eunice said afterwards, “until I learned how to make that same pur-r-ow in my throat that the Alley Cat did.” Then she decided that she had made a mistake after all, and that Eunice was her mother.

She learned to come to Eunice’s door every morning with a little soft “E-ow?” followed by a very fierce “Wow!” if she was not let in. Sometimes she came so early that Eunice would be sleepy, but there was never any sleep after the kitten was in the room, for she was one of the dreadfully playful kind; whenever Eunice moved her toes, she would spring at them, worrying the bedclothes with wide bites, and soft thudding hind-kicks. And if put down on the floor, she would leap back instantly to dab at Eunice’s eyelashes, or tangle herself joyously in her hair, chewing very hard as the curls became caught in her teeth.

[15]

She never came to any other door, or spoke to any other member of the family, and seemed to know that she was Eunice’s cat.

“IF SHE COULD HAVE SEEN HOW SWEET SHE LOOKED”

But she hated to be dressed in dolls’ clothes, and would switch her tail very hard, and sit down “back-to,” whenever dolls were mentioned. Of course if she could have seen[16] how sweet she looked with her paws sticking out of a frilled sleeve, and her whiskers showing daintily against the dark blue of a velvet bonnet, she would not have minded at all. But she refused to look in the glass when held up to it, and only slanted back her eyes and ears in a bored way that Eunice called “Chinese dignity.”

One day Mrs. Wood was receiving some very elegant people in the parlor, when Weejums came, or rather rolled into the room. She had on a sunbonnet, and a pair of dolls’ riding pants, which were so tight that her tail had to be curled around inside like a watch-spring. This gave her a most peculiar gait, as her front legs advanced in stiff hops, and her hind legs went to places that her front legs had not planned at all.

Mrs. Wood’s back was towards the door, and she did not see Weejums until the Senator and his wife began to laugh. Then she pounced on the kitten and carried her out, feeling very much mortified, although[17] she knew that she should laugh herself when the callers were gone.

But Weejums had reason to be glad that she had run into the parlor that day, for it put an end to the most uncomfortable part of the dressing-up. After this, Mrs. Wood forbade Eunice to dress the kitten in any garment that was not built to contain a tail.

But Weejums still took part in all the plays that Eunice thought of, and even went coasting with her on the blue sled. Her tail always swelled before they reached the bottom of the hill, but it went back to its normal size again soon afterwards, and she liked being pulled up the hill on the sled, without having to put her pink toes into the snow.

One Saturday afternoon, the children all went to see “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and came home talking very fast about Topsy and Eva, and the real bloodhounds, “as big as calves,” that chased Eliza across the ice.

“There will be scenes from ‛Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ in the nursery to-day, at four,” Eunice[18] announced at breakfast one morning. “It will be the first appearance of Weejums on any stage.”

Mrs. Wood said that she would come, and bring some ladies who were to call that afternoon, and Franklin came, and brought some boys who were helping him build the new rabbit-house.

The price of admission was four pins; and Cyclone, the dog, was tied near the door, with a pincushion strapped to his back for a money-box. Cyclone whined and looked miserable whenever a pin approached, for he knew that he had a sign, “Pay Here,” fastened to his collar, and thought it meant that the pins were to be stuck into him.

When everything was ready, Eunice threw open the folding doors between her room and the nursery, and said in a solemn voice, “First Tableau. ‛Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven!’”

The tableau was Kenneth, standing in a high chair, buttoned into one of his mother’s[19] corset covers, which reached nearly to his feet. The grown-up audience was wondering what this had to do with “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” when Franklin said, “Oh, pshaw! that’s wrong. That part doesn’t come in yet.”

“It does so,” said Eunice, putting her head out from behind the door.

“Does so,” echoed Kenneth from the high chair.

“Aw, you mustn’t talk,” jeered Franklin. “You’re nothing but the nightmare Uncle Tom saw in the last act.”

“Ain’t either!” said Kenneth, bursting a button off the heavenly robe, in his wrath. “I’m little Eva.”

“It’s no fair talking,” said Eunice. “Mother, is it fair talking to the tableau?”

“Let’s have the next scene,” said one of the ladies, applauding very hard.

“Oh, yes,” said Eunice, looking quite pleased. “The next scene is Eliza crossing on the ice, pursued by the fierce bloodhound.”

Eunice was Eliza, and Weejums was the[20] bloodhound, and the cakes of ice were newspapers spread on the floor. Eunice, screaming loudly, clasped her doll to her bosom and jumped from paper to paper, then stopped and wiggled a string, and the fierce bloodhound followed, with gentle pounces and wavings of a tortoise-shell tail.

But when the audience clapped its delight, the tail grew so big with terror that you could scarcely see any kitten at all behind it, and dashed off the stage to hide under the nursery bureau. And the whole audience left their seats and crawled around on hands and knees with the actors, trying to coax the fierce bloodhound out.

But he wouldn’t come, and so they could not have any more scenes from “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” as Weejums was to have taken the part of Miss Ophelia and any number of others. So the last tableau was announced as “A Sorrowful Widow Weeping over her Husband’s Grave.”

Eunice was the widow, with a red tablecloth over her head, which was the nearest she could[21] find to anything black, and Kenneth was the grave, down on all fours, covered with a yellow lamb’s-wool rug. He was dreadfully warm and uncomfortable in this position, but behaved very well, until Franklin gave a kind of snort and said, “Ho, who ever saw a grave with panties on!”

Then the grave turned a complete somersault, and lay there chuckling wickedly, while the sorrowful widow took off her red tablecloth and scolded him.

The audience went away then, and Eunice found that Cyclone had slipped the pincushion around under his stomach, and chewed all the bran out. And when Weejums came out from under the bureau, she had to squeeze herself so flat that she howled all the way, and some black, yellow, and white hairs were left behind. But this was because she was getting to be a big kitten now, and could no longer have gone into a Christmas stocking.

[22]

CHAPTER THREE

THE BLACK RABBIT WITH WHITE SPOTS, AND THE WHITE RABBIT WITH BLACK SPOTS

THE children went East with their mother that summer, and Weejums stayed with Grandmother and Cyclone at the farm. But Eunice wrote to her quite often, and learned from her replies that she was having a splendid time chasing grasshoppers.

“I’d enclose one tender little one for you,” Weejums wrote; “but your grandmother says that they wouldn’t agree with you. It seems a pity, because they have such juicy little red legs.”

Eunice did not really believe that Weejums wrote these letters herself, but was quite certain that she thought all these things, even if she never mentioned them.

When they came back in the fall, Grandmother[23] went down first to open the house, and, of course, Eunice asked for Weejums almost before she was inside the door.

“Well, she’s busy just now,” said Grandmother, with a funny look; “but she sent word for you to look behind the barrel in the woodshed.”

Eunice and Kenneth ran as fast as they could, wondering why Weejums did not come to meet them. And then they heard a purr—such a loud, proud purr! Eunice thought that they heard it in the dining-room; but Kenneth said it was not until they reached the kitchen. But it was Weejums’ purr, and it came from behind the barrel in the woodshed!

Eunice looked at Weejums, and Weejums looked at Eunice, and Mother and Grandmother came out and looked at them both. Then Eunice took three little squealing rolls of fur into her lap, and kissed three tiny pink noses, warm and moist with sleep. And Weejums forgot all about her kittens, in the joy of seeing Eunice again.

[24]

“They were born at the farm, two weeks ago,” Grandmother said, “and came down in a basket last night.”

“Don’t you think,” asked Eunice, in an awestruck tone, “that she’s very young to be a mother?”

“It really looks so,” said Grandmother, seriously; “because she seems to love you a great deal better than she does the kittens!”

Weejums was rolling over and over in her delight, and jumping in and out of the box to rub against Eunice’s face. And whenever she jumped, her purr jolted up into a funny little squeak that came down when she did.

“One is black with white edgings,” said Eunice, in a rapturous whisper, “and one is yellow and white, with mittens.”