THECATS’ ARABIAN NIGHTSORKING GRIMALKUM

CONTENTS.

How It Happened.

One evening when a company of children and older people were looking at funny cat-pictures and telling cat-stories, a little ten-year-old girl asked: “Why can there not be a Cats’ Arabian Nights Story Book?”

“There would have to be a Cat King, or Emperor, or Sultan,” said her next older sister.

“And a Cat Queen, or Empress, or Sultaness,” said their cousin Joe, the sailor.

“And she would have to go on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, telling stories in order to save her own life,” said their cousin Lucia.

“I propose,” said uncle Fred, “that cousin Lucia put together a Cats’ Arabian Nights for little children, and have it ready to read to our little children when they all shall come next summer with their fathers and mothers.”

“Oh yes! Yes! Do! Pray do! Won’t you do it? Say you will! Say you will!” cried many voices.

“I think it will be fun to do it,” said cousin Lucia, “if you allow me to put in some make believe and nonsense, if I want to.”

“Certainly!” was the cry. “Put in anything. Anything you please!”

Cousin Lucia said she was willing to try, and thus it happened that the summer-children and others got a story book beginning, as all story books should begin, with—once upon a time.

King Grimalkum and Pussyanita; OR, The Cats’ Arabian Nights.

ONCE upon a time the aged Tommobus, King of the Cats, went forth a hunting and returned with a wound which caused his death. So Tommobus died and Grimalkum the Powerful became King in his stead.

King Grimalkum was of course jet black all over without a single white hair, or he could not have been made king, and his eyes were of the true royal yellow.

The first act of King Grimalkum’s reign was one of cruelty. He sent forth an order declaring that black, maltese, and gray, were the only colors to be allowed for cats, and that all cats which were white or yellow, or which had more white or yellow hairs than dark ones should not be permitted to live. Judges were appointed to measure the spots.

This order caused great affright among the lighter cats. The wholly white and wholly yellow hid themselves or fled to distant places, and the partly white and partly yellow went in haste to have their dark spots measured by the judges.

Among those who came before the judges was Pussyanita, a beautiful creature just out of kittenhood. Her playfulness and sweet disposition made her beloved by all.

Alas! it was soon made known by the judges that the dark of Pussyanita measured many less hairs than her white ones. This caused great sorrow, and King Grimalkum was begged to spare her life.

“Spare her life! Not if she were twenty Pussyanitas!” cried the King; which was a foolish answer, since she could not have been twenty Pussyanitas, or even nineteen.

Now this sweet and gentle creature was so much beloved, that no one could be found willing to hurt a single hair of her. When King Grimalkum heard this he became furious with anger, and commanded that she be brought to him at once, saying that he himself would attend to the business, and make quick work of it. So the lovely Pussyanita was brought before the King.

Her loveliness did not soften his heart; on the contrary he was made more furious than ever by seeing that she sat licking her fur as quietly as if sitting in her own sunny garden spot.

“What are you doing that for, you silly thing?” he cried. “Don’t you know you have but a few moments to live?”

“Yes, your majesty,” replied the lovely Pussyanita, “but I cannot endure a speck of dirt, and with good reason, for in me you see a descendant, and great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandchild of the unhappy and happy Pinky-white. Your majesty must have heard of Pinky-white.”

“Never,” said the king, sternly. “But why do you call her unhappy and happy? There is no sense in that.”

“She was not unhappy and happy at the same time,” said Pussyanita. “She was first unhappy and afterwards happy.”

“How was that?” asked the king. “And supposing you are the great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great granddaughter of Pinky-white, what has that to do with your being unable to endure a speck of dirt?”

Said the lovely Pussyanita, “It would give me pleasure, your majesty, to explain why my great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother was first unhappy, and why she was afterwards happy, also supposing I am the great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great granddaughter of Pinky-white, what that has to do with my being unable to endure a speck of dirt; it would give me pleasure, I say, to explain all this, but it would take a longer time than I have to live.”

“Time shall be granted you,” said the king, “for I am curious to know why your great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother Pinky-white was unhappy and why she was happy, and to know why your being her great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great granddaughter should be a reason why you are unable to endure a speck of dirt.”

“At your majesty’s request,” replied Pussyanita, “I will tell you the story of my great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother Pinky-white, as she herself told it, when ordered to do so, at Lady Yellow-paw’s famous party.”

“Stop!” cried the king. “Why was your great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother Pinky-white ordered to tell her story at Lady Yellow-paw’s famous party? Who was Lady Yellow-paw? Why was her party famous?”

“Please your majesty,” replied Pussyanita, “I shall be happy to explain to your majesty who was Lady Yellow-paw, and why her party was famous, and why my great, great, great, great, great, twenty-seven times great grandmother Pinky-white was ordered to tell her story at that party, but your majesty must perceive that to do all this will require much time.”

“Begin then!” cried the king. “Begin with your Lady Yellow-paw and her famous party, and then go on to your twenty-seven times great grandmother; and do not waste time waiting or waste words in the telling.”

The lovely Pussyanita bowed and began with Lady Yellow-paw and her famous party, and then went on to tell the story of Pinky-white as told by herself at that famous party.

The Story of Pinky-White.

“The first that I knew of myself, I found myself by the side of my mother, among some hay in a basket along with three other kittens of my own age and size. Two of our number were quickly stolen from us. It will thus be seen that I had scarcely begun to live before I began to be unhappy. As I grew older I became more and more unhappy, for the place was cold, the floor was hard, our mother cuffed us, and girl-Mary, who owned us, knew not the best way of stroking.

Girl-Jane and Girl-Mary.

“One day when girl-Mary sat by our basket, girl-Jane came down there bringing her own cat and kittens. Girl-Jane had called to see us many times, and I had been pleased with the looks of her face, and the sounds of her voice, and the touches of her fingers; and she knew the best way of stroking. “Girl-Jane was smaller than girl-Mary, but she knew more. Girl-Jane said she wanted girl-Mary to change kittens with her. She wanted me and Minnie because we were whiter than her kittens.

“‘No, Jane,’ said girl-Mary, ‘I can’t change, for you know mine are all named, and besides your cat would not like it. She knows what we are talking about. Don’t you see how anxious she looks?’

“It made me unhappy to hear this. I wanted to go with girl-Jane, away from the cold place, and the hard floor, and my cross mother and be stroked the best way. Minnie too wished to go. She cried when girl-Mary gave back the other kittens. As for me, I could only turn away and hide my sorrowful face.

“My next unhappiness was the unhappiness of being whipped with a rod. An old lady wished for a cat to catch her mice and thought she would take a kitten and teach it to behave well. I was carried to her home. I had here a warm place, and a carpet, and the old lady did not stroke at all, so that I was not made unhappy by bad stroking. But my unhappiness was great, on account of the rod. It was rod here and rod there; rod on the pantry shelf and rod on the chair-cushion; rod on the parlor sofa and rod on the best bed; rod at the milk pitcher, and rod at the custard pie.

Well Made for Catching.

“A greater unhappiness must now be told. For this greater unhappiness was the cause of another unhappiness even greater than this—oh, very much greater! It was the cause of a long and dreadful unhappiness in which I nearly starved to death. It was something which would make any and every cat unhappy. It was this. I could not catch well. Mice, birds, moles, bats, squirrels, rabbits, almost always got away from me. I think I must have been born short-clawed.

“In a corner of the garden was a chicken-coop. This chicken-coop was well made for catching. It would seem that all a cat need do was to lie quietly on top, looking over the edge, and when a chicken popped out, spring and catch it. Any other cat would have done all this. The next house cat did do all this. I did not do all this. I lay quietly on top of the chicken-coop. I looked over the edge, and when a chicken popped out I sprang. I did everything the next house cat did except to catch the chicken.

I Did My Best.

“I had the same luck in fishing. There was a stream at the bottom of our garden and at its edge were large mossy rocks on which a cat might stretch herself in the sun, or if the day were hot she might lie in their cool shade. Trees grew near by and any other cat would have often caught a bird among their branches. The next house cat did this. I did not do this. Any other cat than myself would have now and then caught a fish in the stream at the foot of the rocks. The next house cat did this. I did not do this. I often lay close to the water—as shown how to do by the next house cat, and watched the fishes as they glided past. When one rose to the top I did my best to catch it, but even did I have the luck to touch one, it was sure to slip out and away. I used to think sometimes that if fishes had not been made so slippery I could have held on, but then the next house cat held on to slippery fishes. I am almost sure I must have been born short-clawed.

Bold Little Thing!

“As for squirrels and rabbits, they seemed at last to be not a bit afraid of me, even when I had become a full-grown cat. One saucy squirrel used to tease me by coming very near and then darting out of my reach. This squirrel became very bold. He even popped in at the doors and windows. One day when I was asleep on the sofa by the library window, he ran as near me as the back of the sofa—bold little thing! and by the time I had turned over he was out of the window, and I soon got sight of his bushy tail whisking through the tall tree-tops, and of his little bright eyes looking down at me through the leaves. He would not have got away so easily from the next house cat. There can be no doubt but that I must have been born short-clawed.

“The next house cat caught mice. I did not. I might have caught some had not the mouse-holes been made so small. But then the next house cat had the same kind of mouse-holes I had.

The Next House Cat

“Sometimes I thought if I had been a Tabby I might have caught as well as the next house cat. But then I could not be a Tabby.

“One day—oh unhappy day! the next house cat’s mistress came to see my mistress, and they talked of cats. I lay outside under the open window and heard every word, and understood. Mistresses, as you very well know, dear Lady Yellow-paw—as all of you at this famous party very well know—mistresses have no idea how much their cats can understand.

“Said my mistress, ‘Pinky-white is the neatest cat that ever was seen. She will have no dirt on her fur. She licks off every speck. She keeps herself snow white. And I have taught her to behave well. I no longer keep a rod. But she catches no mice.’

“‘You feed her too well,’ said the next house cat’s mistress. ‘Send her to Miss Rhody and get you a mouser. Miss Rhody is out of a cat and is waiting to find a neat one. Miss Rhody has managed cats these forty years and knows how to do it. Miss Rhody never feeds a cat. If it won’t catch mice she drowns it.’

“‘I will send Pinky-white to Miss Rhody to-morrow,’ said my mistress.

“This frightened me. Oh what should I do? What could I do? In my agony of distress I ran round and round in a circle in the potato patch, tore up the squash vines, and at last I sprang over the high wall, and in that house and garden I was never seen more.

But Alas! Three Others Were Gnawing the Bone.

“Then began the terrible unhappiness of my life. No tongue can tell what I suffered. Hiding behind fences, under barns, in empty pig-styes, empty hen-houses; being driven from back doors, hooted at by boys, barked at by dogs, and hungry, hungry, hungry, oh so hungry!—for I could not catch well—and always dirty! Ah! none who have not felt it can know the unhappiness of a cat without a home!

“One night I thought surely I should taste a bit of meat. A black-and-white kitten kindly told me of a large bone she had seen in a yard, and we scampered to that yard. But alas! three others were already gnawing the bone and there was nothing on the bone, for a tommy cat had kept the others away till he had eaten off all the meat and then he sat seeing them gnaw the bare bone. I did not gnaw. I did not wish to gnaw bare bone.

“One day a dreadful thing happened to me. It was when I was hungrier than I had ever been before, though I had been very hungry. I was so hungry I thought I could not live, and I went into the fields to try to catch something. It was a silly thing for me to try to catch a rat when I was short-clawed.

“I did. A great rat went into a field and I thought, oh if I could only get that rat! I must have that rat! I must!

“I put myself down flat and crept behind that rat. He went creeping through some wheat and corn and I crept behind, quicker than he, for I could creep quicker. He went up a large stalk to his nest. I sprang up and grabbed him, but alas! I could not take good hold and he got away and sprang at me and the mother rat sprang out at me and they bit me, and would have killed me, but I got away and ran with all my might, and lay down under some bushes, and pretty soon that same black and white kitten came and licked the blood off me and brought me a mole to eat, or I never should have stirred from that spot.

“As the weather grew colder I suffered more and more. I longed for a home.

“Often at evening I ran behind persons hoping to be invited to their houses, but they always drove me back.

“During all this time I was obliged to endure the distress of knowing that my fur was not perfectly clean.

“When winter came my unhappiness was greater than it had ever been before, though it had already been very great.

“But one day, oh joyful day! my unhappiness came to an end, oh joyful end! I will tell how this happened.

He Went Up a Large Stalk to His Nest.

The Kind Maiden.

“The ground was covered with snow, slosh and mud. I had been running hither and thither, under barns, in coal cellars, and in other places trying to catch something, but having had the misfortune, as I have already told your ladyship, the misfortune of being born short-clawed, I had caught nothing. Begrimed with dirt, hungry, cold, forlorn, I was on my way to my jumping spot. This was the corner of a wall near a back door. It was also near to some bushes and trees all snugly fenced in, and under these I had often hid myself and tried to clean my fur and watched for the back door to open. I called it my jumping spot because sometimes I jumped from that spot and got in at the back door and snatched a bit from the plate of the cat which belonged to the house. Sometimes a kind maiden had thrown me scraps from one of the windows.

“Now just as I was to jump from my jumping spot I saw this kind maiden coming down the steps. She had her pet kitten in her arms and was tending it with care. ‘Oh pet kitten! pet kitten!’ I mewed to it. ‘How little you know the unhappiness of a cat without a home!’ Mewing this, I hung my tail and was slinking out of sight when I heard these words.

“‘Puss! Puss! Pussy! Pussy! Puss!’ How I wished I could think they were spoken to me! ‘Pussy! Poor Pussy! Here Pussy!’ I turned my head, but kept moving. ‘Pussy! Pussy! Pussy! Puss! Poor Pussy! Pussy! Pussy! Here Pussy! Poor Pussy!’ I stopped.

“‘Pussy! Here Pussy! come Pussy!’

“Yes! they were—they were spoken to me! She was looking at me! ‘Good old Pussy! come here, good old Pussy!’

“She held out her hand. I dared not go. She went in and placed a saucer of milk on the kitchen hearth, called me and left the door open, and went to another room. I crept in to the hearth, and lapped, lapped, lapped, oh how I did lap! No tongue can tell the sweetness of that milk!

She Took Me Up.

“As soon as I had eaten the milk I examined the things in the room, then I rolled over and over on the door mat to get the coal dust off, then I sat on the hearth and licked myself clean. The cook came in and shook the broom at me and cried: ‘Scat! Scat!’ Just then the kind maiden showed her face at the door. ‘Here’s a strange cat!’ the cook said to her. ‘We don’t want another cat!’

“‘Why! how white and clean she has made herself,’ said the maiden. ‘She is a neat cat. I have often seen her cleaning herself out under the bushes. I mean to keep her. She is just the cat for poor Ellen.’

“I went and rubbed against her clothes, rubbed hard, and tried to purr loud enough to make her understand that I said in purr language, ‘I love you, love you. Don’t send me away!’

“Oh the happiness of a cat with a good home! I had now a good home. I was held in laps, stroked well, talked to, even kissed. I had warm milk, meat scraps, and plenty of fish. I was not expected to catch. I wonder why cats are almost always expected to catch.

“I went every day to see poor Ellen. I used to go up after breakfast and scratch the door and get myself let in. When she combed her hair I sat close to her looking-glass, and looked at her while she combed her hair, and when she sat down to rest I lay on the floor and waited, and when she put on her shoes I kept at her feet, and rubbed her feet, and then I rubbed against her a good deal and purred to be taken up, and she took me up. Poor Ellen could not walk much but she could hold me. She liked me because I kept myself so clean and white.

The Hen’s Lesson in Neatness.

“The maiden said she never before saw a cat which could not endure a speck of dirt. She said she believed I taught her other cats to be neat. This might not have been true, but it was certainly true that while I was with them the other cats were very careful to clean themselves after eating. One day she called the family to see us. ‘Look!’ she cried. ‘Look at my cat that cannot endure a speck of dirt! I do believe that rooster has brought his hen to make her take a lesson in neatness.’

“This might not have been true, either. He might have brought her to make her take a lesson in neatness, or he might have brought her for the scraps we often left.