Our Cats and All About Them

"Well, Mrs. Honeywold," I said, with assumed cheerfulness, as she handed my coffee to me, "how long did you have to sit up? What time did she come in?"

"She did not come in all night, general," said my landlady, in a troubled voice. "She has not come home yet, and I am very anxious about it."

"No need of that, I trust," I said, reassuringly; "she will come this morning, no doubt."

"I don't know. I wish I was sure of that. I don't know what to make of it. I don't understand it. She never did so before. How she could have stayed out, and left those two blessed little things all night—and she always seemed such a tender, loving mother, too—I don't understand it."

When I returned at dinner-time I found matters still worse. She had not returned. My poor landlady was almost in hysterics, though she tried hard to control herself.

To satisfy her I set off to consult the police. My mission was not encouraging. They promised to do their best, but gave slight hopes of a successful result.

So sad, weary, and discouraged, I returned home, only to learn there were no tidings of the missing one.

"I give her up now," said my weeping landlady; "I shall never see her again. She is lost for ever; and those two poor pretty little creatures–"

"By the way," I said, "I wanted to speak to you about them. If she never does return, what do you purpose to do with them?"

"Keep them!" said the generous and impulsive little woman.

"I wanted to say, if she does not return, I will, if you like, relieve you of one of them. My sister, who lives with me, and keeps my house, is a very kind, tender-hearted woman. There are no children in the house, and she would, I am sure, be very kind to the poor little thing. What do you say?"

"No, no!" sobbed the poor woman; "I cannot part with them. I am a poor woman, it is true, but not too poor to give them a home; and while I have a bit and a sup for myself they shall have one too. Their poor mother left them here, and if she ever does return she shall find them here. And if she never returns, then–"

And she never did return, and no tidings of her fate ever reached us. If she was enticed away by artful blandishments, or kidnapped by cruel violence, we knew not. But I honestly believe the latter. Either way, it was her fatal beauty that led her to destruction; for, as I have said before, she was the most perfect creature, the most beautiful Maltese cat, that I ever beheld in my life! I am sure she never deserted her two pretty little kittens of her own accord. And if—poor dumb thing—she was stolen and killed for her beautiful fur, still I say, as I said at first, she was "more sinned against than sinning."—C. H. Grattan, in Tit-Bits.

THE END

1

"Trans. Tyneside Nat. Field Club," 1864, vol. vi. p. 123.

2

A lugged bear is a bear with its ears cut off, so that when used for baiting there is less hold for the dogs.

3

Hone's "Every-day Book," vol. i.

4

Mr. T. F. Thiselton Dyer's "English Folk-lore."

5

Mr. T. F. Thiselton Dyer's "English Folk-lore."

6

Harland and Wilkinson, "Lancashire Folk-lore," p. 141.

7

Edwards's "Old English Customs," p. 54.

8

Daniel's "Rural Sports," 1813.

9

Hone's "Every-day Book," vol. i.

10

Daniel's "Rural Sports," 1813.

11

Daniel's "Rural Sports," 1813.

12

The Boy's Own Book.

13

The Boy's Own Book.

14

Jamieson's "Scottish Dictionary."