Pussy and Doggy Tales

by E. Nesbit

  Produced by Suzanne Lybarger and Emmy.

  Pussy and Doggy Tales

  Pussy and Doggy Tales

  By E. Nesbit

  With Illustrations by L. Kemp-Welch

  London J. M. Dent & Co. Aldine House 29 & 30 Bedford Street 1899 W.C.

  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. At the Ballantyne Press

  Contents

  Pussy Tales

  PAGE TOO CLEVER BY HALF 3

  THE WHITE PERSIAN 16

  A POWERFUL FRIEND 26

  A SILLY QUESTION 40

  THE SELFISH PUSSY 47

  MEDDLESOME PUSSY 54

  NINE LIVES 62

  Doggy Tales

  PAGE TINKER 79

  RATS! 95

  THE TABLES TURNED 100

  A NOBLE DOG 108

  THE DYER'S DOG 114

  THE VAIN SETTER 123

  List of Illustrations

  PAGE "_I may have no nose, old man, but I smell rats_" _Frontispiece_

  _Page_ _Nurse dried the poor, dear, cruelly-used kittens a little_ 11

  _She was very beautiful_ 17

  _I who superintended the writing of his letters_ 23

  _So much better to go to sleep in front of it_ 27

  _Now the back of a cow is the last place where you would look for a cat_ 33

  "_I don't believe a word of it_" 43

  _I was picked up in the street by a child_ 49

  _The dog saw me off_ 53

  _Seeing the tea set out, I got on the table_ 59

  _Sitting up, and beginning to wash the kitten's face very hard indeed_ 73

  _The man's arm dragged through the window-pane, and Tinker hanging on to his fingers_ 89

  _It was a magnificent fight_ 106

  _He pulled her out some ten yards down the stream_ 111

  _Sat in the sun on the dyer's doorstep_ 117

  _I took the first prize_ 127

  Pussy Tales

  Too Clever by Half

  "TELL us a story, mother," said the youngest kitten but three.

  "You've heard all my stories," said the mother cat, sleepily turningover in the hay.

  "Then make a new one," said the youngest kitten, so pertly that Mrs.Buff boxed her ears at once--but she laughed too. Did you ever hear acat laugh? People say that cats often have occasion to do it.

  "I do know one story," she said; "but I'm not sure that it's true,though it was told me by a most respectable brindled gentleman, a greatfriend of my dear mother's. He said he was a second cousin twenty-ninetimes removed of Mrs. Tabby White, the lady the story is about."

  "Oh, do tell it," said all the kittens, sitting up very straight andlooking at their mother with green anxious eyes.

  "Very well," she said kindly; "only if you interrupt I shall leave off."

  So there was silence in the barn, except for Mrs. Buff's voice and thesoft sound of pleased purring which the kittens made as they listened tothe enchanting tale.

  * * * * *

  "Mrs. Tabby White seems to have been as clever a cat as ever wentrat-catching in a pair of soft-soled shoes. She always knew just where amouse would peep out of the wainscot, and she had her soft-sharp paw onhim before he had time to know that he was not alone in the room. Sheknew how to catch nice breakfasts for herself and her children, a trickI will teach you, my dears, when the spring comes; she used to lie quitequietly among the ivy on the wall, and then take the baby birds out ofthe nest when the grown-up birds had gone to the grub-shop. Mrs. TabbyWhite was very clever, as I said--so clever that presently she was notsatisfied with being at the very top of the cat profession.

  "'Cat-people have more sense than human people, of course,' she said toherself; 'but still there are some things one might learn from them. Imust watch and see how they do things.'

  "So next morning when the cook gave Mrs. Tabby White her breakfast, shenoticed that cook poured the milk out of a jug into a saucer. Thatafternoon Tabby felt thirsty, but instead of putting her head into thejug and drinking in the usual way,--you know--she tilted up the jug topour the milk out as she had seen the cook do. But cats' paws, thoughthey are so strong to catch rats and mice and birds, are too weak tohold big brown jugs. The nasty deceitful jug fell off the dresser andbroke itself. 'Just to spite me, I do believe,' said Mrs. Tabby. And themilk was all spilled.

  "'Now how on earth could that jug have been broken?' said cook, when shecame in.

  "'It must have been the cat,' said the kitchenmaid; and she was quiteright, but nobody believed her.

  "Then Mrs. Tabby White noticed that human people slept in bigsoft-cushioned white beds, instead of sleeping on the kitchenhearth-rug, or in the barn, like cat people. So she said to her childrenone evening--

  "'My dears, we are going to move into a new house.'

  "And the kittens were delighted, and they all went upstairs veryquietly, and crept into the very best human bed. But unfortunately thatbed had been got ready for a human uncle to sleep in; and when he foundthe cats there he turned them out, not gently, and threw boots at themtill they fled, pale with fright to the ends of their pretty tails. Andnext morning he told the Mistress of the house that horrid CATS had beenin his bed, and he vowed that he would never pass another night under aroof where such things were possible. Mrs. Tabby White was veryglad--because no lady can wish for the visits of a person who throwsboots at her. But the Mistress of the house said sadly, 'Oh, Tabby!--youhave lost us a fortune!' And Tabby for all her cleverness didn'tunderstand what the Mistress meant, but went on purring proudly, andwondering what clever thing she could do next. And _I_ don't know whatit meant either, so don't you interrupt with silly questions.

  "'I think we ought to wear shoes,' was the next thing Mrs. Tabby Whitesaid; but all the human shoes were too big for her. However, there was anice pair of salmon-coloured kid shoes, quite new, belonging to thehuman child's big doll--and Mrs. Tabby White put them on her eldestkitten's little browny feet.

  "'Now, Brindle,' she said (he was named after the gentleman who told methe story), 'you are grander than any kitten ever was before.' And atfirst Brindle felt pleased--then he tried to feel pleased--then he knewhe wasn't pleased at all. Then the shoes began to hurt him horribly, sohe mewed sadly; and Mrs. Tabby White boxed his ears softly--as mothercats do; _you_ know how I mean! But when she was asleep he took off thepink shoes and bit them to pieces. And Nurse slapped him for it. PoorMrs. Tabby White was very miserable when she saw her son being slapped:for it is one thing to box your son's ears (softly, as mother cats do;_you_ know how I mean), and quite another to see another person doit--heavily, as is the way with nursemaids.

  "But the last and greatest effort Mrs. Tabby White made to imitate humanmanners was one Saturday night.

  "She saw the hum
an child have its bath before the nursery fire, with hotwater, pink soap, dry towels, and much fussing, and she said to herself,'Why should I waste hours every day in washing my children with mylittle white paws and my little pink tongue, when this human child canbe made clean in ten minutes with this big bath. If I had more time Icould learn to be cleverer, and I should end by being the mostwonderful Cat in all the world.' So she sat, and watched, and waited.

  "When the human child was in bed and asleep, Nurse went down to hersupper, leaving the bath to be cleared away later, for it was a hotsupper of baked onions and toasted cheese, and if you don't go to thatsupper directly it is ready, you may as well not go at all, for it won'tbe worth eating--at least so I have heard the kitchenmaid say.

  "Mrs. Tabby White waited till she heard the last of Nurse's steps on thestairs below, and then she put both her cat-children into the tub, andwashed them with rose-scented soap and a Turkey sponge. At first theythought it very good fun, but presently the soap got in their eyes andthey were frightened of the sponge, and they cried, mewing piteously, tobe taken out. I don't know how she could have done it, I couldn'thave treated a kitten of _mine_ like that.

  "When she took them out, Mrs. Tabby tried to dry them with the softtowel, but somehow catskin is not so easy to dry as child-skin, and thelittle cats began to shiver, and moan: 'Oh, mother, we were so nice andwarm, and now we are so cold! Why is it? What have we done? Were wenaughty?'

  "'Drat the cats!' said Nurse, when she came up from supper, and foundMrs. Tabby White trying to warm her kittens against her own comfortablefur; 'if they haven't tumbled in the bath!'

  "Nurse dried the poor, dear, cruelly-used kittens a little (her handswere bigger than Mrs. Tabby's, so she could do it better), and put themin a basket with flannel, and next day Tabby-Kit was quite well, thoughrather ragged looking; but Brindle had taken a chill, and for days hehung between life and death. Poor Mrs. Tabby was like a wild cat withanxiety, and when at last Brindle was well again (or nearly, for healways had a slight cough after that), Mrs. Tabby White said to herchildren, 'My darlings, I was wrong, I was a silly old cat.'

  "'No,' purred the cat-children, 'darling mother, you were always thebest of cats.'

  "Mrs. Tabby kissed them both, for of course any one would be pleasedthat her children should think her the best of cats, but in her heartshe knew well enough how silly she had been.

  "Then she set about washing the kittens, not with pink soap and whitetowel this time, but with white paws and pink tongue in the goodold-fashioned way."

  * * * * *

  "Thank you, mother," said all the kittens; "what a nice horrible story."

  "What is the moral?" asked the youngest kitten but three.

  "The moral," said Mrs. Buffy, "is, 'There is such a thing as being tooclever by half.' I'm not sure about the story being true, but I know themoral is. Why, it's nearly tea-time. Come along, children, and get yourtea."

  So they all crept quietly away to catch the necessary mice, and theyoungest was so afraid of being too clever by half, that she would neverhave caught a mouse at all, if her mother had not boxed herears--softly, as mother cats do; you know how I mean!

  The White Persian

  I WAS a handsome, discreet, middle-aged, respectable, responsible,domesticated tabby cat. I was humble. I knew my place, and kept it. Myplace was the place nearest the fire in winter, or close to the sunnywindow in summer. There was nothing to trouble me--not so much as a flyin the cream, or an error in the leaving of the cat's meat, until somethoughtless person gave my master the white Persian cat.

  She was very beautiful in her soft, foolish, namby-pamby, blue-eyedway. Of course, she did not understand English, and when they called"Puss, puss," she only ran under the sofa, for she thought they wereteasing her. She was mistress only of two languages--Persian andcat-talk.

  My master did not think of this. He called her "Puss"; he called her"Pussy"; he called her "Tittums" and "Pussy then"; and a thousandendearments that had formerly been lavished on me were vainly showeredon this unresponsive stranger. But when he found she was cold to all ofthem, my master sighed.

  "Poor thing!" he said; "she is deaf."

  I sat by the bright fender, and washed my face, and sleeked my prettypaws, and looked on. My master gave up taking very much notice of thenew cat. But I had a fear that he might learn Persian or cat-talk, andmake friends with her; so I resolved that the best thing for me would bea complete change in the Persian's behaviour--such a change as shouldmake it impossible for her ever to be friends with him again; so I saidto her:

  "You wonder that our master looks coldly at you. Perhaps you don't knowthat in England a white cat is supposed to mew twenty times longer andto purr twenty times louder than a cat of any other colour?"

  "Oh, thank you so much for telling me," she said gratefully. "I didn'tknow. As it happens, I have a very good voice."

  And the next time she wanted her milk, she mewed in a voice you couldhave heard twenty miles away. Poor master was so astonished that henearly dropped the saucer. When she had finished the milk, she jumpedupon his knee, and he began to stroke her. She nearly gave herself afit in her efforts to purr loud enough to please him. At first he waspleased, but when the purring got louder and louder, the poor man puthis hands to his ears and said, "Oh dear! oh dear! this is worse than awhole hive of bees."

  Still he put her down gently, and I congratulated her on having done sowell. She did better. She was an affectionate person, though foolish,and in her anxiety to do what was expected of a cat of her colour inEngland, she practised day and night.

  Her purr was already the loudest I have heard from any cat, but shefancied she could improve her mewing; and she mewed in the garden, shemewed in the house, she mewed at meals, she mewed at prayers, she mewedwhen she was hungry to show that she wanted food, and she mewed whenshe had had it to show her gratitude.

  "Poor thing," said the master to a friend who had come to see him, "sheis so deaf she can't hear the noise she makes."

  Of course, I understood what he said, but she hadn't yet picked up aword of English; and if the master _had_ begun to learn Persian, I don'tsuppose he had got much beyond the alphabet.

  The Persian's mew was rather feebler that day, because she had a cold.

  "I don't think it's so bad," said his friend. "If you really wanted toget rid of her, she is very handsome; she would take a prize anywhere."

  "She is yours," said the master instantly; and the strange gentlemantook her away in a basket.

  That evening it was I who sat on my master's knee--I who superintendedthe writing of his letters on the green-covered writing table--I whohad all the milk that was left over from his tea.

  In a few days he had a letter. I read it when he laid it down; and ifyou don't believe cats can read, I can only say that it is just as easyto read a letter like the master's as it is to write a story like this.The letter begged my master to take back the fair Persian.

  "Her howls," the letter went on, "become worse and worse. The poorcreature is, as you say, too deaf to be tolerated."

  My master wrote back instantly to say that he would rather be condemnedto keep a dog than have the fair Persian within his doors again.

  Then by return of post came a pitiful letter, begging for help andmercy, and the friend came again to tea. I trembled lest my foreignrival should come back to live with me. But she didn't. The next morningmy master took me on his knee, and, stroking me gently, said--

  "Ah, Tabbykins! no more Persians for us. I have sent her to my deafaunt. She will be delighted with her--a most handsome present--and asthey are both deaf, the fair Persian's shrieks will hurt nobody.

  "But I will have no more prize cats," he said, pouring out some creamfor me in his own saucer. "You know how to behave; I will never have anycat but you."

  I do, and he never has.

  A Powerful Friend

  MY mother was the best of cats. She washed us kittens all over everymorning, and at
odd times during the day she would wash little bits ofus, say an ear, or a paw, or a tail-tip, and she was very anxious aboutour education. I am afraid I gave her a great deal of trouble, for I wasrather stout and heavy, and did not take a very active or graceful partin the exercises which she thought good for us.

  Our gymnasium was the kitchen hearth-rug. There was always a good firein the grate, and it seemed to me so much better to go to sleep infront of it than to run round after my own tail, or even my mother's,though, of course, that was a great honour.

  As for running after the reel of cotton when the cook dropped it, orplaying with the tassel of the blind-cord, or pretending that there weremice inside the paper bag which I knew to be empty, I confess that I hadno heart or imagination for these diversions.

  "Of course, you know best, mother," I used to say; "but it does seem tome a dreadful waste of time. We might be much better employed."

  "How better employed?" asked my mother severely.

  "Why," I answered, "in eating or sleeping."

  At first my mother used to box my ears, and insist on my learning suchlittle accomplishments as she thought necessary for my station in life.

  "You see," she would say, "all this playing with tails and reels andballs of worsted is a preparation for the real business of life."

  "What is that?" asked my sister.

  "Mouse-catching," said my mother very earnestly.

  "There are no mice here," I said, stretching myself.

  "No, but you will not always be here; and if you practise the littletricks I show you now with the ball of worsted and the tips of ourtails, then, when the great hour comes, and a career is open to you, andyou see before you the glorious prize--the MOUSE--you will be quickenough and clever enough to satisfy the highest needs of your nature."