Pussy Black-Face: The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends

AGAIN

PUSSY BLACK-FACE

or: the Story of a Kitten and Her Friends

A Book for Boys and Girls

By Marshall Saunders

Author of Beautiful Joe, Beautiful Joe's Paradise, 'Tilda Jane, etc.

Illustrated by

DIANTHA HORNE MARLOWE

When I play with my cat, who knows whether I do not make her more sport than she makes me?

Montaigne.

Pussy Black-Face

CHAPTER I

BY THE FIRE

My name is Pussy Black-Face, and I am a naughty young kitten. I wish I were good like my mother. She is the best cat that I ever saw. I try to be like her, and sometimes I succeed, but most times I don't.

My mother's disposition is really lovely, but then she has a weak back. It seems to me that if I had a weak back I should be good, too, but when there is a spring in my spine that makes me want to jump all the time, and something curled up in my paws that makes me want to seize things, what can I do? How can I be good?

My mother purrs wholesome advice into my ears, and tells me to try, to try hard, and so I do, but usually it doesn't seem of any use. I might as well be bad all the time, and not worry about it.

Every night, as we sit around the fire before we go to bed, I think things over. You know how cats look and act when they are getting sleepy. Some people say that cats are stupid and can't think or feel. Don't you believe it. They are just as clever as any animals.

Well, I think the most beautiful sight in the world is our little family on these chilly, east-windy nights as we gather in the sitting-room about bedtime.

First there is our dear mistress, Mrs. Darley. She is a widow with two adopted children—Billy and Margaret. After dinner they go to the study to learn their lessons, and Mrs. Darley sits for a little while with us before she goes to join them. We cats are allowed to run all over the house, but we usually prefer the sitting-room, because there is the broad window-seat for sunny mornings, and the cushions by the fire for dull weather.

Mrs. Darley always takes my mother on her lap, because she is the chief favorite, and because she has suffered so much. I am not ashamed to say that my mother was an ash-barrel cat before Mrs. Darley rescued her. That is, she was a poor cat who had to pick up her living in back yards. She is a grayish, wistful-looking creature with a quiet manner. Her name is Dust-and-Ashes. She knows a good deal, but she doesn't talk much.

My father, whose name is the Piebald Prince, is an Angora. He is very handsome, very aristocratic, very dignified, but not at all proud. He says he believes it is wrong to call any cat common or unclean. Persian cats, and Angora cats, and New Mexico cats, and Manx cats, and all kinds of cats should be treated in just the same way, and have an equal amount of respect shown them.

He always makes my mother take a front seat if there is company, and he treats her with as much consideration as if she, like himself, had come from the celebrated farm up in Maine, where only pure bred cats are raised, and where they cost great sums of money.

Many a cuff—a gentlemanly cuff—I have had from him for being disrespectful to my mother. He believes in keeping us young ones in order.

Besides myself there is my sister Serena, and my brother Jimmy Dory.

They are both much older than I am. Serena is a very clever little cat. She has beautiful manners, and purrs a good deal to herself about culture. She and Jimmy are both half Angora, and half common cat. So I am, too, for that matter, but they are much better looking than I am. My father is black and white, and we are black and white; but his black and white and Serena and Jimmy Dory's black and white are laid on prettily.

I am a fright. Every one says so—cats and human beings—so it must be true. I think myself, when I look in the glass that I am very ugly, but I don't care a bit. Why should I worry? I can't see myself, unless I look in a mirror. Let the other cats and people worry about me, and say that my white face looks as if some one had thrown an ink bottle and splashed me right across it. They are the ones that suffer, for they can see me. I don't see myself.

My body is prettier than my face. I often laugh to myself when I am creeping softly along, and some one says, Oh! what a lovely black kitten. Then I turn round and the some one always shrieks, You little fright! or You ugly little thing!

My mother says it is naughty in me to laugh, but I tell her that girl squeals and cat squeals don't hurt me. The only things I am afraid of are sticks and stones.

Then she smiles sadly, and says, When you grow up to be a cat, Black-Face, you will be sorry that your face does not please every one.

I must say I don't believe her. I don't believe that my mother knows half as much as I do. She is getting old and fussy, but I wouldn't say this to any one but myself for the world. The kitten next door laughed at my mother the other day, and I scratched him. I'd do it again, too. I sha'n't let any one but myself criticise my mother while I have claws in my velvet paws.

Well, I don't believe I'll think any more about myself to-night. I am getting sleepy, and my head is sinking down on my pink cushion.

I wish I hadn't broken that pretty glass vase to-day. Mrs. Darley felt very sorry. What was I doing on the mantelpiece? The dear only knows. It looked tempting up there. It is such fun to twist between things and not break them, and it is only once in a great while that I do have a smash.

I hope Billy will find his lead-pencils. I dropped them behind the sofa—and what did I do with that dead mouse I was playing with? Did I leave it on Margaret's bed? I believe I did. Well, she is a fat little girl. It won't hurt her to scream a while. Mrs. Darley will run to her. Good night, everybody—I am—so—sleepy.

CHAPTER II

A CAT'S REFUGE

Where am I? Can I collect my thoughts and reflect a little—was there ever such an unhappy cat? Only last night I sat and purred myself to sleep beside my dear mother. Pressed close against her soft fur, I had no thought of harm, and now where am I? But I must not be silly. Let me close my eyes, and purr hard for a while, then sense will come to me.

I must not open them. When I look round this room, and see the shadowy form of cat after cat, I think I will go crazy—and yet what a simpleton I am. I am safe here. Danger is over; let me be thankful that I escaped as I did.

Well, to go back to this morning. The east wind was out of the air. When mother and I, and father, and Serena, and Jimmy Dory came yawning and stretching out of the sitting-room and looked down-stairs, the hall door was wide open, the sun was pouring in.

Mrs. Darley was so glad. She just loves sunshine. She went round the house opening doors and windows, and just as soon as breakfast was over, we all ran out on the sidewalk.

Cats get dreadfully tired of a back yard, and the back yards on Beacon Hill are so sunless and dull. We like fun and excitement—a little mild excitement—as much as human beings do. So my father and mother sat on the big sunny stone door-step, while Serena, Jimmy Dory and I played on the pavement.

We had a tiny round pebble that we were rolling with our paws. It was such a funny little pebble. I pushed it, and danced, and caught it in my paws and tossed it, and had a beautiful time, until my mother began to warn me.

Black-Face, don't go down the hill; there are bad boys there. Keep up here.

I don't see any boys, I said wilfully.

They will soon see you if you go down there, said my father severely.

I didn't believe him, and I thought my mother was fussy. I see now that little cats have to learn by experience. Nothing would have convinced me that there were bad boys at the foot of the hill, if I had not seen them and felt the grasp of their unkind hands.

While we were playing, the little pebble suddenly began to roll down hill. How fast it went! I watched it for a few instants, and then something said: Go after it, Black-Face!

I tried hard not to. I looked back at my parents sunning themselves on the door-step, I stared at Serena and Jimmy Dory who were cautious young cats, and rarely disobeyed their parents.

I'll just snatch it and run back, I mewed hastily; then I ran.

I caught the little pebble, but alas! Something caught me. Just as I put my paw on it, I saw out of the corner of my eye a group of boys standing in a near alley. I turned to run, but it was too late. One of them sprang toward me, and seized me by the back.

Then he started to race, not up the hill, but further down. I was nearly suffocated with fright and pain, for the boy held me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe. No one had ever clutched me like this before. I had never been whipped. I had never been roughly handled, for Margaret and Billy were good children.

This boy was a monster. His face was red and dirty, his eyes were bulging from his head, and he stumbled as he ran, so that I was afraid he would fall on me and kill me.

I may as well say here that the boy was not as bad as he seemed to me. He had not stolen me. He was merely having some fun, or what he called fun. He was some poor child that had had no one to teach him to be kind to animals. He did not dream that I was suffering. He did not think that a cat was capable of suffering.

So he hurried on and on, and some of the other boys ran yelling behind him. I don't know exactly what streets he took. I was too terrified to notice the way we were going, but soon I saw a river in the distance. Was he going to throw me in it? Half choked as I was, I dug my claws in his coat, and gave a frantic Meow! for, like all cats, I hate water.

Boy, called a policeman suddenly, what are you doing with that cat?

My captor was frightened and dropped me, and he and the other boys turned and ran back. You may be sure that I made a dash for liberty. I sprang wildly past the policeman, and not daring to follow the boys who were going toward my home, I leaped into a narrow, dirty street where there was a dreadful confusion of wagons, cars and throngs of people.

I threaded my way among them all—I don't know how I escaped being killed—until finally I was forced to pause for breath.

Unfortunately some boys and girls saw me and gave chase. I don't think they wanted to hurt me. They wished to catch me, but I was in terror again, and ran into an alley. They followed me, so I sprang on a heap of boxes, and then to a low porch.

The children discovered me there, and while some tried to coax me down, others threw stones at me. I looked up desperately. There was no help for me on the ground, for a big boy had begun to climb on the porch.

I examined the sloping side of the house roof. Then I leaped on it. Two or three times I fell back, but at last I succeeded in making my claws hold. They were fine sharp ones, or they never would have done so.

In two minutes I was on the very roof of the house, panting hard, my heart almost out of my body, everything black before my eyes; but I was safe.

There I saw that I was free from pursuit. The children had gone away. At the same time, the roof was not very comfortable. It was cold and slippery, for, by this time, the lovely sun had gone behind a cloud, and soon I began to be very uneasy.

I thought of my father, and mother, and Serena and Jimmy Dory—that distressed group at the top of the hill—for I had had one glimpse of them as I was snatched by the boy. Oh, why had I not minded my mother, and not run away from home? What was going to become of me? Must I spend the night in this dreadful place?

I thought of my little blue and white saucer that Mrs. Darley's kind cook filled with milk for me every noon. Oh, meow! meow! I cried pitifully. Will no one help a poor little cat?

A skylight in the roof opened, and an old man's face looked out. Such a kind face, but still I did not trust him, and moved away to the other end of the ridge pole. Little cat, he said seriously, there is help even for such as you. I will go seek it, and he disappeared.

I did not know what he meant, so I continued to cry piteously. I wanted my mother and dear Mrs. Darley. I was too far up to be heard from the street, but a few persons opened near-by windows, and looked at me indifferently.

Only a cat, they said. Let her get down the way she came up.

Oh, dear! dear! I mewed, must I stay on this roof till I perish from hunger? For now it was beginning to get dark and cloudy and to look like rain. Oh, meow! meow!

Just as I was giving up hope, the skylight opened again.

There she is, sir, I heard the old man say, then a young man put his head out, and looked at me.

He had a good face. I'm only a kitten, but I've found out that if a man spends his life in doing good, he has a good face.

I trusted him, and yet I was afraid to go to him, if you can understand that.

Kitty, he said soberly, over there, and he waved his hand toward the heart of the city, is a place where lost dogs and cats are sheltered. Come to me, and I will take you to it. Come—— and he held out his hand.

Oh, meow! meow! I said, "if I