All her brains must have run to motherliness, for she hadn't much sense. She could never tell the difference between her own children and other people's. She thought everything young was a kitten. We once mixed up a spaniel puppy that had lost its own mother among her progeny. I shall never forget her astonishment when it first barked. She boxed both its ears, and then sat looking down at it with an expression of indignant sorrow that was really touching.
"You're going to be a credit to your mother," she seemed to be saying "you're a nice comfort to any one's old age, you are, making a row like that. And look at your ears flopping all over your face.
I don't know where you pick up such ways."He was a good little dog. He did try to mew, and he did try to wash his face with his paw, and to keep his tail still, but his success was not commensurate with his will. I do not know which was the sadder to reflect upon, his efforts to become a creditable kitten, or his foster-mother's despair of ever making him one.
Later on we gave her a baby squirrel to rear. She was nursing a family of her own at the time, but she adopted him with enthusiasm, under the impression that he was another kitten, though she could not quite make out how she had come to overlook him. He soon became her prime favourite. She liked his colour, and took a mother's pride in his tail. What troubled her was that it would cock up over his head. She would hold it down with one paw, and lick it by the half-hour together, trying to make it set properly. But the moment she let it go up it would cock again. I have heard her cry with vexation because of this.
One day a neighbouring cat came to see her, and the squirrel was clearly the subject of their talk.
"It's a good colour," said the friend, looking critically at the supposed kitten, who was sitting up on his haunches combing his whiskers, and saying the only truthfully pleasant thing about him that she could think of.
"He's a lovely colour," exclaimed our cat proudly.
"I don't like his legs much," remarked the friend.
"No," responded his mother thoughtfully, "you're right there. His legs are his weak point. I can't say I think much of his legs myself.""Maybe they'll fill out later on," suggested the friend, kindly.
"Oh, I hope so," replied the mother, regaining her momentarily dashed cheerfulness. "Oh yes, they'll come all right in time. And then look at his tail. Now, honestly, did you ever see a kitten with a finer tail?""Yes, it's a good tail," assented the other; "but why do you do it up over his head?""I don't," answered our cat. "It goes that way. I can't make it out. I suppose it will come straight as he gets older.""It will be awkward if it don't," said the friend.
"Oh, but I'm sure it will," replied our cat. "I must lick it more.
It's a tail that wants a good deal of licking, you can see that."And for hours that afternoon, after the other cat had gone, she sat trimming it; and, at the end, when she lifted her paw off it, and it flew back again like a steel spring over the squirrel's head, she sat and gazed at it with feelings that only those among my readers who have been mothers themselves will be able to comprehend.
"What have I done," she seemed to say--"what have I done that this trouble should come upon me?"Jephson roused himself on my completion of this anecdote and sat up.
"You and your friends appear to have been the possessors of some very remarkable cats," he observed.
"Yes," I answered, "our family has been singularly fortunate in its cats.""Singularly so," agreed Jephson; "I have never met but one man from whom I have heard more wonderful cat talk than, at one time or another, I have from you.""Oh," I said, not, perhaps without a touch of jealousy in my voice, "and who was he?""He was a seafaring man," replied Jephson. "I met him on a Hampstead tram, and we discussed the subject of animal sagacity.
"'Yes, sir,' he said, 'monkeys is cute. I've come across monkeys as could give points to one or two lubbers I've sailed under; and elephants is pretty spry, if you can believe all that's told of 'em.
I've heard some tall tales about elephants. And, of course, dogs has their heads screwed on all right: I don't say as they ain't.
