The Nomad of the Nine Lives Part 1

The Nomad of the Nine Lives.

by A. Frances Friebe.

Preface

"Uncle, why don't you write the story of your life?" So says my nephew Tom to me when he comes in and finds me sitting in a brown study before a comfortable fire. I have finally granted his request, for I have spent many an hour in relating my thrilling adventures to him and am sure that he has enjoyed them and even profited by them. Thus have I been persuaded to write this little book in the hope that it will be interesting to people as well as to cats.

Of course I am only a cat, but I have tried to be a good one, and I think that a good cat is of more use in the world than a bad human being. There is no doubt but that cats are important members of almost every household.

What is home without a cat? Great is the comfort and companionship that have been brought by them into the lives of solitary spinsters; earnestly and faithfully have they slaved to free homes of destructive rats and mice, and have also protected the corn in the farmers' barns. When one reads of the terrible loss caused by these rodents, it is astonishing to think that their destroyers could ever be ill-used or abandoned. I shall quote as nearly as possible from a newspaper which I once heard my master reading, so you can see how a good many faithful cats are treated:

"There are probably few people in the city of Boston who realize that over 25,000 abandoned cats and 3,000 dogs are electrocuted each year by the Animal Rescue League, by means of a cage which is charged with a strong current of electricity. After entering and the door is closed, they die without pain or struggle. June is the time of year that people abandon dogs, cats and other pets, for at this time they move to the seash.o.r.e and disregard their four-footed friends, leaving them to wander in the streets. It is the aim of the Animal Rescue League to procure and dispose of all animals thus abandoned and, whenever possible, they are provided with good homes. There were 27,607 cats rescued by the League in 1912 and each year the number increases."

Oh, the pity of it! This little story will, I hope, appeal to many, as it shows how keen are the sufferings of a pampered pet, thrown on its own resources and forced to wander day by day without food or water. Surely it may save some poor beast from misery, and I sincerely hope that it will not have been written in vain.

CHAPTER I

The first thing I remember is that all was dark, but that I could feel a mother's loving caress and knew that there were other helpless things in the same box with me. After several days, something large and strong lifted us, box and all, and carried us up into a much more pleasant place; I can still remember how good it smelled. Upon opening my eyes the next day, I beheld the face of my mother and found that we were seven, and were comfortably settled at the rear of a provision store. Mother did not feel at all safe; that I could see by the uneasy manner in which she looked about her, and started and trembled as people came to look at us. Once, if I remember correctly, she tried to bite a small boy who would persist in picking me up by the tail. Her claws showed also and she took good care of us in many like emergencies. She continued to be uneasy, and one day when Mr. Carver, the butcher, had stepped out on business, she took us one by one in her mouth, lifting us carefully by the nape of the neck, and carried us back into the cellar again.

It was dark and cold and we did not like it very well, but mother cuddled us up in her warm embrace and tried to make us feel that it was best for us to be away from people. When Mr. Carver came back and saw the empty box he came down into the cellar and scolded poor mother, saying, "Now, old lady, I want you and the kittens to stay upstairs, for I am going to give them away; besides, I want you to kill the mice which are getting into everything up there. You may keep one of your children, however, for we need two cats here."

Mother looked worried, but followed as he carried us up again. We remained there after that and grew larger and more attractive, so that one by one my brothers and sisters were given away, with the exception of Tom's father (who stayed at home and lived on the fat of the land, to a good old age).

Our childhood was bright and happy, for mother taught us many things and brought us up well. I remember that there was a door leading from the rear of the store into a garden. Sunny days mother would take us out and give us lessons in natural history. She taught us not to kill or maim song-birds, but said that we could kill and eat field mice or little blind moles, although we never saw any of them. She warned us that bees and wasps were too heating to the blood, and not to eat them, but if very hungry, a gra.s.s-hopper was not to be sneezed at; positively no toads, however. How we played in the garden, chasing the elusive sunbeams, rolling over and over, and learning to box and jump! It all came to an end too soon, however, for one day a very neat little girl came in and said that her father, who was janitor in a grammar school, wanted a kitten, because the mice were getting the best of him.

She picked me up and I knew at once that I should like her, as she was so gentle (some children are very rough and squeeze one so hard).

Mr. Carver parted with me unwillingly, for, as he expressed it, "I was the smartest one in the bunch." I said good-by to mother with tears in my eyes, for she had been very good to me.

Once she had even defied a dog who came into the store and ventured too near our box. I still remember how handsome she appeared with her eyes blazing, her arched back, and her open mouth, hissing and spitting at him.

Her sharp claws could be seen outside of her velvet paws, while we, terribly frightened, crouched low and kept quiet. The dog ran away as fast as he could, and never returned to trouble us.

She had taught us how to catch and kill rats and mice in the stillness of the night, and had given us many an object lesson. Thus, when we left her we had a knowledge of these things and had also been warned not to steal, which, living as we did, in a meat market, had been a very hard task. She had likewise taught us to be careful of our appearance, and especially to keep clean. This latter she showed us by wetting her paw with her tongue and washing her face with it, and, moreover, had told us we need not go over our heads and back of our ears unless it looked like rain (so considerate of her, for cats, as well as boys, hate to have their ears washed). Of course she taught us to hate water and always to step over a puddle; to keep good company or none; and above all things not to stay out late at night, or walk on back fences. She did not approve of voice culture, either, but later I shall relate my sad experiences in that direction.

CHAPTER II

I was indeed glad to find that my ambition to have an education was to be realized. In my early days at the meat market I used to slip out on the sidewalk and try to spell out the words on the daily bulletin blackboards, such as "Spare ribs, 25 cents," "Best spring lamb, 30 cents," and "Best rump steak, 45 cents." I used to wait until some plump old lady with a market basket came along and read these signs. She often scolded, but I did not then know why. I have since learned that my childhood was in a time when the high cost of living was in everybody's mouth. As I had learned so much in that way, I felt that I was able to skip the primary grade, and so started in with a great deal of confidence to pick up an education. For instance, the fact that I was allowed to roam in the various rooms in the evenings permitted me to observe, among other things, how the earth revolved on its axis. I often proved this fact by tapping a large globe with my paw and watching Africa chase Asia and Asia in turn pursue America as it turned swiftly around.

The janitor had an office in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and I was supposed to stay there during the school session, but I used to creep softly up the stairway and listen at the cla.s.s-room doors. Often the door of a dressing-room chanced to be open and I could enter here and watch through the crack of the school-room door. I learned to read in this manner, and took up arithmetic, which was rather difficult, but I studied hard evenings and made good progress, until I came to vulgar fractions.

Remembering mother's dislike of anything unrefined, however, I closed the book and did not dare to go on. I fared very well, for the janitor's wife sent me bread and milk, and occasionally bits of fish and meat. I had the run of the school at night and consequently could learn a great many things while prowling around in quest of rats and mice; in fact, I always managed to catch a few and leave them where they could be seen (I did not care to eat them) before I settled down to hard study, and so revealed to the janitor that I was doing my duty. I used to find some choice tid-bits in the desks, some of which opened at the end, and did not lift at the top; pieces of cake, numerous pickled limes (for which I did not care), and also plenty of cookies, and sometimes a sandwich.

I observed by the aid of a mirror standing on the floor in a teacher's closet that I was growing large and good-looking; my dark coat was smooth and glossy, my white shirt-front set off a well poised head, and I possessed as fine a pair of whiskers as ever graced a cat. Of these I was extremely proud, but used to keep my entire person well groomed as well as that particular portion of my features. I exercised in the school yard in order to keep in good form and also took boxing lessons from an acquaintance, who occasionally called. I soon began to tire of the school life and dull studies, however, and longed to go out somewhat during the evening, but the janitor was careful to lock me in the school at eight o'clock.

One evening I found that a window on the ground floor had been left open.

It was but the matter of a moment to vault out and I found myself on the street alone at night for the first time in my life.

I remembered mother's advice, but thought that she was rather too particular; indeed I felt that I could come to no harm, so walked down the street, keeping an eye out for dogs, as mother had warned me to do.

I soon perceived that the broad highway was too much exposed for my traveling, and so I proceeded into a back yard, jumped a fence, and found myself on a back road, where market men deliver their goods. It was really quite attractive and sociable, for I came upon a group who seemed to be serenading some mutual acquaintance. I had listened to the children singing at school, and had looked over the song books, and had even practised a few scales. In this way I discovered that I had a very clear tenor voice, so I immediately joined the group. They did not seem particularly anxious to have me do so, and as I now look back, I can see how young and fresh I was.

Jumping upon a fence, I at once threw out my chest and proceeded to give them a tenor solo. I was wholly unprepared for what followed.

In an instant they all charged at me, howling, spitting, and finally succeeded in knocking me from my high position. Down on the ground we rolled and struggled. Fur flew! Oh, how they scratched and kicked and pummeled me. One bit pieces out of my ears, another gave me a black eye.

In my agony I thought of mother and that her warnings were right after all. I found out afterwards that the object of their serenade was a lady, and my fine appearance and good voice made them wild with jealousy. I could have put up a good fight against one or two enemies, but an army of five proved too much for me. However, I got in a few savage bites and scratches, which I think they remembered for some time.

During this terrible battle we all gave vocal selections in different keys, which could hardly be called pleasing to the ear, and were rewarded by a shower of empty bottles, old shoes, hair brushes, and finally some unkind person threw a pitcher of ice-water at us, from a window above.

This last offering served to break up the encounter, as well as the pitcher.

Upon being invited behind the scenes of a theatre some weeks later, and peeping from the wings, I noticed that a young girl (who gave a song and dance) was showered with roses, violets and other beautiful flowers. I could not understand this great difference as her voice did not sound any better than mine, I thought, although it may sound conceited in me to say this.

I finally escaped with the remains of my ninth life and when I got away from my new friends (?) I limped painfully back to the school house, thinking how glad I should be to clamber in again and nurse my wounds.

When I reached there and looked for the open window I found to my horror that it was closed. What should I do? Too weak to run from an offensive dog, must I lie helpless in an open school yard? It was not to be thought of.

CHAPTER III

I rested awhile and felt a little better. No bones were broken. I could walk slowly, and as mother's provision store was not far away, I decided to take the risk of finding a cellar window open there. So, painfully limping along back streets and resting in dark corners, I arrived at my destination at midnight, and found that a window had been left open. It was a brave task to jump down but better than staying out all night, so I set my teeth and leaped softly in. I was greeted with a snarl and hiss which sounded like a bunch of fire-crackers going off, and there was mother on guard, standing with arched back in front of a box of newly-born kittens in a dark corner. I crept toward her and with a cry of delight she recognized me. I told my pitiful story while she gently led me to another corner and bade me lie down on some carpeting, near which stood a saucer of milk. She lapped my wounds and comforted me with kind words. She said she was afraid at first that I was a bad quarrelsome cat, and that it almost broke her heart. Judging from remarks that she dropped and as she had such sad eyes and sighed so often, I am sadly afraid that father himself was not exactly a Sunday-school model. I was stiff and sore the next day and stayed in my corner. Mother brought part of her dinner to me, but I could not bear to take the food from a nursing mother. The cries of the kittens wore on my nerves to such an extent that I wondered if I could ever settle down to a domestic life.

As soon as I felt able to go out into the world I did so, for I knew that it made extra work for mother to have me there. I therefore took my departure, deciding that I should not go back to the school (for after all it was a dull place). It is needless to state that I thanked mother for her kindness. Notwithstanding my first experience, I was anxious to see life so set out with a brave heart, but without friends and no prospects of a place to lay my head. Fortunately as it was summer and the nights were warm, one could sleep out quite comfortably. I did not look quite up to the mark, but knew that time alone would cover the bald places, and restore my former agility. In the daytime I did not venture forth, but slept most of the time in a quiet nook in a back yard where the people had gone away for the summer. At night I came out, and a few uncovered garbage pails helped me wonderfully, although it hurt my pride to eat this sort of food. I was young and healthy, however, and enjoyed the free life in the open air.

I made a few good friends, some of whom I have kept to this day. I remember that I learned to shun boys, for they were apt to throw stones.

How they can be so cruel I cannot understand. If they realized how the stones cut and sting, they would never use them for missiles and us for targets. I nursed a wound on my hip bone for weeks, which was very painful and was caused by a boy hitting me with a sharp stone. What satisfaction can it be to them? Harming a defenseless animal can surely give none, but it always seems a great temptation to them to do so. Once I saw a group of small boys stoning a kitten which they had tied to a raft. I was glad when a big policeman caught them at it. Dogs and boys were the only drawback to what was otherwise a perfect life, and a lazily lounging about one; first a feast and then a famine.

No matter how intense were the pangs of hunger, I followed mother's advice and never ate sparrows or any other birds.

About this time I made the acquaintance of a cat who lived in a theatre and one night he invited me to go behind the scenes with him. My eyes were opened that night. Strange looking girls in stranger looking costumes came upon the stage and attempted to dance and sing. The like of this I had never seen before (nor, I hope, will I ever again). When their gowns were not too short, they were much too loud for my taste, but, nevertheless, it seems that people sit for hours watching them rave, dance, and scream.

These peculiar people were kind to me, though, for I ambled about with considerable interest. One young female called out, "Larry, pipe the new cat!"

Now I had seen Mr. Carver smoke a pipe and sometimes he would pick me up and playfully blow rings of smoke in my face and laugh at me so I scurried away for fear I should have to take one of those nasty things in my mouth.

As I was leaving the theatre one man called out to me to "beat it," and, as I could not understand their language, which was not in the text books at school, I made good my escape with the kindly help of an old shoe, which accompanied me part way. "That is no place for a self-respecting cat," I thought, so went out into the night. I was a homeless wanderer, but managed to find a quiet corner in a dark alley and soon went to sleep.

I awoke much refreshed, but very hungry as my friend of the theatre had neglected to treat me to anything more substantial than a chance to look on. Oh, how I longed for a drink of milk or water! I was sorely tempted and fell. On a door-step a short distance away was a jar of milk. It was a moment's work to tip it over and remove the paper top with a sharp claw. I lapped my fill and left some in the bottle for the family. That theft was bad enough, but I fell still lower. One day I was very hungry, and happened long just as some masons had ceased working, in order to eat their lunches. One of the men took the cover from his dinner pail and, leaving it open on the ground, walked away for a few minutes. I darted quickly to the pail and, to my delight, saw a large slice of corned beef.

It was quick work to s.n.a.t.c.h it and run away, and how good it tasted! I ate it so fast that I remember I suffered afterwards from indigestion,--or perhaps it was a bad conscience.

CHAPTER IV

Things were going from bad to worse and I was becoming tired of my present life, but there did not seem to be any way out of it. When I went back to my dark alley I fell asleep, but tossed and turned and was very uneasy. At midnight I was aware of hearing hoa.r.s.e voices whispering together; alert and listening I heard two men talking about "lifting some swag." I did not know what that was but kept still. One said that he would watch outside while the other forced a dining-room window.