Uncle Joe's Stories

The cat, on the other hand, has amusements and occupations to a great extent peculiar to herself. She loves to bask in the sun, upon the window-sill if such be available, on fine days, and in wet or cold weather to nestle snugly upon the hearthrug. When she goes out, it is not to run here and there and everywhere, after the fearless and sometimes intrusive manner of the dog. She prefers to steal quietly and leisurely along, placing her velvety feet softly upon the ground, and peering round on each side of her, to see that the country is secure. Crawling along the top of a wall, or creeping up the stem of a tree, she strives to capture the unwary bird, who may afford her sport and amusement first, and a meal afterwards. Or, seated demurely in some corner of a room or near some tree, where mice frequent, she does not object to watch patiently, whilst minutes and hours pass away, in the hope of at last finding an opportunity to pounce upon her favourite victim. With all this no dog has any reason to interfere, and none has ever attempted to rival the cat in the pursuit of bird or mouse.

Again: dogs are more apt to attach themselves to the persons of men or women, cats more readily become attached to the places in which they have lived; so that, once for all, if we consider the nature, the character, and the habits of these two great races, we shall, I am confident, come to the conclusion that there can be no real cause for their natural enmity, but that, in the great scheme of creation, they were intended to be upon as friendly and harmonious terms as was certainly the case at the time of which we now speak.

Such were the reflections of Jenny, and I am inclined to endorse them all, and to think that I see the confirmation of their truth in the legend which I am about to tell as she told to me.

It chanced that at this time a worthy couple possessed an animal of each sort, of which they were extremely fond. The dog was a handsome, black, curly fellow; of what particular breed I don't know, but this description of him sounds as if he was a Romney-Marsh retriever, or something of the sort. The cat was a tortoise-shell, and one of the most perfect specimens of her kind; with glossy fur, elegantly-shaped body, and tail like a fox's brush, which swept the ground as she walked.

Jenny did not know the names of the worthy couple who owned these animals; and in fact I have noticed that, in most of the stories which animals have told me from time to time, men and women are made to play a very subordinate part, and are indeed for the most part considered as altogether inferior beings by the excellent animals of and by whom the stories are told. Thus, in the present instance, although the good ass knew perfectly well that the dog's name was Rover, and the cat's Effie, she knew no more than an ignorant calf might have done of the names of the people with whom they lived. Nay, if I remember rightly, her expression was that, "Some people lived in and kept the house in which Rover and Effie dwelt;" so that very likely the donkey, and perhaps the animals themselves, considered that the premises belonged to themselves, and that the man and woman were merely lodgers on sufferance.

And very likely, as a matter of fact, this is the actual view entertained by many of our animals – horses, dogs, cats, possibly even pigs and chickens – at the present day, if we did but know it. Perhaps it is as well we do not, as we might consider our supremacy challenged and our rights invaded, and this might make us less kind to the poor animals, which would be very sad.

I should not wonder, however, if it was the truth; for I am sure our servants – or some of them – have firmly-rooted convictions that our houses and everything in them, are at least as much, if not more, theirs than ours, and some of us give in to them very much as if we thought so too. So I do not see why the four-legged creatures, as well as the two-legged, should not think the same thing, – and perhaps they do.

Rover and Effie, as I have said, lived in this house, which, to put the matter in a way not likely to be offensive to anybody, was also inhabited by an old couple – I mean a man and his wife; because, of course, "a couple" might, standing alone, mean a couple of ducks, or a couple of fowls, or rabbits, or anything else of the kind. But it was a man and his wife, and they had no children, and they were very fond of the dog and cat, and petted them both exceedingly. They passed very happy lives, having very little to trouble themselves about, and being possessed of a comfortable home, and plenty of agreeable neighbours.

Rover and Effie used to walk out together, and were for some time, as most of their respective races were, the very best of friends. Neither of them would have suffered a strange dog or cat to breathe a syllable against the other; and in their tastes, thoughts, and actions, they were as much allied as was possible under the circumstances.

Things continued in this happy condition until an old weasel, who lived in the immediate neighbourhood, cast his envious and malicious eye upon the two friends and determined it possible to interrupt their amicable relations. He had his own reasons for so doing.

The family of weasels, though of ancient lineage and old blood, had never been considered as particularly respectable. In fact they had always been a set of arrant scamps. The rats and rabbits complained bitterly of their intrusive habits, and extremely disliked their abominable practice of entering the holes used by other animals, and carrying blood and murder into homes that were otherwise peaceful and contented. The hens also raised their homely cackle in the same strain, and counting egg-sucking as among the worst of crimes, brought heavy charges against the weasels on that account. In fact, no one had a good word for the little animals, except indeed their cousins the stoats, and some of the unclean sorts of birds, to wit, the jay, the magpie and the carrion crow, who themselves lived chiefly by thieving.

The weasel had a great jealousy of the cat, because she interfered with him in the matter of rats, mice, and small birds, to all of which he was partial; and he also saw in the dog a rival as regarded rabbits.

Whilst the two remained in such close alliance, he thought that they were able to wield a power which, although not actively exerted against himself, was little likely to be ever used in his favour; and he therefore resolved to lessen that power if he possibly could, by sowing the seeds of discord between the hitherto friendly animals. But clever as he was, the weasel racked his brains in vain for a long time. He could think of nothing which would effect his object, and could satisfy himself with no plan by which he might approach the two animals with that intent.

It would not, indeed, have been hard for him to have entered the house by the means open to him, namely, a drain or a rat's hole, of which there were several. But, should he do so, he ran the greatest risk of having his intentions mistaken, and of suddenly falling a victim to one of the very two animals with whom (though not from any kindly feeling) he wished to communicate. The same fear prevented his accosting them during their walks, for he could not tell but that they might turn upon him and seize him before he could escape. Direct communication, then, appeared to be out of the question; and he accordingly resolved to seek a confederate, through whom he might perchance accomplish his wicked ends.

So he went to a neighbouring magpie, knowing the love of meddling which characterises that class of birds, and sought her aid in his scheme. The magpie was a very wary and cunning bird, and would not trust herself within paws' length of the weasel, for although she knew that, happily for herself, she was not a morsel which even a weasel could eat with relish, yet she was also well aware of the bloodthirsty nature of the animal, and thought it better not to expose him to the temptation of getting her neck into his mouth. So she sat up in the old hawthorn tree, and chattered away to herself, whilst the little animal came underneath and tried to attract her attention.

When at last she condescended to see him, she would not enter upon business for some time, but, like many persons who, not being blameless themselves, are very ready to blame other people, chattered away to him for a good five minutes upon the subject of his general bad behaviour, and read him a lesson upon morality, coupled with a homily upon the sin of thieving, which would have come admirably from the beak of a respectable rook, but was very ill-placed in that of a notorious bad liver and evil-doer like the magpie.

The weasel, however, keeping his object steadily in view, heard her remarks with great apparent politeness, although as a matter of fact her advice (like that which many better people give, both in and out of season) went in at one of his ears and out at the other, and produced not the smallest effect upon his future conduct. When her chatter came at last to an end, he unfolded the nature of his business and asked her counsel and assistance in the matter.

Now the magpie was by no means friendly to the dog and cat, having an idea that they were better off in their worldly affairs than she was, which is always a sufficient cause for evil-minded people to dislike others. So she had no objection at all to enter upon a scheme which might annoy and injure them, and indeed her natural love of mischief would have prompted her to do so, had she had no other feeling in the matter. Having always, however, an eye to the main chance, she asked the weasel what she should gain by the transaction, and having been faithfully promised the eye-picking out of the first twelve young rabbits he should catch, she at once consented to go into the business.

The idea of the two confederates was to create in the first place a coldness between the dog and cat, by means of inducing the couple already mentioned, to show greater favour to one than the other.

Here, however, arose another difficulty. How could either weasel or magpie obtain access to a man and woman, or in any shape exercise an influence over their conduct and actions? The idea was so preposterous that they had to give it up.

Then came the question whether they could not persuade either the cat or dog to do something which would offend and annoy the other, either by being opposed to his or her feelings and prejudices, or being actually unpleasant and disagreeable. If they could only settle on something of this kind, it did not appear so impossible to carry out the plan. The weasel need not be seen in the matter, and would incur no such personal danger as that to which he might have been exposed by any scheme which entailed his actual communication with the enemy. The thing must be done by the magpie, who, seated upon the roof of the house, or in an adjacent tree, could converse with either cat or dog without the smallest risk, and was sly and crafty enough to poison the minds of both.

So it was agreed that this should be the course taken, and what was to be the precise form of the magpie's address will be speedily gathered from the story.

The two innocent animals who were the object of this nefarious plot upon the part of creatures so vastly inferior to themselves, were all the while quite unconscious of the conspiracy which was being hatched against them. They went on just the same, and were as friendly as ever. Nor was their harmony disturbed by the introduction into the household of a small poodle, whom somebody gave to the mistress of the house, and who rather amused them than otherwise by his curious antics and grotesque behaviour. He was a curious dog, and had some funny tricks, but old Jenny said that she never heard that there was much against him, or that he had any concern in the wicked plot of the weasel and the magpie.

Having fully determined upon the plan to be pursued, the crafty pair of rascals waited until they could hit upon a time when the cat and dog were not together. The opportunity soon occurred. One fine morning the human occupier of the house (who laboured under the strange but, among human beings, not uncommon delusion that the place and all that it contained belonged to him) went out for a walk in the country, accompanied, as was frequently the case, by honest Rover.

The sun was shining so brightly that Mrs. Effie thought that she had better make the most of it, and get some fresh air at the same time, with no more exertion than was necessary. So she climbed quietly up on the window-sill, stretched herself at full length thereupon, and basked luxuriously in the warm rays of the sun.

Seeing her thus enjoying herself, the magpie flew leisurely into an apple tree which grew near the house, and began to chatter in a way which was certain to attract the cat's attention before long. After a little while Effie began to wink and blink her eyes, move her ears against the woodwork on which she lay, and appear as if disturbed by the noise. Presently she lifted up her head, shook it, and sneezed violently.

"Bless you, Pussy," immediately said the magpie from the apple tree.

Effie looked at her in some surprise.

"Many thanks," she said; "the more so, indeed, since I do not happen to have the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"More's the pity," replied the bird; "but that is no reason why I should refrain from giving a civil blessing to a person who happens to sneeze, for you know well enough that if you sneeze three times without someone blessing you, evil is sure to follow within the week."

"Indeed," answered the cat, somewhat coldly, for she hardly approved of being addressed by a mere bird, and that, too, a perfect stranger, in such a familiar manner. "Indeed, I am sure you are very kind."

And she laid her head calmly down again upon the windowsill. But the magpie was not to be daunted, and determined not to lose the opportunity which she had so carefully sought.

"Although you don't know me," continued she, "which is not surprising, considering that you move in high circles, whilst I am only, as one may say, a humble drudge among the inferior parts of creation, it does not follow, madam, that I am not well acquainted with you, and have long wished to obtain your friendship. The beauty of your fur, the elegant shape of your body, the graceful action with which you move, and, above all, the sweetness of your voice (which I have sometimes been fortunate enough to hear at nights), have all made an impression upon me which will not easily be removed. I only wish I might know you better."

As the bird spoke, she hopped from twig to twig of the apple-tree, until she came within easy speaking distance of Effie, and lowered her voice so as to make it less harsh, and more impressive in conversation. Now cats, as is well known to the attentive student of natural history, are by no means averse to flattery. It has sometimes been said that the same is true of women, but this is by no means fair as a general description of the latter, many of them cordially disliking it, and taking it as anything but a compliment when men bespangle them with empty flattery, instead of carrying on sensible conversation, and treating them like reasonable beings. But it is undoubtedly true of cats. Three things they can never resist: cream, scratching their heads, and flattery; and as the magpie had no cream, and forbore to attempt scratching the cat's head for reasons of her own, she fell back, as we have seen, upon flattery.

Effie listened, it must be confessed, with pleasure, and drank in the words of the magpie as greedily as if they had been inspired by the undoubted spirit of truth. As a matter of fact, her elegance of body, beauty of fur, and gracefulness of action might all have been fairly conceded to be matters of opinion, in which many would have agreed with the magpie. But as to the beauty of her voice, anybody who has ever lain awake at night and listened to a concert of cats upon the adjacent roofs will be inclined to stop his ears at the bare recollection of it, and to confess that the magpie must have well known that she was telling a – well, a tarradiddle.

Strange to say, however, the allusion to her voice touched and pleased Effie more than anything else in the magpie's speech, and this the cunning bird had fully expected. She knew cat nature well, which differs but little from human nature in this respect, that people very often fancy themselves to possess some talent or virtue, in which they are, as a matter of fact, deficient, and not unfrequently, whilst priding themselves upon the fancied possession, neglect to cultivate and develop some other quality which they really have, and which might be made much more useful to themselves and others.

So Effie was proud of her voice – where there was nothing to be proud of – and extremely pleased to hear it praised by the magpie, whom she instantly set down in her mind as an evidently respectable and well-informed bird, and one whose acquaintance it might be well to make. Without lifting her head, however, or disturbing the position of her body, which was so placed as to get as much sun as possible, she replied in a languid tone of voice:

"You are really very kind, Madam Magpie, and I am far from wishing to decline the acquaintance you offer."

The magpie broke in at once in a quick chatter, her words tumbling one over another as if they could not get fast enough out of her beak.

"Oh, how good, and kind, and nice, and polite, and generous, and affable, and altogether charming you are! I have often watched you sunning on the window-sill or strolling about the gardens, or looking out for mice, or amusing yourself in one way or another, and I have always looked, and longed, and hoped, and wished, and wondered if I might make so bold as to speak to such a grand, lady-like, beautiful, queenly creature; and when I've heard your voice, I've often said to myself, 'Here's music, and melody, and taste, and feeling, and harmony, and everything that is delightful in sound, and if the lady would only learn singing (though little learning it is she wants), and take it up as a profession, how happy the world and everybody in it would be made: and what so pleasant as to make people happy with the good gifts we have, and who has more than she?'"

As the magpie rattled on, Effie felt more and more pleased, and became still more strongly convinced than before that the bird was a superior creature, who had well used her opportunities, and possessed opinions which were entitled to great weight.

Meantime the weasel, who was listening to the conversation from an old rat's hole in which he had hidden hard by, was fit to kill himself with laughter when he heard the flattery of his ally, and how the cat took it all in.

The latter now raised not only her head but her body, and sat up upon the window-ledge, looking with friendly glance at the old bird in the tree.

"Really," she said, in rather an affected tone, "really, you think too well of me – you do indeed – but now you speak of it, I have (so my friends say at least) something of a voice, and have often thought of cultivating it more than I have hitherto done. But all are not of the same opinion, and I know that my friend Rover the dog thinks differently."

Here the magpie quickly interposed.

"Oh the jealousy of this wicked world and of them dogs in particular! To hear that black, ugly, shaggy animal howl at the moon, or what not, of a night. I declare if it isn't enough to drive one crazy; and for such an animal as that to think anything but good of your lovely, sweet, tuneful, angelic notes! 'Tis really shocking to think he should do so – but envy and meanness, my dear creature, and malice and jealousy was ever in the hearts of dogs – forgive me that I should say so, knowing as how you live in the same house and bear with him as you do."

These words rather gave Effie a new idea of her situation, but as they were evidently intended to be complimentary to herself, though at her friend's expense, she listened to them with complacency.

"You must not blame my friend," she demurely answered, "because he has not such a voice as mine. Few have such, as I think I may say without being suspected of vanity, and I have no reason to think that he is either mean or envious. True, he does not evince the same pleasure in my notes as that which you so kindly express, but this is merely a matter of taste."

"Ah, you dear, kind, good, charitable creature," rejoined the magpie, "it is so like you to take the best and most pleasant view of whatever anybody else says or does. But never mind, if the dog don't like it, others do, and for my part, I should like to hear you play and sing all day and all night long."

"As for playing," returned the cat, "I do not pretend to do that; in fact I have never learned, and have always been accustomed to trust to my natural voice without any accompaniment."