Beautiful Joe [31]
the first few days I was at the
Morrises' they looked very unkindly at me. Then she got over her dislike and we
became very good friends. She was a beautiful cat, and so gentle and
affectionate that the whole family loved her.
She was three years old, and she had come to Fairport in a vessel with some
sailors, who had gotten her in a far-away place. Her name was Malta, and she was
called a maltese cat.
I have seen a great many cats, but I never saw one as kind as Malta. Once she
had some little kittens and they all died. It almost broke her heart. She cried
and cried about the house till it made one feel sad to hear her. Then she ran
away to the woods. She came back with a little squirrel in her mouth, and
putting it in her basket, she nursed it like a mother, till it grew old enough
to run away from her.
She was a very knowing cat, and always came when she was called. Miss Laura used
to wear a little silver whistle that she blew when she wanted any of her pets.
It was a shrill whistle, and we could hear it a long way from home. I have seen
her standing at the back door whistling for Malta. and the pretty creature's
head would appear somewhere always high up, for she was a great climber, and she
would come running along the top of the fence, saying, "Meow, meow," in a funny,
short way.
Miss Laura would pet her, or give her something to eat, or walk around the
garden carrying her on her shoulder. Malta was a most affectionate cat, and if
Miss Laura would not let her lick her face, she licked her hair with her little,
rough tongue. Often Malta lay by the fire, licking my coat or little Billy's, to
show her affection for us.
Mary, the cook, was very fond of cats, and used to keep Malta in the kitchen as
much as she could, but nothing would make her stay down there if there was any
music going on upstairs. The Morris pets were all fond of music. As soon as Miss
Laura sat down to the piano to sing or play, we came from all parts of the
house. Malta cried to get upstairs, Davy scampered through the hall, and Bella
hurried after him. If I was outdoors I ran in the house; and Jim got on a box
and looked through the window.
Davy's place was on Miss Laura's shoulder, his pink nose run in the curls at the
back of her neck. I sat under the piano beside Malta and Bella, and we never
stirred till the music was over; then we went quietly away.
Malta was a beautiful cat there was no doubt about it. While I was with Jenkins
I thought cats were vermin, like rats, and I chased them every chance I got.
Mrs. Jenkins had a cat, a gaunt, long-legged, yellow creature, that ran whenever
we looked at it.
Malta had been so kindly treated that she never ran from any one, except from
strange dogs. She knew they would be likely to hurt her. If they came upon her
suddenly, she faced them, and she was a pretty good fighter when she was put to
it. I once saw her having a brush with a big mastiff that lived a few blocks
from us, and giving him good fright; which just served him right.
I was shut up in the parlor. Some one had closed the door, and I could not get
out. I was watching Malta from the window, as she daintily picked her way across
the muddy street. She was such a soft, pretty, amiable-looking cat. She didn't
look that way, though, when the mastiff rushed out of the alleyway at her.
She sprang back and glared at him like a little, fierce tiger. Her tail was
enormous. Her eyes were like balls of fire, and she was spitting and snarling,
as if to say, "If you touch me, I'll tear you to pieces!"
The dog, big as he was, did not dare attack her. He walked around and around,
like a great clumsy elephant, and she turned her small body as he turned his,
and kept up a dreadful hissing and spitting. Suddenly I saw a Spitz dog hurrying
down the street. He was going to help the mastiff, and Malta would be badly
hurt. I had barked and no one had come to let me out, so I sprang through the
window.
Just then there was a change. Malta had
Morrises' they looked very unkindly at me. Then she got over her dislike and we
became very good friends. She was a beautiful cat, and so gentle and
affectionate that the whole family loved her.
She was three years old, and she had come to Fairport in a vessel with some
sailors, who had gotten her in a far-away place. Her name was Malta, and she was
called a maltese cat.
I have seen a great many cats, but I never saw one as kind as Malta. Once she
had some little kittens and they all died. It almost broke her heart. She cried
and cried about the house till it made one feel sad to hear her. Then she ran
away to the woods. She came back with a little squirrel in her mouth, and
putting it in her basket, she nursed it like a mother, till it grew old enough
to run away from her.
She was a very knowing cat, and always came when she was called. Miss Laura used
to wear a little silver whistle that she blew when she wanted any of her pets.
It was a shrill whistle, and we could hear it a long way from home. I have seen
her standing at the back door whistling for Malta. and the pretty creature's
head would appear somewhere always high up, for she was a great climber, and she
would come running along the top of the fence, saying, "Meow, meow," in a funny,
short way.
Miss Laura would pet her, or give her something to eat, or walk around the
garden carrying her on her shoulder. Malta was a most affectionate cat, and if
Miss Laura would not let her lick her face, she licked her hair with her little,
rough tongue. Often Malta lay by the fire, licking my coat or little Billy's, to
show her affection for us.
Mary, the cook, was very fond of cats, and used to keep Malta in the kitchen as
much as she could, but nothing would make her stay down there if there was any
music going on upstairs. The Morris pets were all fond of music. As soon as Miss
Laura sat down to the piano to sing or play, we came from all parts of the
house. Malta cried to get upstairs, Davy scampered through the hall, and Bella
hurried after him. If I was outdoors I ran in the house; and Jim got on a box
and looked through the window.
Davy's place was on Miss Laura's shoulder, his pink nose run in the curls at the
back of her neck. I sat under the piano beside Malta and Bella, and we never
stirred till the music was over; then we went quietly away.
Malta was a beautiful cat there was no doubt about it. While I was with Jenkins
I thought cats were vermin, like rats, and I chased them every chance I got.
Mrs. Jenkins had a cat, a gaunt, long-legged, yellow creature, that ran whenever
we looked at it.
Malta had been so kindly treated that she never ran from any one, except from
strange dogs. She knew they would be likely to hurt her. If they came upon her
suddenly, she faced them, and she was a pretty good fighter when she was put to
it. I once saw her having a brush with a big mastiff that lived a few blocks
from us, and giving him good fright; which just served him right.
I was shut up in the parlor. Some one had closed the door, and I could not get
out. I was watching Malta from the window, as she daintily picked her way across
the muddy street. She was such a soft, pretty, amiable-looking cat. She didn't
look that way, though, when the mastiff rushed out of the alleyway at her.
She sprang back and glared at him like a little, fierce tiger. Her tail was
enormous. Her eyes were like balls of fire, and she was spitting and snarling,
as if to say, "If you touch me, I'll tear you to pieces!"
The dog, big as he was, did not dare attack her. He walked around and around,
like a great clumsy elephant, and she turned her small body as he turned his,
and kept up a dreadful hissing and spitting. Suddenly I saw a Spitz dog hurrying
down the street. He was going to help the mastiff, and Malta would be badly
hurt. I had barked and no one had come to let me out, so I sprang through the
window.
Just then there was a change. Malta had