What I've suffered from them this morning no tongue can tell. Itbegan with Gustavus Adolphus. Gustavus Adolphus (they call him"Gusty" down-stairs for short) is a very good sort of dog when he isin the middle of a large field or on a fairly extensive common, but Iwon't have him indoors. He means well, but this house is not hissize. He stretches himself, and over go two chairs and a what-not.
He wags his tail, and the room looks as if a devastating army hadmarched through it. He breathes, and it puts the fire out.
At dinner-time he creeps in under the table, lies there for awhile,and then gets up suddenly; the first intimation we have of hismovements being given by the table, which appears animated by a desireto turn somersaults. We all clutch at it frantically and endeavor tomaintain it in a horizontal position; whereupon his struggles, hebeing under the impression that some wicked conspiracy is beinghatched against him, become fearful, and the final picture presentedis generally that of an overturned table and a smashed-up dinnersandwiched between two sprawling layers of infuriated men and women.
He came in this morning in his usual style, which he appears to havefounded on that of an American cyclone, and the first thing he did wasto sweep my coffee-cup off the table with his tail, sending thecontents full into the middle of my waistcoat.
I rose from my chair hurriedly and remarking "----," approached him ata rapid rate. He preceded me in the direction of the door. At thedoor he met Eliza coming in with eggs. Eliza observed "Ugh!" and satdown on the floor, the eggs took up different positions about thecarpet, where they spread themselves out, and Gustavus Adolphus leftthe room. I called after him, strongly advising him to go straightdownstairs and not let me see him again for the next hour or so; andhe seeming to agree with me, dodged the coal-scoop and went, while Ireturned, dried myself and finished breakfast. I made sure that hehad gone in to the yard, but when I looked into the passage tenminutes later he was sitting at the top of the stairs. I ordered himdown at once, but he only barked and jumped about, so I went to seewhat was the matter.
It was Tittums. She was sitting on the top stair but one and wouldn'tlet him pass.
Tittums is our kitten. She is about the size of a penny roll. Herback was up and she was swearing like a medical student.
She does swear fearfully. I do a little that way myself sometimes,but I am a mere amateur compared with her. To tell you thetruth--mind, this is strictly between ourselves, please; I shouldn'tlike your wife to know I said it--the women folk don't understandthese things; but between you and me, you know, I think it does at mangood to swear. Swearing is the safety-valve through which the badtemper that might otherwise do serious internal injury to his mentalmechanism escapes in harmless vaporing. When a man has said: "Blessyou, my dear, sweet sir. What the sun, moon, and stars made you socareless (if I may be permitted the expression) as to allow your lightand delicate foot to descend upon my corn with so much force? Is itthat you are physically incapable of comprehending the direction inwhich you are proceeding? you nice, clever young man--you!" or wordsto that effect, he feels better. Swearing has the same soothingeffect upon our angry passions that smashing the furniture or slammingthe doors is so well known to exercise; added to which it is muchcheaper. Swearing clears a man out like a pen'orth of gunpowder doesthe wash-house chimney. An occasional explosion is good for both. Irather distrust a man who never swears, or savagely kicks thefoot-stool, or pokes the fire with unnecessary violence. Without someoutlet, the anger caused by the ever-occurring troubles of life is aptto rankle and fester within. The petty annoyance, instead of beingthrown from us, sits down beside us and becomes a sorrow, and thelittle offense is brooded over till, in the hot-bed of rumination, itgrows into a great injury, under whose poisonous shadow springs uphatred and revenge.
Swearing relieves the feelings--that is what swearing does. Iexplained this to my aunt on one occasion, but it didn't answer withher. She said I had no business to have such feelings.
That is what I told Tittums. I told her she ought to be ashamed ofherself, brought up in at Christian family as she was, too. I don'tso much mind hearing an old cat swear, but I can't bear to see a merekitten give way to it. It seems sad in one so young.
I put Tittums in my pocket and returned to my desk. I forgot her forthe moment, and when I looked I found that she had squirmed out of mypocket on to the table and was trying to swallow the pen; then she puther leg into the ink-pot and upset it; then she licked her leg; thenshe swore again--at me this time.
I put her down on the floor, and there Tim began rowing with her. Ido wish Tim would mind his own business. It was no concern of hiswhat she had been doing. Besides, he is not a saint himself. He isonly a two-year-old fox-terrier, and he interferes with everything andgives himself the airs of a gray-headed Scotch collie.
Tittums' mother has come in and Tim has got his nose scratched, forwhich I am remarkably glad. I have put them all three out in thepassage, where they are fighting at the present moment. I'm in a messwith the ink and in a thundering bad temper; and if anything more inthe cat or dog line comes fooling about me this morning, it had betterbring its own funeral contractor with it.
Yet, in general, I like cats and dogs very much indeed. What jollychaps they are! They are much superior to human beings as companions.
They do not quarrel or argue with you. They never talk aboutthemselves but listen to you while you talk about yourself, and keepup an appearance of being interested in the conversation. They nevermake stupid remarks. They never observe to Miss Brown across adinner-table that they always understood she was very sweet on Mr.
Jones (who has just married Miss Robinson). They never mistake yourwife's cousin for her husband and fancy that you are thefather-in-law. And they never ask a young author with fourteentragedies, sixteen comedies, seven farces, and a couple of burlesquesin his desk why he doesn't write a play.
They never say unkind things. They never tell us of our faults,"merely for our own good." They do not at inconvenient moments mildlyremind us of our past follies and mistakes. They do not say, "Oh,yes, a lot of use you are if you are ever really wanted"--sarcasticlike. They never inform us, like our _inamoratas_ sometimes do, thatwe are not nearly so nice as we used to be. We are always the same tothem.
They are always glad to see us. They are with us in all our humors.
They are merry when we are glad, sober when we feel solemn, and sadwhen we are sorrowful.
"Halloo! happy and want a lark? Right you are; I'm your man. Here Iam, frisking round you, leaping, barking, pirouetting, ready for anyamount of fun and mischief. Look at my eyes if you doubt me. Whatshall it be? A romp in the drawing-room and never mind the furniture,or a scamper in the fresh, cool air, a scud across the fields and downthe hill, and won't we let old Gaffer Goggles' geese know what time o'
day it is, neither! Whoop! come along."Or you'd like to be quiet and think. Very well. Pussy can sit on thearm of the chair and purr, and Montmorency will curl himself up on therug and blink at the fire, yet keeping one eye on you the while, incase you are seized with any sudden desire in the direction of rats.
And when we bury our face in our hands and wish we had never beenborn, they don't sit up very straight and observe that we have broughtit all upon ourselves. They don't even hope it will be a warning tous. But they come up softly and shove their heads against us. If itis a cat she stands on your shoulder, rumples your hair, and says,"Lor,' I am sorry for you, old man," as plain as words can speak; andif it is a dog he looks up at you with his big, true eyes and sayswith them, "Well you've always got me, you know. We'll go through theworld together and always stand by each other, won't we?"He is very imprudent, a dog is. He never makes it his business toinquire whether you are in the right or in the wrong, never bothers asto whether you are going up or down upon life's ladder, never askswhether you are rich or poor, silly or wise, sinner or saint. You arehis pal. That is enough for him, and come luck or misfortune, goodrepute or bad, honor or shame, he is going to stick to you, to comfortyou, guard you, and give his life for you if need be--foolish,brainless, soulless dog!
Ah! old stanch friend, with your deep, clear eyes and bright, quickglances, that take in all one has to say before one has time to speakit, do you know you are only an animal and have no mind? Do you knowthat that dull-eyed, gin-sodden lout leaning against the post outthere is immeasurably your intellectual superior? Do you know thatevery little-minded, selfish scoundrel who lives by cheating andtricking, who never did a gentle deed or said a kind word, who neverhad a thought that was not mean and low or a desire that was not base,whose every action is a fraud, whose every utterance is a lie--do youknow that these crawling skulks (and there are millions of them in theworld), do you know they are all as much superior to you as the sun issuperior to rushlight you honorable, brave-hearted, unselfish brute?
They are MEN, you know, and MEN are the greatest, and noblest, andwisest, and best beings in the whole vast eternal universe. Any manwill tell you that.
Yes, poor doggie, you are very stupid, very stupid indeed, comparedwith us clever men, who understand all about politics and philosophy,and who know everything, in short, except what we are and where wecame from and whither we are going, and what everything outside thistiny world and most things in it are.
Never mind, though, pussy and doggie, we like you both all the betterfor your being stupid. We all like stupid things. Men can't bearclever women, and a woman's ideal man is some one she can call a "dearold stupid." It is so pleasant to come across people more stupid thanourselves. We love them at once for being so. The world must berather a rough place for clever people. Ordinary folk dislike them,and as for themselves, they hate each other most cordially.
But there, the clever people are such a very insignificant minoritythat it really doesn't much matter if they are unhappy. So long asthe foolish people can be made comfortable the world, as a whole, willget on tolerably well.
Cats have the credit of being more worldly wise than dogs--of lookingmore after their own interests and being less blindly devoted to thoseof their friends. And we men and women are naturally shocked at suchselfishness. Cats certainly do love a family that has a carpet in thekitchen more than a family that has not; and if there are manychildren about, they prefer to spend their leisure time next door.
But, taken altogether, cats are libeled. Make a friend of one, andshe will stick to you through thick and thin. All the cats that Ihave had have been most firm comrades. I had a cat once that used tofollow me about everywhere, until it even got quite embarrassing, andI had to beg her, as a personal favor, not to accompany me any furtherdown the High Street. She used to sit up for me when I was late homeand meet me in the pass............