THE WATCH-CAT.

Elliot Walker.

OTHELLO sits at top of cellar stairs and gazes reflectively down into the gloom. He has washed his paws and now is reflecting. Yes, he has caught the mouse and eaten him—a most delicious mouse—a most exciting moment—when, after long, patient wait behind the wood-box, his prey suddenly darted across to the refrigerator. Othello had given one quick spring—and now he lashes his long black tail from side to side at the recollection—it had been a great satisfaction to catch that mouse at last.

But now the mouse is gone, and so is Othello’s occupation. For three successive nights he had crouched in patient watching. Now the mouse is no more, and Othello almost wishes it back in its hole, so that he might again pass long hours in delightful anticipation. And that was the last mouse in the cellar! No use to go down again. Nothing to do, and he may as well go to sleep.

What is that? Noises outside the door—strange whispers! Why! the key turned round in the keyhole by itself! How funny! He will put up his paw and play with it if it does that again. The door is opening and cold air is coming in, and something else coming in, too—two such creatures as you never have seen before—muffled creatures, with queer black things over their faces and queer things in their hands. Yes, they must be men, but very queerly dressed, and they cast searching glances in every direction. What a queer little lamp they have lighted—just a glare of light, then darkness, then light again that moves here and there. Oh, they are going down cellar, to look in the refrigerator, probably, or possibly to shake the furnace. That is all the master goes down cellar for.

The cat crawled from his hiding-place to top of cellar stairs and again gazed into the gloom. What! Are they talking about that beautiful roast, and the pudding and the cold mashed potatoes? They are going too far; they might have the potatoes, but the cold meat—that is too much! He will tell his master, and the master will make them give it back, even as he had made Othello give up the young robin, by choking and blows. Yes, he shall know of this at once. But how to reach him? The pantry doors to kitchen and dining-room are always locked now, ever since the parrot came. Ah, he understands it now! Those creatures in the cellar are friends of the parrot—probably invited by him to come and gobble everything. That is the parrot all over, wanting everything and getting it, and Othello, who formerly had the run of the house, and went regularly to wake the master every morning, is now relegated to the kitchen, with the pantry door locked.

Othello grins at recollection of the reason for locking that door. When the parrot had arrived six months before and cast a shadow over Othello’s position, hatred and jealousy filled his feline bosom. To be sure, the parrot was talented and could say real words like people, and Othello admired that, but his disposition was mean, and after he had startled Othello by screeching “Scat!” and “Get out, Blacky!” something had to be done. And now it pleases him much to remember the scientific play of his claws on the parrot’s head and neck, and the way the feathers flew, and the appalling screams. Well, Ephraim—that is the parrot’s name—had no business to insult him. He began it by putting his head through the bars of the cage and rasping out “Niggerhead! Niggerhead! I chew niggerhead!” Ephraim had come over in a sailing vessel, and the sailors had taught him many evil words and phrases. So Othello had reached out one paw invitingly and Ephraim had struck at it viciously. But Othello had pulled the paw back quickly and brought the other one down on Ephraim’s head and held it there while he raked him with the other. And all the people in the house had come running, and he was cuffed and driven down-stairs.

The men in the cellar are coming toward the stairs now, and Othello retires under the stove. Now they are in the kitchen again and have put the food on the dresser. Othello would like some of that cold meat—it smells delicious—but he fears to come out from under the stove. He is suspicious. He will wait. What are they doing? Unlocking the door to the pantry. How excited they seem! Now they are unlocking the dining-room door. What are they after? He crawls quietly after them—they cannot see him in the shadow, but he can see everything. Oh, they have laid a great nasty bag on the dining-room table, and they are taking from the sideboard all of those bright things that the family eat with and take such care of, and are putting them into the bag very carefully. There goes little Jenny’s mug—the one she lets him have milk from. No, that will not do. No meat, no milk! Now is his chance. From the dining-room to the hall, then up-stairs to the master’s room. How very easy, all in a minute!

What did that man say?—“Get the swag ready and leave it on the table; we’ll step back and eat. Don’t move it now—it may rattle. We’ll carry it off when we start—good haul!” Othello pricks up his ears. “Carry it off!” Yes, he understands that. He has been cuffed often for carrying off things—chops and slices of meat. These horrible men shall be cuffed, too—the master will do it. Creep along, Othello, creep along! Up the stairs now, down the hallway, into the master’s room. You will rouse him and save what you little know the value of. Jump on him, scratch him—anything! You have done it. He is wide awake now and trembling; is out of his warm bed, and seems to understand. There is a bright, shining thing in his hand and his face is white and set.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Why are you, brave Othello, cowering at top of the attic stairs? Two short seconds ago you were on the master’s bed, purring loudly. What is that awful rush below, out of the kitchen where the clock ticks, out across the porch, across the lawn, into the road? Bang! Bang! outside the house, then the sound of rapid running. Why, what is it, Othello? What are people screaming for, and why is little Jenny crying, why is Ephraim screeching atrociously, and why are you, with your tail twice its natural size, wailing dismally? Fright, Othello, general fright—and you brought it about with your notions of the rights of property. Quiet down now and crawl down-stairs to see what you get.

They are gathering in the dining-room, with all the lights going full blast, as you, Othello, sneak down-stairs wondering what it all means. The master has just come back from the outside, quite pale and shaky. “Fired six times and never hit one of them,” he says. “Did they get anything?” And the mistress, who has emptied the dirty bag on the table, replies, “Not a thing, William.”

They are all quiet now, especially Othello, who feels the queer experience deeply, and wonders how much abuse he will get when he is discovered hiding by the sideboard. The master spies him, and lifts him tenderly, with words of such affectionate appreciation that Othello wonders still more, but sinks his claws gently through the thin covering and purrs. “Ow!” says the man, and quickly extricates them. He strokes the cat very gently, and turning to his wife, says, “Maria, let’s get rid of that parrot. From this time forward the cat shall have first place. I have thought lately of buying a watch-dog, but it is not necessary. I’d rather have a watch-cat like Othello.”

Ques.—Why does a cat look on first one side and then on another when she enters a room?

Ans.—Because she can’t look on both sides at the same time.