Mouser Cats’ Story

MR. DONKEY’S LESSON IN GOOD MANNERS.

“I think the story about the donkey must be one which I have never
heard,” your Aunt Amy said. “Although the animals on the farm have told
me quite a lot about Mr. Donkey, I have never thought of him as a
teacher.

“It isn’t what you might rightly call a story; but only something that
happened when Mr. Donkey showed his good sense. Now I don’t understand
why Mr. Man tells about any one being as stupid as a donkey. Why, our
Neddy is as wise as anybody on this farm, and you will think so when I
have told this story about him.

“It was one night after supper, and he thought he would take a stroll up
the road, because he hadn’t been working very hard that day, and the
exercise might do him good. He was going along, minding his own
business, when Mr. Wild Hog came out from the bushes, and into the road.

“Mr. Donkey stepped over one side so as to give him plenty of room,
saying ‘good evening’ politely, and was walking on when Mr. Wild Hog
bristled up to him, showing both his big tusks, and said:

“‘Why don’t you turn out when you meet anybody of consequence?’

“‘Perhaps I do when I meet them,’ Mr. Donkey replied, and that made Mr.
Hog terribly angry. “‘Do you know I have a mind to give you a lesson in
good manners?’ growled Mr. Hog, and Mr. Donkey said with a grin:

“‘Why not go off somewhere alone, and give yourself a lesson or two?’

“Of course that made Mr. Hog more angry than ever, and he said:

“‘Do you know what I do when stupid animals like you try to be too
smart?’

“‘No; I don’t care either,’ Mr. Donkey replied; ‘but I will show you
what I do when animals make bigger hogs of themselves than is natural.’

“Just as he said this he turned around, swung up both heels, struck Mr.
Hog under the chin, and knocked him over and over as many as six times.
Then Mr. Donkey trotted off slowly, with a smile on his face that was
for all the world like Mr. Crocodile’s after he had been to the
dentist’s.”

WHEN MR. CROCODILE HAD HIS TEETH EXTRACTED.

“Why did he go to the dentist?” your Aunt Amy asked, thinking to hear
another story.

“I had better repeat the poetry Mr. Crow wrote about it, for that tells
the whole story, and without further delay Mrs. Mouser Cat recited the
following:

  Come, listen, and I’ll sing awhile
  About a winsome crocodile,
  Who had a most engaging smile
     Whene’er he smole.

  His basket with fresh fish to fill
  Each day he’d tramp o’er vale and hill,
  For he possessed quite wondrous skill
     With rod and pole.

  But as he fished, one summer’s day,
  A toothache chased his smiles away;
  No longer could he fish and play
     His favorite role.

  He stamped and growled, the pain was vile,
  No more he grinned, Sir Crocodile,
  (And he’d a most engaging smile
     Whene’er he smole.)

  So straight he to the dentist went,
  On stopping or extraction bent,
  His soul was with such anguish rent;
     He reached his goal.

  ”Come sit down in the chair awhile;
  Open your mouth, Sir Crocodile!”
  (He had a most engaging smile
     Whene’er he smole.)

  ”Which is the tooth?” the dentist said;
  ”Dear, dear! You must have suffered–
  You’ve not a sound tooth in your head,
     Not one that’s whole!”

  He pulled them out; it took some while,
  And then that toothsome crocodile
  Had not quite such a pleasing smile
     Whene’er he smole.

“How do you suppose Mr. Crocodile felt when he was hungry, and wanted to
eat something?” your Aunt Amy asked.

THE DISSATISFIED CAT.

“Most likely much the same as did old Mrs. Pussy Cat up on the next
farm.”

“How was that?” your Aunt Amy asked.

“Well, you see, she was partly black and partly white, and not being a
very neat cat, the white hair got dirty so often that she believed it
would be a great thing if it was all black. So she got the idea into her
head that if she should shave off the white hair, it would be the color
she wanted when it grew out again.

“Well, now what do you suppose that poor foolish thing did? Why she went
to the barber’s, and had him shave all the white hair off of her body.
She actually frightened the ducks and the geese when she came home, she
looked so queer; but you couldn’t have made her believe it. She thought
she was a perfect beauty, and when she came over to this farm that
evening, Mr. Thomas Cat said to her:

“‘Why you are a perfect sight, that’s what you are, with those tufts of
black hair all over you!’

“‘That’s all the style,’ Mrs. Pussy Cat said, and I think she really
believed that she was as handsome as any cat you could find.

“Well, things went along all right while the weather was warm, but in
the course of ten days we had a heavy frost, and dear me, dear me, how
cold it grew all of a sudden! Poor Mrs. Pussy Cat was almost frozen to
death the first night of the cold snap, when she tried to stay with the
rest of us to a concert, and went home moaning:

“‘Oh, give me back my hair! Give me back my hair!’

“Of course that couldn’t be done, because she had to wait for it to grow
again; but Mrs. Man on the next farm wrapped her up in an old shawl, and
she had to stay in a basket until her hair grew, else she’d have frozen
to death, for we had a terrible hard winter that season. When the hair
did come out it was uneven, of course, and she was the worst looking cat
you ever saw.

“Mr. Man was shaving the first morning Mrs. Pussy Cat came out of the
basket, and he hadn’t seen her since she had been to the barber’s.

“She jumped up on a chair by the side of him, thinking he would stroke
her fur as he always used to do, when the poor man got one glimpse of
her, and it nearly scared him into hysterics. I suppose he thought it
was a ghost, or something like that, for she looked bad enough to be
almost anything.

“He gave a yell, and jumped in the air. That scared Mrs. Pussy Cat, and
she screamed as she leaped out of the chair. Then Mr. Man went after her
with that big razor in his hand.

“I don’t know how far he chased her; but Mr. Towser said that Mrs. Pussy
Cat ran more than five miles before she stopped, and when she sneaked
back home that night, I’m thinking she felt a good deal as Mr. Crow did
when he tried to make folks believe peacock feathers were growing in his
tail.”

MR. CROW’S DECEIT.

“I have heard a great many stories which Mr. Crow has told; but never
one about him,” your Aunt Amy interrupted. “If he tried to deceive the
other birds, I surely would like to know about it.”

“Well, he did,” Mrs. Mouser Cat said emphatically, sitting bolt upright;
“but of course he doesn’t like to have the story told, so I had rather
you wouldn’t let him know I mentioned it.

“I don’t know how he happened to get it into his head to do such a
thing, for, as a rule, he spends the most of his time over in the big
tree telling stories or making poetry; but he grew foolish once, and
whenever anybody came where he was, he said he had strange growing
feathers, and the doctor believed he was turning into a peacock.

“Of course that made a good deal of excitement around here, among all of
us, for it would be a strange thing for a crow to change in that way,
and he had twice as many visitors as he ever had before, all wanting to
know about the new feathers.

“Well, of course he couldn’t keep saying that they were coming, and not
show any signs of them, so one day he said he felt terribly sick and
guessed he should go into the hospital. Then we didn’t see anything of
him for most a week, until little Redder Squirrel came around and said
Mr. Crow was all right; that he had as many as six peacock feathers
growing right out of his tail.

“Well, now, you can believe we were astonished, and more excited over it
than we had been since young Mr. Thomas Cat painted the canary yellow.
Of course we asked Redder Squirrel where we could see him, and he said
Mr. Crow had agreed to come out on the hill, just under the tree, that
afternoon.

“If we animals around here were anxious to see him, you can guess that
the peacocks were just about wild, and when the time came for Mr. Crow
to show himself, all the peacocks for as many as five miles around were
gathered under the big tree. Mr. Crow didn’t know anything about their
coming, until he marched right out in the midst of them.

“Now Mr. Crow is really a wise bird, and how it happened that he was so
foolish as to do what he did, beats me. Anybody with half an eye could
see that he had simply stuck these feathers in his tail, and was trying
to make us believe they had grown there. If he had stayed on the tree
where we couldn’t get very near him, there might have been some chance
of deceiving us; but there he was right down where we could put our paws
on him if we wanted to. And the peacocks! Angry? Oh me, oh my, don’t say
a word!

“One big one reached over with his beak, and pulled a feather from Mr.
Crow’s tail.

“‘The next time you set yourself up for one of us, it would be a good
idea to tie the feathers in, else they may drop out, as this one has,’
the peacock said, and I expected to see Mr. Crow almost faint away with
shame. But bless you, he never thought of doing anything of that kind.
He took the feather as bold as a lion, looked at the end of it, and then
he said, careless-like:

“‘Well, I declare! I guess I must be moulting,’ and with that, off he
flew. We didn’t see him again for as much as two weeks, and then he
agreed not to write any poetry about us if we wouldn’t tell the story of
the feathers; but young Mr. Thomas Cat couldn’t hold in, and reported it
far and near, till Mr. Crow paid him back in good shape.”

WHEN YOUNG THOMAS CAT PAINTED A CANARY.

“But what about painting a canary?” your Aunt Amy asked. “You spoke of
such a thing a moment ago.”

“Yes, and it is what I am telling you about. Mr. Crow wrote the poetry
which tells the story, and you shall hear it.”

Then Mrs. Mouser Cat repeated the following:

  For he was such a knowing puss–
          Oh yes, he was!
  A really clever, sharp young puss–
          Oh yes, he was!
  He wouldn’t do as others do,
  He said, “I know a thing or two,
          I do!

  ”To-morrow is the great bird show–
          I think it is;
  The far-renowned canary show–
          Of course it is.
  Some yellow ochre, so I’ve heard,
  Will wondrously improve a bird,
          I’ve heard

  ”I think I’ll enter at that show–
          I think I will,
  Just make one entry for that show–
          By Jove, I will.
  And if my bird don’t get the prize,
  Why it will be, as I surmise,
          A surprise!”

  The show was held–a great success–
          Of course it was!
  By all ’twas called a huge success–
          Indeed it was!
  The judges were experienced cats;
  They wore tail-coats, and large top-hats–
          Such hats!

  Young Tom was there–he’d brought his bird–
         Just think! he had!
  He’d really dared to bring that bird–
         Oh yes, he had!
  He said, “No one will ever know
  That my canary’s all no go,
         Oh no!”

  But one old judge was rather spry–
         Oh yes, he was!
  You’d not have thought him half so spry,
         But oh, he was!
  He said, “Why really, on my word!
  Disqualify that shocking bird!–
         Absurd!”

  So Tom’s bird was disqualified–
         Of course it was!
  Disgracefully disqualified,
         Ah yes, it was!
  And Tom, although he thought he knew
  A thing or two, found others too
         Who knew.

“Mr. Thomas must have believed that honesty was the best policy, before
he got through with the bird show,” your Aunt Amy suggested, and Mrs.
Mouser Cat laughed as she replied:

“It would have shamed almost any cat; but it didn’t seem to make a bit
of difference with young Thomas. He was just as pert as ever the next
day, and went around telling about the prize he would have taken if the
judge hadn’t discovered the fraud. It would have served him right if he
had been punished as was Mr. Fox.”

WHEN MR. FOX WAS TOO CUNNING.

“Is that another story?” your Aunt Amy asked.

“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Mouser said reflectively, “and it shows that there
are times when even a fox can be too cunning. One day while Mr. Fox, who
used to live down in the swamp, was sneaking around behind the barn on
this farm, he saw a bag hanging on the limb of a tree just over the
water barrel.

“‘Now I wonder what that is?’ he said to himself, as he stopped and
looked first at the bag and then at the barrel. ‘It smells good, and I
believe there’s meat somewhere around here.’

“Then he climbed upon the barrel, and saw that it was half full of
water, so he began to wonder what the meaning of it was.

“‘It must be a trap Mr. Man has set for me,’ he said rubbing his ear as
if he thought himself very wise. ‘He thinks I’ll jump up for the bag,
and fall into the water. Now he’s got to find a younger fox than I am,
if he wants to make that plan work, for I’m going to know what’s hanging
up there, and I won’t take any chances of getting drowned, either,
because I’ll drink all the water first. Then that will settle it.’

“Well, he began to drink, and drink, and drink, until he swelled up
amazingly; but there was plenty of water still left in the barrel. Then
he drank some more; ran around a few moments, came back and drank again,
until he was all swelled out, and couldn’t swallow another drop; but the
barrel appeared to be as full as when he commenced.

“By this time it wasn’t possible for him to run the least little bit,
and he was feeling a good deal as his father did after he had found the
crab, when along came Mr. Man, who said:

“‘Hello! here’s a nice fat fox! I guess I’ll take his skin,’ and the
next day, lo and behold, there was Mr. Fox’s hide nailed up on the barn,
showing that sometimes it is dangerous to be too cunning.”

WHEN SONNY BUNNY RABBIT WAS RASH.

“I never saw an animal who didn’t get into trouble when he thought he
knew everything,” Mrs. Mouser went on thoughtfully, giving no heed to
the fact that your Aunt Amy was on the point of interrupting her. “Now
there is Sonny Bunny Rabbit, he got it into his head that he was the
greatest ever lived; that he could do just as he wanted to around this
neighborhood, because he led Mr. Fox into a trap one day.

“Why, that foolish little rabbit used to sit out in the field at night,
and tell me, who am old enough to be his grandmother at the very least,
that he could do anything he pleased; that there was no animal around
here who could get the best of him.

“Well, Sonny Bunny kept that idea in his mind, and one day Mr. Hawk came
sailing along just when Sonny Bunny was talking with Redder Squirrel,
and Redder he screamed:

“‘Run, Sonny Bunny! Run for your life!’

“‘You don’t catch me running away from any old hawk,’ Sonny Bunny said,
as bold as a lion. ‘I’m going to stay right here, and kick dirt in his
face if he comes where I am.’

“‘Run, Sonny Bunny, run!’ Redder Squirrel cried, and for once he showed
more sense than usual.

“But Sonny Bunny was so puffed up with what he thought he could do, that
he stood still, and got ready to kick dirt, while old Mr. Hawk came
sailing round, and round, and round, making ready to light on him. If
you’ll believe it, that foolish rabbit stayed right there until down
came Mr. Hawk, and then, oh me, oh my, how Sonny did kick dirt!

“I’m willing to admit that part of his plan was all right. He blinded
Mr. Hawk, but at the same time didn’t save all of his own skin, for the
old fellow’s claws went into Sonny Bunny’s back so far, as his mother
told me, that you could almost see the bones, and the foolish rabbit
laid in bed three or four weeks before he was fit to go out of doors
again.”

“It seems to me as if I had heard something like that before,” your Aunt
Amy said, and Mrs. Mouser replied:

“Very likely you’ve heard the same story, for all the animals around
here know about it.”

“But what was it you said about Mr. Fox’s father meeting a crab?” your
Aunt Amy asked.

MR. FOX AND MISS CRAB.

“Well, that isn’t what you might really call a story; it’s only
something which happened to old Mr. Fox when he went down to the
seashore for his health, and met young Miss Crab. He had never seen
anybody of the kind, and didn’t know whether she was an animal, or a
fish, or a bird.

“‘Good morning,’ he said very politely, and Miss Crab answered him back
as nice as you please.

“‘Are you out for a walk?’ he asked.

“‘Oh no, indeed,’ she said. ‘I am here taking the sea air for my health.
The doctor recommends it, but I am not allowed to move around very much
because I’m so feeble.’

“Now old Mr. Fox was puzzled. He put his paw on her shell, and it was
hard; but whether it was the house she lived in, or a part of herself,
he couldn’t for the life of him tell.

“Well, after a time he made up his mind that the shell must be her
house, so he said:

“‘Why don’t you come outside where you can get purer air than you do in
there?’ and she replied, just as a gull went sailing by:

“‘I don’t dare to for fear some of those rude birds will eat me.’

“That settled old Mr. Fox. He thought if the birds liked Miss Crab well
enough to eat her, she would make a good supper for him. So he began to
coax and coax her to come out, and after a long time, finding that she
would not do as he wanted, he began trying to bite the shell into
pieces. Then she caught hold of his tongue with one of her big claws,
and bit as much as an inch and a half right straight off the end of it.

“Oh me, oh my, how old Mr. Fox did howl! I’m told that he went home in a
most dreadful rage, with the blood streaming out of his mouth, and when
his wife asked him what the matter was, he couldn’t say a word, of
course not, because his tongue was gone. I don’t know how long it was
before he got well; but they do say he was the most shamefaced looking
animal that was ever seen, whenever any one spoke to him about crabs, or
the seashore.”

THE BABY ELEPHANT.

“Speaking of the seashore reminds me of another piece of Mr. Crow’s
poetry, and if you can stand any more, I wish you would, because I think
this is really good.”

As a matter of course your Aunt Amy could do no less than say she would
be pleased to hear it, and Mrs. Mouser recited that which is set down
here:

  To little John Adolphus Chubb
    Your kind attention I invite;
  Oh, how he loves to bathe and scrub,
    Each day at noon and eke at night.

  Now John Adolphus William Chubb
    A fine young elephant is he;
  And when he’s in his little tub,
    Oh, ’tis a pleasant sight to see!

  His nurse,–a motherly old thing–
    No need to coax the rogue has she;
  Adolphus, when he sees her bring
    The water, trumpets in his glee.

  Oh, how he loves the cold, cold stream
    Descending on him in the tub!
  He feels as if he’d like to scream–
    He loves it so–does William Chubb.

  And then, the evening’s washing o’er
    (Though he could wish it lasted still),
  His nurse will gay, “Come, come, no more;
    You’ve had enough now, Master Will!”

  So swift he’s dried, his night-gown on,
    A night-cap tied upon his head,
  And to the rattle’s music,
    John Adolphus William goes to bed.

“I don’t think that is very nice poetry,” your Aunt Amy said when Mrs.
Mouser had come to the end of the verses. “It is too ridiculous.”

“That may be; but I have heard some of your friends, like Mr. Turtle,
for example, tell you even worse than that,” and Mrs. Mouser spoke quite
sharply. “Now if you want a really pretty little story, that hasn’t got
much fun in it, I can tell you one about two mice, and it must be true,
because I had it from a cat friend of mine who was on the spot.”