PUSSY BLACK FACE - The Adventures of a Mischievous Kitten and his Friends E-Book

Marshall Saunders

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Pussy Black-Face, or, “The story of a kitten and her friends” is a book for boys and girls written by Marshall Saunders and illustrated by Diantha Horne Marlowe. Our story starts with Pussy Black Face introducing himself - “My name is Pussy Black-Face, and I am a naughty young kitten. I wish I were good like my mother. She is the best cat that I ever saw. I try to be like her, and sometimes I succeed, but most times I don't.” Known to all as Black Face, this cat is a mischievous kitten who does things most cats do, like sleep, eat and hog the warmth of the fire and sleep even more. Black Face and his friends are looked after by Mrs. Darley. She is a widow with two adopted children—Billy and Margaret. Black Face has a sister named Serena, and a brother called Jimmy Dory. But, Black Face is not the first cat which most people choose to stroke or pick up to cuddle. Neither is Black face the most agile cat. He is the most adventurous of the siblings, and is forever knocking over ornaments, and other precious nick-knacks, quite often breaking them. As the summer came on, Mrs Darley opened up the house and Black Face and his friends were allowed to explore the pavement while their mother and father sat on the wide window sill watching. “Beware of the naughty boys,” his mother warned. The kittens began to play with a pebble and chase it along the pavement. Before they realised it they had lost sight of the house and chased the pebble right into the hands of the very boys their mother had warned them about. And so began the adventures of Black Face and his friends…… But what happened next you ask? Well you will have to download and read this book to find out for yourselves! YESTERDAY’S BOOKS FOR TODAY’S CHARITIES 10% of the profit from the sale of this book will be donated to charity. ================= Margaret Marshall Saunders CBE was a Canadian author. She was born in the village of Milton, Queens County, Nova Scotia. She spent most of her childhood in Berwick, Nova Scotia where her father served as Baptist minister. Saunders is most famous for her novel Beautiful Joe. Originally published under the pseudonym Marshall Saunders, it is a story narrated by a dog who has had a difficult puppyhood with many obstacles including a cruel owner. When the book was published in 1894, both it and its subject received worldwide attention. It was the first Canadian book to sell over a million copies, and by the late 1930s had sold over seven million copies worldwide. ================= KEYWORDS-TAGS: Pussy black face, kitten, friends, fireside, cat, refuge, surprise, change, visit, family, common land, first, fight, sensation, serena, astonish, train, country, maine, lovely, headstrong, sister, pigs, cows, chickens, lecture, mole-hunt, return, children, mischievous, guinea-hen, owl, close, summer, back to, city, again, Action, Adventure, afraid, Angora, Anthony, baggage-master, barn, basket, beautiful, Black-Face, Blizzard, body, Boston, boxes, carriage, cats, chickens, children, Children’s Story, claws, Clean, Common, corner, cows, cuddle, dairy, dark, Darley, Della, Denno, Denville, dog, Dolly, Dory, down-stairs, drink, eat, escape, Fairy Tale, family, farmer, father, Fear, fight, Folk tale, follow, fright, Gleason, guinea-hens, happy, hawk, heart, hen-house, home, horses, human, hungry, Jimmy, Joker, kennel, kitten, lady, large, lick, little, love, Maine, mamma, Mary, meadow, meow, milk, mistress, mole-hunt, Mona, mother, mouth, nurse, orchard, pavement, play, protect, purr, pussy, Pussy, Rosy, run, running, safety, save, saviour, scared, Serena, sister, Slyboots, starving, station, strange, street, stroke, summer, Tabby, Thirsty, tired, Tree stump, trees, trouble, vulgar, walked, water, window, Wyandotte, yard

Leseprobe

Pussy Black Face

The Story of a Kitten and Her Friends

By

Marshall Saunders

Author Of “Beautiful Joe,” “Beautiful Joe's Paradise,” “'Tilda Jane,” Etc.

Illustrated By

Diantha Horne Marlowe

Originally Published ByL. C. Page & Company, Boston[1913]

Resurrected ByAbela Publishing, London[2018]

Pussy Black Face

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2018

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing,

London

United Kingdom

2018

ISBN-13: 978-X-XXXXXX-XX-X

email

[email protected]

Website

Abela Publishing

“When I play with my cat, who knows whether I do not make her more sport than she makes me?”

Montaigne.

Dedication

I dedicate this story of a little cat to that wholehearted

Friend of animals—

Mrs. Huntington-Smith

of the Animal Rescue League,

51 Carver Street, Boston

Acknowledgements

Abela Publishing

acknowledges the work that

Marshall SaudersandDiantha Horne Marlowe

sid in writing, illustrating and publishing this book

well before any electronic media

was in use.

* * * * * *

YESTERDAY’S BOOK FOR TODAY’S CHARITIES

10% of the profit from the sale of this book

will be donated to charities.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. By the Fire

II. A Cat's Refuge

III. A Surprising Change

IV. I Visit My Family

V. The Cat on the Common

VI. My First Fight

VII. A New Sensation

VIII. Serena Astonishes Us

IX. On the Train

X. We Reach the Country

XI. Maine, Lovely Maine

XII. My Headstrong Sister

XIII. Pigs, Cows and Chickens

XIV. My Sister Gives a Lecture

XV. The Mole-hunt

XVI. The Return of the Children

XVII. The Mischievous Guinea-hen

XVIII. The Owl and the Chickens

XIX. The Close of the Summer

XX. In the City Again

List Of Illustrations

Pussy Black-Face Frontispiece

“My mother began to polish off my head”

“She put her head first on one side then on the other, till she cracked it all to pieces”

“'Mona,' I said confidentially, 'I am having a dreadful time'”

“She slipped between the big dog's front paws, and sat there cowering and trembling”

“Out on the ploughed land under the apple trees, a furry ball was rolling over and over”

“'My friends, ... I stand before you this evening quite unprepared'”

“The rooster kept so far ahead that no one but ourselves suspected the mischief she was doing”

Pussy Black-Face

CHAPTER I By The Fire

My name is Pussy Black-Face, and I am a naughty young kitten. I wish I were good like my mother. She is the best cat that I ever saw. I try to be like her, and sometimes I succeed, but most times I don't.

My mother's disposition is really lovely, but then she has a weak back. It seems to me that if I had a weak back I should be good, too, but when there is a spring in my spine that makes me want to jump all the time, and something curled up in my paws that makes me want to seize things, what can I do? How can I be good?

My mother purrs wholesome advice into my ears, and tells me to try, to try hard,and so I do, but usually it doesn't seem of any use. I might as well be bad all the time, and not worry about it.

Every night, as we sit around the fire before we go to bed, I think things over. You know how cats look and act when they are getting sleepy. Some people say that cats are stupid and can't think or feel. Don't you believe it. They are just as clever as any animals.

Well, I think the most beautiful sight in the world is our little family on these chilly, east-windy nights as we gather in the sitting-room about bedtime.

First there is our dear mistress, Mrs. Darley. She is a widow with two adopted children—Billy and Margaret. After dinner they go to the study to learn their lessons, and Mrs. Darley sits for a little while with us before she goes to join them. We cats are allowed to run all over the house, but we usually prefer the sitting-room, because there is the broad window-seat for sunny mornings, and the cushions by the fire for dull weather.

Mrs. Darley always takes my mother on her lap, because she is the chief favorite, and because she has suffered so much. I am not ashamed to say that my mother was an ash-barrel cat before Mrs. Darley rescued her. That is, she was a poor cat who had to pick up her living in back yards. She is a grayish, wistful-looking creature with a quiet manner. Her name is Dust-and-Ashes. She knows a good deal, but she doesn't talk much.

My father, whose name is the Piebald Prince, is an Angora. He is very handsome, very aristocratic, very dignified, but not at all proud. He says he believes it is wrong to call any cat common or unclean. Persian cats, and Angora cats, and New Mexico cats, and Manx cats, and all kinds of cats should be treated in just the same way, and have an equal amount of respect shown them.

He always makes my mother take a front seat if there is company, and he treats her with as much consideration as if she, like himself, had come from the celebrated farm up in Maine, where only pure bred cats areraised, and where they cost great sums of money.

Many a cuff—a gentlemanly cuff—I have had from him for being disrespectful to my mother. He believes in keeping us young ones in order.

Besides myself there is my sister Serena, and my brother Jimmy Dory.

They are both much older than I am. Serena is a very clever little cat. She has beautiful manners, and purrs a good deal to herself about culture. She and Jimmy are both half Angora, and half common cat. So I am, too, for that matter, but they are much better looking than I am. My father is black and white, and we are black and white; but his black and white and Serena and Jimmy Dory's black and white are laid on prettily.

I am a fright. Everyone says so—cats and human beings—so it must be true. I think myself, when I look in the glass that I am very ugly, but I don't care a bit. Why should I worry? I can't see myself, unless I look in a mirror. Let the other cats and people worry about me, and say that mywhite face looks as if someone had thrown an ink bottle and splashed me right across it. They are the ones that suffer, for they can see me. I don't see myself.

My body is prettier than my face. I often laugh to myself when I am creeping softly along, and someone says, “Oh! what a lovely black kitten.” Then I turn round and the someone always shrieks, “You little fright!” or “You ugly little thing!”

My mother says it is naughty in me to laugh, but I tell her that girl squeals and cat squeals don't hurt me. The only things I am afraid of are sticks and stones.

Then she smiles sadly, and says, “When you grow up to be a cat, Black-Face, you will be sorry that your face does not please everyone.”

I must say I don't believe her. I don't believe that my mother knows half as much as I do. She is getting old and fussy, but I wouldn't say this to anyone but myself for the world. The kitten next door laughed at my mother the other day, and I scratched him. I'd do it again, too. I sha'n't let anyone but myself criticise my mother while I have claws in my velvet paws.

Well, I don't believe I'll think any more about myself to-night. I am getting sleepy, and my head is sinking down on my pink cushion.

I wish I hadn't broken that pretty glass vase to-day. Mrs. Darley felt very sorry. What was I doing on the mantelpiece? The dear only knows. It looked tempting up there. It is such fun to twist between things and not break them, and it is only once in a great while that I do have a smash.

I hope Billy will find his lead-pencils. I dropped them behind the sofa—and what did I do with that dead mouse I was playing with? Did I leave it on Margaret's bed? I believe I did. Well, she is a fat little girl. It won't hurt her to scream a while. Mrs. Darley will run to her. Good night, everybody—I am—so—sleepy.

CHAPTER II A Cat's Refuge

Where am I? Can I collect my thoughts and reflect a little—was there ever such an unhappy cat? Only last night I sat and purred myself to sleep beside my dear mother. Pressed close against her soft fur, I had no thought of harm, and now where am I? But I must not be silly. Let me close my eyes, and purr hard for a while, then sense will come to me.

I must not open them. When I look round this room, and see the shadowy form of cat after cat, I think I will go crazy—and yet what a simpleton I am. I am safe here. Danger is over; let me be thankful that I escaped as I did.

Well, to go back to this morning. The east wind was out of the air. When mother and I, and father, and Serena, and Jimmy Dory came yawning and stretching out of the sitting-roomand looked down-stairs, the hall door was wide open, the sun was pouring in.

Mrs. Darley was so glad. She just loves sunshine. She went round the house opening doors and windows, and just as soon as breakfast was over, we all ran out on the sidewalk.

Cats get dreadfully tired of a back yard, and the back yards on Beacon Hill are so sunless and dull. We like fun and excitement—a little mild excitement—as much as human beings do. So my father and mother sat on the big sunny stone door-step, while Serena, Jimmy Dory and I played on the pavement.

We had a tiny round pebble that we were rolling with our paws. It was such a funny little pebble. I pushed it, and danced, and caught it in my paws and tossed it, and had a beautiful time, until my mother began to warn me.

“Black-Face, don't go down the hill; there are bad boys there. Keep up here.”

“I don't see any boys,” I said wilfully.

“They will soon see you if you go down there,” said my father severely.

I didn't believe him, and I thought my mother was fussy. I see now that little cats have to learn by experience. Nothing would have convinced me that there were bad boys at the foot of the hill, if I had not seen them and felt the grasp of their unkind hands.

While we were playing, the little pebble suddenly began to roll down hill. How fast it went! I watched it for a few instants, and then something said: “Go after it, Black-Face!”

I tried hard not to. I looked back at my parents sunning themselves on the door-step, I stared at Serena and Jimmy Dory who were cautious young cats, and rarely disobeyed their parents.

“I'll just snatch it and run back,” I mewed hastily; then I ran.

I caught the little pebble, but alas! Something caught me. Just as I put my paw on it, I saw out of the corner of my eye a group of boys standing in a near alley. I turned to run, but it was too late. One of them sprang toward me, and seized me by the back.

Then he started to race, not up the hill, but further down. I was nearly suffocated with fright and pain, for the boy held me so tightly that I could scarcely breathe. No one had ever clutched me like this before. I had never been whipped. I had never been roughly handled, for Margaret and Billy were good children.

This boy was a monster. His face was red and dirty, his eyes were bulging from his head, and he stumbled as he ran, so that I was afraid he would fall on me and kill me.

I may as well say here that the boy was not as bad as he seemed to me. He had not stolen me. He was merely having some fun, or what he called fun. He was some poor child that had had no one to teach him to be kind to animals. He did not dream that I was suffering. He did not think that a cat was capable of suffering.

So he hurried on and on, and some of the other boys ran yelling behind him. I don't know exactly what streets he took. I was too terrified to notice the way we were going,but soon I saw a river in the distance. Was he going to throw me in it? Half choked as I was, I dug my claws in his coat, and gave a frantic “Meow!” for, like all cats, I hate water.

“Boy,” called a policeman suddenly,“what are you doing with that cat?”

My captor was frightened and dropped me, and he and the other boys turned and ran back. You may be sure that I made a dash for liberty. I sprang wildly past the policeman, and not daring to follow the boys who were going toward my home, I leaped into a narrow, dirty street where there was a dreadful confusion of wagons, cars and throngs of people.

I threaded my way among them all—I don't know how I escaped being killed—until finally I was forced to pause for breath.

Unfortunately some boys and girls saw me and gave chase. I don't think they wanted to hurt me. They wished to catch me, but I was in terror again, and ran into an alley. They followed me, so I sprang on a heap of boxes, and then to a low porch.

The children discovered me there, and while some tried to coax me down, others threw stones at me. I looked up desperately. There was no help for me on the ground, for a big boy had begun to climb on the porch.

I examined the sloping side of the house roof. Then I leaped on it. Two or three times I fell back, but at last I succeeded in making my claws hold. They were fine sharp ones, or they never would have done so.

In two minutes I was on the very roof of the house, panting hard, my heart almost out of my body, everything black before my eyes; but I was safe.

There I saw that I was free from pursuit. The children had gone away. At the same time, the roof was not very comfortable. It was cold and slippery, for, by this time, the lovely sun had gone behind a cloud, and soon I began to be very uneasy.

I thought of my father, and mother, and Serena and Jimmy Dory—that distressed group at the top of the hill—for I had had one glimpse of them as I was snatched by the boy. Oh, why had I not minded my mother,and not run away from home? What was going to become of me? Must I spend the night in this dreadful place?

I thought of my little blue and white saucer that Mrs. Darley's kind cook filled with milk for me every noon. “Oh, meow! meow!” I cried pitifully. “Will no one help a poor little cat?”

A skylight in the roof opened, and an old man's face looked out. Such a kind face, but still I did not trust him, and moved away to the other end of the ridge pole. “Little cat,” he said seriously, “there is help even for such as you. I will go seek it,” and he disappeared.

I did not know what he meant, so I continued to cry piteously. I wanted my mother and dear Mrs. Darley. I was too far up to be heard from the street, but a few persons opened near-by windows, and looked at me indifferently.

“Only a cat,” they said. “Let her get down the way she came up.”

“Oh, dear! dear!” I mewed, “must I stay on this roof till I perish from hunger?”For now it was beginning to get dark and cloudy and to look like rain. “Oh, meow! meow!”

Just as I was giving up hope, the skylight opened again.

“There she is, sir,” I heard the old man say, then a young man put his head out, and looked at me.

He had a good face. I'm only a kitten, but I've found out that if a man spends his life in doing good, he has a good face.

I trusted him, and yet I was afraid to go to him, if you can understand that.

“Kitty,” he said soberly, “over there,”and he waved his hand toward the heart of the city, “is a place where lost dogs and cats are sheltered. Come to me, and I will take you to it. Come——” and he held out his hand.

“Oh, meow! meow!” I said, “if I go to you, perhaps you will throw me away down there in that raging, horrible street.”

“No, Pussy,” he said seriously, shaking his head. “No, I never have deceived an animal. Come here, and I will put you in a nice basket where no one will see you, and I will carry you through the noisy street. Here——” and he threw me a tiny piece of liver.

Now, I am very fond of nicely cooked liver. I think it is vulgar to eat it raw. Fortunately, I caught the liver, and it did taste good, and made me think more of the man. He still had some in his hand. I smelt it, so I crept timidly toward him along the roof.

“Poor Pussy! poor Pussy!” he kept saying, and presently I was eating from his hand, and he was stroking my ears as I ate. Then he stepped back quietly into the room. He didn't try to catch me, but he put the liver down where I could reach it.

I peeped in through the skylight. The young man and the old man were talking.“Yes, sir,” the younger one was saying,“we've got a refuge for dogs and cats, but it isn't half large enough. I look at the matter this way. The animals are put in the world by the same Creator that put us here. They've got their rights. Give them their share of room on mother earth, and if youdon't love them, and love to take care of them, and you worship only your own selfish, old body, then take care of the animals out of that same love for yourself.”

“That's so, sir, that's so,” and the old man nodded his head.

“Because,” the young man went on, “a neglected animal is a diseased animal, and a diseased animal is a menace to the millionaire as well as to the pauper. Germs of disease can't be fenced in. So I say, kill sick and homeless creatures, if you can't get a good home for them.”

“Would you kill that cat?” asked the old man pointing to me.

As his hand pointed toward me, my nose pointed straight for the skylight, but the young man re-assured me.

“No,” he said thoughtfully, looking me over, “that is a young, healthy kitten, and part Angora. We'll get a home for her.”

By this time I had had enough liver, so I went smelling round the little table where the old man kept a basin and pitcher of water, and like the perfect gentleman that he was, he got up, and gave me a drink.

Then I went to sleep. I was dreadfully tired, and I knew that I could trust those two men, so finding that the softest place was the middle of the old man's bed, I jumped up there and had a beautiful nap while they went on talking.

I didn't sleep very soundly, and as soon as the young man rose, I rose too. He stretched out a hand, took me up gently, and put me in a nice, lined basket. Then he covered me up, and said “Good-bye!” to the old man.

I didn't like the basket, but I wasn't frightened. Soon I heard round me the roar of the street, then the jarring of an electric car. Then, after a good while, I felt that the young man was walking rapidly along another street.

In a few minutes he stopped short, opened one door, then another, and then the noise of the street fell away, and I heard other noises.

“Well, Mr. Green!” a woman's voice exclaimed,“here you are at last. Do give mewhatever you have got. Two urgent calls are waiting. One for a mad dog in a yard on Tremont Street, which, of course, means a poor wretch which has been chased till he is foaming at the mouth, and another for a cat and kittens deserted in a cellar on Washington Street—Do hurry.”

I felt someone take the basket and lift the cover.

“Oh! a kitten, and half Angora,” and a pleasant-faced young lady looked down at me. “Well, she must go in the cat-room. Mercy!” and she slightly raised her voice.

I stared about me. I was in a kind of office. There was a large desk and many pictures of animals were on the walls. Then a nice, motherly-looking woman came in, took me up as if I had been a baby, and carried me into a hall, and up some stairs. She talked kindly to me all the way up, and presently she opened the door of a room, put me down gently, paused an instant or two to see what kind of a reception I met with, then went away.

I gazed about me. Where was I? Was it aparty? I had never seen so many cats together, not even in the biggest yard congress on Beacon Hill.

The room was large and beautifully neat and clean. Around the walls were boxes and baskets, and in many of them cats lay asleep. Others walked about the room, some ran up to me—mostly young ones—and asked my name and where I came from.

I put up my back at first, but when I saw they were all kindly disposed, I put it down again.

“What is this place?” I asked, sitting down against the door.

“Why, this is a cats' home,” said a young thing with a yellow face. “Have you never heard of it? Sick cats, lost cats, starved cats, bad cats, good cats, young cats and old cats are all brought here. You're kept several days, and if you're not claimed, you're mercifully destroyed, or else given away. I say, do you suppose you'll be claimed?”

“Be what?” I asked.

“Be claimed. Will your folks come to lookfor you? I wish mine would,” and she gazed wistfully at the door.

“I believe they lost you on purpose,” said a little white kitten spitefully.

My new friend had to box her ears for this, so I turned to another cat who was politely offering to show me around.

She pointed out the warmest sleeping places in the room, then she took me out through a little swinging door to the roof-garden.

Just fancy—a roof-garden for cats. I was delighted with it. There were little trees in boxes, and big pans of water, and a wire netting over all to keep the cats from running away.

“No boys could chase you here,” I said.

“Oh, no,” my new friend replied. “No one chases us. It is a lovely place, but still it has a serious drawback.”

“A drawback,” I repeated, “what is it?”

“You will see—just wait.”

I have seen. I have found out that all these cats are homesick. Now bedtime has come, it is dreadful. They all look sad, and someof them are moaning in their sleep. They have all been used to human beings. Cat society is not good enough for them.

Down below in the courtyard, for this is a dogs' home as well, we can hear the big animals crying out and howling. They are dreaming of their dear masters and mistresses. Oh! I hope Mrs. Darley knows about this sheltering home for animals, and that she will come in the morning to get me. Good night, dear father Piebald Prince, and Mother Dust-and-Ashes. I am not with you, but I hope you will sleep well, and not think about me. Good night, Serena, and Jimmy Dory. You are often provoking, but I love you both.