Where Jill’s cat came from I have no idea; she just came.
I
first set eyes on her when one night, returning from dinner,
I found her coiled up
in an arm-chair in the drawing-room
very fast asleep. So with a certain amount of
mild, though I
think, justifiable indignation, I thereupon opened the door
of
the room and the door into the garden, and advanced upon
her clapping my hands and
emitting loud and terrible noises
in order to drive her out. But she merely
stretched one paw
with extreme laziness, looked at me with half a yellow eye,
as
if to say: “That noise is in deplorably bad taste, but I
suppose you don’t
know any better,” and went to sleep again.
This would not do at all, and though I was sorry to have
to
do it, thus violating the ancient and sacred rights of sanctuary,
still it was
impossible for me to give a home to any cat who
might happen to come along. So I
took her up with both
hands, as M. Pierre Loti so justly advises, intending to
put
her bodily out into the garden and shut the door. But the
moment I touched
her she set up a loud tea-kettle purr, and
still more than half asleep, licked with
a rough pink tongue
the hand that was near her head.
Now of all the curious qualities which cats possess, that
of
confidence in strangers is one of the rarest, and to the
stranger who knows
anything about them, certainly the most
disarming. Most cats would have scurried
angrily from the
room at the rude noises I had made, and woke up all green
distrustfulness on being touched. Not so Jill’s cat; she just
said: “Are you still
there? How nice! Let’s go to sleep
again at once.” So I told myself (without really
believing it),
that I would definitely drive her away in the morning, and
left
her in possession of her chair. But all my instincts told
me that she had come to
stay, and I know that if a cat really
makes up its mind to do anything, that thing,
unless you kill
it, it will do.
Now most cats are absolutely without tact; they are
obstinate, easily bored (shewing their boredom in a manner
which it is impossible
to mistake), and have the rooted con-
viction that the whole round world exists in
order to amuse
and interest them. But Jill’s cat, so I firmly believe, had the
tact
of all the other cats ever created, which accounts for their
having none. For when
the housemaid came into the room
next morning to dust, Jill’s cat greeted her at
once as an old
and valued friend, and went to meet her with little cries of
welcome, making a poker of her tail. The housemaid in con-
sequence, thawed by these
well-bred manners, took her down
into the kitchen to give her a saucer of milk
before ejecting
her. Jill’s cat was hungry, and with the dainty eagerness of
her race began to lick up her breakfast. But half-way through
she suddenly froze
into stone, but for the end of a twitching
tail, and regarded with the eye of a
Huntress the wainscoting
opposite. Next moment a mouse was pinned by those
velvet
paws, and in less than another moment their was no mouse
at all. The
tail she did not care about, and deposited it, as a
small token of homage and
affection, at the feet of the cook.
Then, this piece of diplomacy successfully
carried through,
she finished her milk, the walls of Jericho, so to speak,
tottering to their fall at her assault.
But had Jill’s cat known, there was a far more critical
and
hazardous passage still before her, for the house was
ruled not by me, nor by the
housemaid, nor even by the cook,
that dispenser of succulence and joy, but by Jill,
and Jill being
young was capricious, and being far more highly born than
any
of us, was proud. Being also a fox-terrier she liked
biting. She had slept as usual
that night on various parts of
my bed and me, and came down with me in the morning.
I
had forgotten for the moment all about the cat, and entered
the dining-room for breakfast with Jill circling round me and
making short runs at
my boots, which she had lately taken
into her head were enemies of some kind and
dangerous to
hearth and home.
There on the hearth-rug, neatly arranged round one hind-
leg
which stuck up in the middle of her like a flagstaff, sat the
cat, diligently
employed on affairs of the toilet. The scurry of
our entrance disturbed her
ablutions, and looking round with
a calm and trustful eye she saw Jill. Probably
Jill had never
seen a cat before, and I had one moment of horrified suspense
as to whether the cat would go for Jill, or Jill for the cat. In
any case the
flying of fur or hair seemed imminent and inevit-
able. But Jill’s cat was equal,
more than equal to the occa-
sion, and never have I seen “the right thing” so
quickly
conceived, or so instantaneously performed. With one stealthy
movement
she was underneath a corner of the tablecloth,
which hung down to the ground, and a
paw was put gingerly
out with little dabs and jerks to entice Jill to begin to play
at
once. Now how should that cat have known that a hand con-
cealed under a rug
or the corner of a curtain, and making
known its presence by concealed movements,
was a thing
irresistable to Jill ? But she did know it, and before I could
snatch Jill up to avert the impending catastrophe, no cat-
astrophe impended any
longer, and the two were engaged in a
gorgeous game of hide-and-seek behind
curtains, table legs,
fenders, the Daily Telegraph and chairs, wherever in fact
there
was a possibility of making mysterious and secret stirrings.
So destiny shapes our ends; from that moment the stranger of
the night before had
entered on a new existence, and became
Jill’s cat.
In a manner of speaking, she had also become Jill’s
gover-
ness, for Jill being young was flirtatiously inclined, and through
the
railings of the front garden, which gave on to the road,
behaved in a very vulgar
barmaid sort of fashion, and “drew
in” (I am sorry to use such an expression, but I
know of none
other that fits the case) the young gentleman of the
neighbour-
hood. The railings were too narrow to admit of Jill’s squeezing
her
plump little body through (she tried once and stuck, and
roused the entire parish
by the shrillness of her lamentations)
and she had to content herself with putting
her head through,
and kissing practically any gentleman who came to present
himself. But Jill’s cat—a model of respectability—instantly
stopped
these very unladylike proceedings, for whenever she
observed Jill trotting off with
a particularly demure air to talk
to her friends, she would follow, and from the
vantage-ground
of the gate-post turn herself into a perfect fury of vindictive
rage, and by her spitting and swearing, distract the gentlemen
from their love
giving them war instead. Our particular
terrier, who was a common loafer at Jill’s
bar was the object
of her special aversions, and the language she thought fit
to
employ to him was really responsible, I fancy, for the blister-
ing of the
paint on the gate.
Jill’s cat had a perfect mania for work, and her work
con-
sisted in catching anything that was alive. Within three days
of her arrival I am convinced there was no mouse left in the
house, and having
cleared the place of them she turned her
attention to birds, butterflies, and
snails. The work among
the birds I regretted, but it was quite impossible to stop
it,
since it seemed engrained in her nature that no living thing
except
ourselves had any right to enter the house or garden.
It took her some time to
discover that snails were alive, but
that fact once clearly grasped, they took
their place among the
trophies of the chase, which were duly presented on the
return
of the huntress to Jill, the cook, or me. This generosity had
its
drawbacks, for Jill was like other children very fond of
“collections,” and was in
the habit of concealing small objects
of various kinds in the folds of the blanket
in her basket.
Thus one day I found there two dead and unfledged birds, a
snail, and portion of what had once been a white butterfly.
Her work, together with various sudden excursions to
the
garden-railing to swear at the dogs of the neighbourhood,
used to take Jill’s cat’s
morning; that over, she cleaned her-
self, for it was clearly a waste of time to do
so until the
house-work was done, and played with Jill till dinner. Then
came
the desolating moment of the day, for Jill went for her
walk, and her cat sat
disconsolately at the window waiting
for her return. The moment she entered the
gate she
rushed to meet her, and indulged in extravagant displays of
affection. Evening came, and they slept together in Jill’s
basket, after a wild
romp in which they kicked each other in
the face, by way of showing their deep and
unalterable regard.
A year passed thus, and then occurred an event which for
the time completely
puzzled Jill’s cat, for Jill became the mother
of four puppies, and in a moment
turned from being a rather
flighty young woman into a perfect demon of rage and
sus-
picion if anyone approached them. Even when she was given
her food it had
to be placed at some distance from her box,
where she lay with chattering snarling
mouth, ready to defend
her own against any who came near. But Jill’s cat did
not
know this, and coming into the outhouse where Jill lay, after
her work was
done on the morning the puppies were born,
ready to play, she had to fly for her
life, and seek refuge on
the top of the garden wall, where she crouched, trembling
with
fright and indignation, and deeply hurt at this outrageous
reception.
Never had such a thing occurred; it was a bolt
from the blue; the bottom had fallen
out of her universe, and
she lifted up her voice and howled for the anguish of her
heart.
And Jill quivering with rage snarled at her from below.
For the time Jill’s whole nature was changed; there were,
no
more excursions to the garden-gate to kiss indiscriminate
gentlemen, she had
neither time nor inclination to play with
her cat, and she was convinced that the
world was banded
together to work the destruction of her puppies. But this
fierce access of protective maternity on her part lasted not
more than a few days,
and one afternoon she left the hay-
packed box where the puppies lay, and trotted
across the
lawn to where I sat at some little distance off with her cat.
The
latter remembering Jill’s unprovoked assault sprang up
the trunk of a tree as she approached, and glared distrustfully
through the
leaves, while Jill whined and whimpered below,
and put herself into engaging
postures of play on the grass.
Then step by step still cautiously her cat descended
to the
lowest branch of the tree, and after a long pause there forgot
and
forgave, and took a flying leap at her friend. Next moment
they were kicking each
other in the face in the old manner, and
flying in agitated excursions through the
flower-beds.
But soon Jill’s maternal heart yearned again for the
muzzling
noses, and she ran back to the wood-shed. Then
ensued a thrilling piece of animal
psychology. Very slowly
the cat followed, and at length peeped cautiously in.
From
inside there was dead silence; Jill was evidently pondering
whether her
friend could be trusted, then after a pause I heard
a little friendly note of
welcome and her cat entered. So I
followed and looked in. Jill was lying inside her
box, the four
puppies cuddled up against her, and her cat was sitting by it
looking with wide and wondering eyes at the phenomenon.
Then she raised one paw
gently and delicately, and with it
just touched the puppies. Then advancing another
step, she
licked them very gently with the top of a pink tongue. And
Jill said
“Wooff: wasn’t it clever of me to have got them?”
And we were all very happy that
marriage after all had not
caused any separation between old friends.
So the mysterious bond of sympathy and affection
between the
two, only deepened instead of being broken, and
Jill’s cat became a sort of aunt to
the puppies. True, there
was one moment of unfounded suspicion on Jill’s part when
two out of the four
puppies unaccountably vanished, and she
was inclined to set it down to her cat, but
this past, she wel-
comed her friend as joint educator of the young, and even
allowed the best-beloved to go staggering excursions, first
about the wood-shed and
later over the whole romantic play-
ground of the garden, under the protection of
his aunt. By
degrees, too, the fascination of biting and kicking one’s aunt
in
the face became apparent, and I have often seen the whole
four of them mingled in
one inextricable and struggling mass
of paws and open mouths.
The road just outside the gate was a long straight level,
much haunted by motor-cars. It was here that the end came to
that strange animal
friendship, for one day Jill was run over and
killed just outside the house. The
small slain body was brought
in, and while the grave was being dug in the garden,
Jill lay on
the grass, quite still. And as she lay there, her cat came out
of
the house and went up to her, her work being over, and she
therefore disengaged and
desirous of relaxation. But Jill did not
seem inclined to play, and her cat
strolled off again. Then
she returned and sat down by her looking at her, and
again
tried to attract her attention, touched her on the nose with her
paw,
and made a feint of running away. Then as this did not
answer she stole off into
the bushes and came back carrying
a snail in her mouth, which she laid by her,
giving a little cry
of appeal. But the grave was ready by now, and they took
Jill up and laid her in it and filled in the earth.
That night I was strolling about the garden and saw
something
white under the tree where Jill had been buried. It
was Jill’s cat sitting on the
grave.
E. F. BENSON.
MLA citation:
Benson, E. F. “Jill’s Cat.” The Venture: an Annual of Art and Literature, vol. 1, 1903, pp.175-184. Venture Digital Edition, edited by Lorraine Janzen Kooistra, 2019-2021. Yellow Nineties 2.0, Ryerson University Centre for Digital Humanities, 2021, https://1890s.ca/vv1-benson-cat