Is this a feline version of a shaggy dog story?
Or perhaps a cat owners big fish tale?
Here find an odd animal tale of Christmas a hundred years ago. The writer places the scene in New Kent, as they often did with odd strange stories of that time; New Kent was a lightly populated, swampy, forested locale of great antiquity yet only a half hour from Richmond by train.
(edited for content and length)
USING TAIL AS BAIT TABBY CATCHES FISH
Faithful Tomcat Outstrips Collie Dog That Gave Its Life to Be Near Place Its Master Was Last Seen— Charlie’s “Marster,” Ill, Was Provided For
(By J. M. Bell.)
As Christmas comes around again. Good stories follow in its train.
With the advent of Christmas there will often arise recollections of former holiday seasons, where all was good cheer and where stories were told that linger in the memory of those who sat around the blazing log fire and festive board. The writer was one of a party who enjoyed the hospitality of Mr. S -— last Christmas. All went "merry as a marriage bell.” The apple toddy from the stone jug, the ten-year old Bumgardner from the generous cut glass decanter and the egg-nog from the jovial bowl were all sampled moderately and judiciously during our stay under the hospitable roof. The Christmas dinner was enjoyed to such an extent by all that no crevice were left to be Ailed as the gay company of ladies and gentlemen arose from the festive board and repaired to the large drawing room, hence it could be plainly seen that ail the company, well dined and well wined, were in a humor for an evening of real old-time Jollity. The shades of night were closing in, the snow, driven by a bitter northwest wind, was swirling outside. We could tell that the elements were at war, and that the turbid waters of old "Jeems” River were being disturbed, for once and awhile we could hear the Co-honk of a "v" of wild geese as they winged their rapid flight over the house, seeking a roosting place in a quite creek or estuary.
Music and Legends
We had settled down do a Christmas evening. our host had thrown another big long on the fire. Myriads of sparks went dancing up the chimney only to die as they met the north wind.
Our hostess opened the piano and we all stood to sing Christmas carols and old-time plantation melodies.
A cut glass pitcher of apple toddy flanked by little pot-bellied glasses occupied the center of a side table. Dr. M., a guest and an important government official, but a fiddler withal, was drawing a good bow and when-the chorus of “Auld Lang Syne” was sung he fairly made his violin tell the story of Bobby Burns' famous poem.
Singing makes the throat of an East Virginian dry. Apple toddy is even better than the most approved patent rough remedy on the market and especially where hoarseness must be gotten rid of, when singers are needed to blend their voices with the general chorus.
Our host made the motion, the ladies declined, or only sipped, as the humming bird culls the sweetness from the heart of a blossom, but the gentlemen stood by to a man and with glasses raised and beaming looks drank cheerfully to all present and, to mankind in general.
Here Dr. M., listening a moment to the hurtling blast outside, put down his empty glass and facing the assembled company, asked their undivided attention for a few moments. Gaining this, he recounted a pathetic story of a dog that had shown such devotion to its master that he had spent live years In front of a bank in which his master had entered, had been paralyzed and taken to a hospital, and there died. The doctor’s language was pathetic, graphic and altogether impressive. The dog, he said, lingered about the bank until the kind-hearted president, taking pity on him, had fed him regularly but one bitter cold night the mow fell and the north wind chilled to the bone. Nest morning a mound of snow at the bank door told the story Of the faithful collie’s supposed trust, and that he had been faithful unto death.
Dr. M. stopped, his tale was told. All were impressed. tears glistened in the eyes of the more tender-hearted.
Our Host Tells His Cat Story,
Nuts, fruits and Candy were passed around. The jovial company was somewhat subdued by the pathetic narrative of the doctor. An icy blast of wind, hail and snow flailed the north side of the brick mansion. All present naturally drew their chairs closer to the log fire which now threw out a cheerful glow, and at the same time the pitcher of apple toddy on the little side table still stood guard, for its contents were by no means depleted. The evening was young as the clock on the mantel had just struck the hour of ten.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said our jovial host, "The story just told by our guest Dr. M, I doubt not, touched the hearts of all present, setting forth as it does the well known and beautiful devotion so often evinced by the dog for his master. Now, if you will give me a few moments will tell you a true and simple story of how a cat saved his Master's life.” There was ready acquiescence on the part of all the company, so our host told the tale as follows: “Some years ago there I lived in New Kent county an old bachelor whom we will call "Uncle Nat.’ He was only possessed of most scanty means; His little tract of poor land and his small frame domicile being about the extent of his worldly goods (if you will except his Tom cat, Charlie.)
"Living alone and eking out a very precarious living, the old man led a very unobtrusive life.
"The little farm was isolated. Few neighbors called. The old man had been down in bed and sick with chills and fever for ten day a but his neighbors were unaware of his condition. He laid in his bed most of the time, alternately chilled and later too hot to hardly breathe.
"One day he, murmured to himself; that if he could get a nice meal of white perch he felt that he would get well. Charlie was curled up on the hearth, apparently fast asleep, but all of a sudden he rose, stretched himself and crossed the little room to his master's bedside, mewing and purring and making every cat sign that he wanted to get out.
"Painfully the old man dragged himself from his bed. hobbled across the room, opened the door and leaving it ajar, reached his bed and drew the faded coverlet over him.
"Exhaustion brought on a troubled sleep from which he presently awoke. His fever-disturbed mind almost reeled. When, opening his eyes, he sow his oat enter the room with two fine white perch which, after depositing on the hearth, he jumped on his master’s bed and began to fondle him. Tears sprang in the old man's eyes as he realized this act of perfect devotion on the part of Charlie, for all of us know that it takes some sort of a cat to resist eating a fresh fish.
"Slowly Uncle Nat arose from his bed. built a small fire cleaned, cooked and ate the fish. (Charlie getting the heads, trimmings and bones).
"That night the old man slept very quietly.
"The next morning, In fact every day for a week, Charlie brought a couple of big white perch. His owner was perfectly astounded, but he was, at the same time, recovering very rapidly.
The Mystery Solved
‘On a beautiful autumn morning the old man was sufficiently strengthened to admit of his going out for a walk, but first he cooked the last two perch that Charlie had brought him. These, with a strong cup of coffee and a hot corn pone, set him up.
"After his meal he laid down on the bed and Charlie went out. stealthily his owner followed at a distance, but always keeping his cat In view. Charlie went on down the little path which lead from the house to the Chickahominy River. His owner keeping in sight and this is what greeted his bewildered eyes as he neared ever the bank from behind a big pine tree. Charlie was seen walk out on a log that stretched far into the sluggish waters. He seated himself on the log, allowing his tail to hang in the water. Suddenly he flirted a big perch out on the land, the fish having grasped Charlie's tall for bait, soon another perch was landed to like manner and Charlie strolled leisurely to the shore, took up the two fish by their tails and proceeded up the path home. Here was the explanation of the two perch each day for ’Uncle Nat,’ ”
“Oh! what a beautiful story,’’ exclaimed the ladies in one voice.
“Oh, dear, what a wonderful cat.” carolled another sweet feminine to the men.
"Well I'll be dog-gone.”, chorused the men.
"I have never heard of such a thing," ejaculated Dr. M; "tops the dog story all round. Bless my soul, what a cat."
The clock on the wall chimed 11:30. The fire was now only a mass dying embers. The pitcher of apple toddy which had stood on the side table was empty and the call to bed was imperative. As we severally fell asleep puzzling ideas floated our sleepy brains as some tried to study out just how that cat caught the perch with his tail for bait, how he understood in the beginning his "marster's" plea for fresh fish.
-The Richmond Evening Journal, 22 December 1915
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