Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 306, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 December 1912 — THAT BLESSED KITTEN [ARTICLE]

THAT BLESSED KITTEN

Stray Black Cat Innocent Means of Reuniting Lovers Who Had Quarreled. By WHEELER M’MILLEN. "Me-a-ow!" The despairing cry of a shivering, homeless kitten penetrated to Bently’s room. Bently hated cats; and he was out of a job. * “But,” he declared to himself, “this Is too cold a night for even a worthless cat to ba out.” The kittei?’s miserable “me-a-ow!” again rose above the shrieks of the zero wind. It sounded as if the victim of the frosty blast was giving its last howl before lying down to freeze In the snow. The tenderness of Bently’s heart overcame his long-fostered aversion for anything feline. As he held the door the keen wind drove fine particles of snow over the rug. • The cat’s cry sounded across the street. “I could never find it there.” Bently slammed the door, and crawled up on top of the radiator, which seemed to have given up all effort to warm the room. Fuller than before of the agony of the cold, the cry again reached Bently’s ears. He opened the door. As the snow sifted over his slippers, he heard soft feet patter across the porch, and a black kitten slipped into the room. Bently picked the cat up in one hand. As its four feet dangled in the air, he examined his guest. Ice and snow still hung in its bedraggled black fur. The kitten,' grateful for warmth and attention, began to purr. Bently drew a chair close to the radiator, and put on it, warm side up, the cushion that had been on top of the heater. On this he carefully deposited the cat. He settled himself in the one rocker that scarcely could be said to adorn the room. A whimsical mood stole over him, as he gazed at the kitten, which was comfortably pushing its claws into the cushion as it purred loudly. “So you’re out of a job and up against it, too, are you, Puss?” Puss seemed more inclined to absorb the heat that the radiator had begun in honor of the occasion, than to engage in conversation. Bently continued his interrogations and observations, himself beginning to enjoy the situatibn as much as the cat appreciated- it. / “I don’t generally like cats, but I believe that you and I will be fine’ friends. That reminds me that we haven’t been introduced —but geniuses hate formalities, too.” Bently halted in his soliloquy. “I said I didn’t like cats; but I know of some one who does. I’ll bet she’d like to have one like you for a pet. She would call you a beauty, though I don’t quite agree. Would you like to hear of this person who likes cats?” For answer, Puss ceased the ablutions that were engrossing her attention, yawned comfortably, jumped from the cushion to Bently’s knee and sat down sociably in his lap. “Well, by the shades of old maids, I do believe you are really interested! I must tell you all about her. “Once upon a time —no, not ‘once upon a time,’ because she is still very much alive. But it is ‘once upon a time’ so far as I am concerned, so we’ll let it go that way. Once upon a time, there was a sweet and independent young woman, who lived in a room something like this, only more homelike for having a woman in it, in this very city. Her name was Margaret. Margaret made her living by writing things for newspapers and magazines. One day, while she was working at space rates for the paper on which I was a reporter, I met her. Puss, are you listening? Well, we became good friends. We became such good friends, indeed, that I went very often to see her, and we planned how we would furnish the flat we were going to have together when both of us were a little more successful — when she had gpld her serial and I got’ a raise in salary. “But she insisted on liking cats, and would always, have two or three around to care for. I told you a while ago that I hated cats. At least I had always pretended to hate them, so I had come to believe that I really did. “We quarreled the other day about that. Then, some other things went wrong, and we quarreled worse than ever. That was terrible, Pussy. You must never quarrel with any one you love. “By the way, wouldn’t you like to see Margaret’s picture?” When Bently’s voice paused, the kitten looked up and began to purr again,, ' “I guess you kiean you do.” Bently reached for the picture that Was lying on the table. As he held it up where both could get a good look at it, the kitten stood up and lightly touched with its qwn cold nose the nose of the image on the card, saluting in cat fashion. “Then when I went to work,” Bently continued, “I was so cut up about It, and so out of fix with for having quarreled with her, that I flunked on an important interview. When the city editor called me for it, I cussed him and he fired me. Don’t blame him much, do you, Puss? “I went back to see the girl. I wanted to ask her forgiveness, and wanted her kisses and sympathy for having lost my job. Her landlady informed me that she had moved, cats and all, and hadn’t left any address. That’s about all there is to tell. Puss.” Bently put the Bleeping cat back

on the cushion andV?ent to. bed. A soft touch on the cheek awakened him early. Puss was just starting to walk across his face. As soon as he was dressed he went, out to purchase some milk fo# kitten and a morning paper for himself. While scanning the “wanteds” for a position he might be atfle to fill, hq ran across this: 1 “STRAYED—SmaII black kitten with a slight scar under left foreleg. Finder will receive reward at Room 8, No. 2042 West Twenty-fourth street” # Taking the kitten away from the milk it was lapping, he found the scar. “Well, honored Puss,” he exclaimed, “it appeareth that thou hast friends as well as misfortunes. When I have partaken of my repast, we’ll sally forth to seek whom these friends may be.” With the kitten in his arms, Bently strayed out after breakfast for Room 8, No. 2042 West Twenty-fourth street. On the steps he met the postman, who handed him a letter. The kitten, for some reason fathomable only by the minds of felines, gave a leap for liberty. Bently shoved the letter into his pocket and pursued the cat. He shouted to a policeman ahead. Puss was unafraid of the man with the copper buttons, and suffered herself to be coaxed into his big hands. The woiidering patrolman handed the kitten to Bently, who hurried on, after a laughing word of thanks. A sudden idea seized hold of Bently’s brain. “Rooifi 8” indicated that No. 2042 West TWenty-fourth street was a house where furnished rooms were rented. Margaret had moved. Who on earth but Margaret would ever advertise for a fool black kitten? He started to hail a taxicab to get there quicker, but restrained himself on reflecting that he was out of a job. The surmise that No. 2042 was a rooming house proved true. Bently stood almost trembling as he knocked at Room 8. It most assuredly would bfe Margaret who would answer, he thought. What woifld she say? The door opened. The fair sweet Margaret did not greet the young man with the kitten in his arms. Instead, he was unable to state his errand; but the old man relieved him of the necessity on spying the kitten. “Oh, you found the black kitten, did you? Come right in. You think it queer that I should advertise for this cat? Not at all. You see, I have been studying cats- all my life, and am writing a great book about the feline tribes. The work has made me very poor, though I shall be rich when it Is For a long time I have been hunting a black cat without a single white hair. They ar<j exceedingly rare. I needed such a specimen to complete my book. When I bought this—” That this was the place where Margaret had said she could sell the perfectly black cat, was the thought that came to she that sold it. "Pardon me,” he interrupted, “but from whom did you buy this remarkable feline?” “From whom did I buy the cat? I bought it only yesterday from a young woman.” “Was dhe tall?” Bently almost snapped in his eagerness. “Was she tall? I don’t see why this young lady should interest you so much. The cat was the important thing. No, she was short and stout, and spoke as though she were German or Hungarian.’* That ended it, for Margaret was tall, and her pure English would have shamed the sentences of a college professor. With the fifty cents the old man had made him take for returning the cat, Bently walked slowly down street. He was in no hurry, for there was no work to go to. The letter was still in his pocket, where he had pushed it when the black kitten had escaped from his arms. He bethought himself of it, and drew it out. Had he been after he read the letter Bently would have thrown his hat into the air and shout"ed in orthodox story-book fashion. The letter was from the editor who had discharged him. “I have just learned something of the unfortunate circumstances under which you were working the last day you were on our staff. Also, I was unduly hasty. You are too good a man to lose. Report for work tomorrow as usual, at $5 more a week salary.” Bently was reading the letter a second time, when a familiar voice spoke behind him- He turned to see Margaret smiling at him. “Sweetheart,” he blurted out. “I’ve been wild with trying to find you! Where are you?”’ “I am right here, now, dear,” she laughed. “But my room, is No. 14, 2042 West Twenty-fourth street I saw you leaving there a bit ago.” The interchange of affectionate termß told each that there was no quarrel any more. Bently briefly told her what had happened to 4him. “I was just going to mail a note to you,*’ she began. “I sold my serial for S6O0 —think of it, $600! And the magazine wants another one. I just couldn’t go without telling you, even if we did quarrel. I was wrong, anyway. Why, Harold, we don’t want to go back that way now!” Bently had wheeled around, and was leading her toward Twenty-fourth street » .\ *, "Yes, we do,” he smiled. “We are going right back after that black kitten. We will want it in,bur flat”