The Cat Mother

It was the month of October. I was sure that my father would permit Paula to go to school with me after the summer vacation, but not so. Catalina herself wished to teach her at home. This decision caused me many tears and complainings.

Teresa tried to console me. “Don’t worry,” she said, “just wait a little. I know Catalina, she’ll soon tire of teaching, and then she’ll let Paula go to school with you.”

Teresa was right. In the beginning, Catalina was enchanted with the task. Paula was obedient, and she did the best she could; but she didn’t learn very quickly, therefore Catalina soon tired, and Paula, with a teacher so inexperienced, became sleepy and inattentive.

So it was that the teacher tired the pupil and the pupil tired the teacher. Catalina was the first to complain. “Paula doesn’t care much for study,” she said to Father. “I’m afraid I am wasting my time trying to teach her.”

“Well, then,” said my father, “perhaps the best thing will be to send her along to school with Lisita.”

Catalina hesitated a moment. She wished to do something for others, but she was slow to learn how.

“I think it would be better to let her go,” she said resignedly.

So it was that the following Monday my father accompanied us both to school and duly inscribed her as a student. Paula immediately became the center of great interest on the part of my school companions. They remarked upon the beauty of her eyes and hair, the latter reaching almost to her knees.

Coming out of class at noontime all forty-five pupils surrounded her affectionately, and at the end of a week Paula was the best-known pupil in the entire school. Catalina was right, however, for Paula was not really a student; but she applied herself because, as she said, she did not wish to cause pain to Mademoiselle, the teacher.

As she left the school in the afternoon, the teacher would kiss Paula with a tenderness not seen toward others. At times Paula would bring her a few flowers, which caused Mademoiselle’s eyes to sparkle with such happiness that she almost seemed beautiful to us.

“Have you a garden?” she said to us one day.

“Yes, Mademoiselle.”

“How happy I should be to have one. When you have an over abundance of flowers don’t forget me.”

“Poor Mademoiselle Virtud,” said Paula one day, “I am sure she has some secret burden.”

“Nobody likes her,” I said. (I remembered that I had twenty-five lines to copy because I had talked all the afternoon.)

“God loves her!”

“And you?” I questioned.

“Oh, certainly,” said Paula.

“Notwithstanding she is so disagreeable?”

“I do not know. We don’t know her outside of school.”

“And I don’t want to know her. As for you, you love everybody that nobody else loves.” And that was true: Paula was always the friend of the poor and the despised. In that great school, which was a world in miniature, there were many unfortunate little ones who suffered neglect from their drunken parents; others were cruelly treated at home, and in the case of still others, their timidity or physical weakness exposed them to the ridicule of their comrades. In Paula, however, they all found a friend and a companion who loved them and defended them.

The capacity to love and to make others happy extended itself also to the animals; but not to those small boys who destroyed the birds’ nests or threw stones at the horses or dogs—these she attacked without mercy. In the neighborhood of “The Convent” where we lived, there were quite a number of this type of boy, whose greatest pleasure was to torture the dogs and cats. One of these especially, the son of the “Breton,” was a veritable executioner. He never attended school, for his father never bothered with him, and his mother, poor woman, accustomed to misery and the blows of her drunken husband, had apparently lost all semblance of human feeling. This boy spent his time tormenting anything or anybody who was unable to resist him—old men, sick people, little children, and especially dumb animals.

One cold day in December Paula and I were walking slowly along the street, studying our lessons as we walked. Suddenly we heard the piercing cries of a cat in distress. Paula, always touched by suffering of any kind, stopped to listen. Louder came the cries of the cat.

“Mee-ow, mee-ow.”

Paula threw her grammar on a roadside bench. “Poor little thing,” I cried, “we can’t help him, for I can’t see where he can possibly be.”

“Well, I can’t stop here,” said Paula. “Come along, we’ll soon find him.”

We ran over to the canal which ran along a few feet below the avenue. Suddenly I was afraid! “Perhaps Joseph, the Breton’s son, is mixed up in this!” I said, trembling.

“Come along anyway, unless you want me to go alone,” Paula said quietly. So I followed her.

Sure enough, it was the Breton’s son, surrounded by a dozen ragamuffins of his own set. They took no notice of us. He had a beautiful black cat, that had a string tied to its hind legs. The boy was swinging it around his head and at times ducking it in the canal while his companions danced around him with delight.

“Now that he’s good and wet, let’s bury him,” suggested Joseph.

“Alive?” said his comrades.

“Of course alive! And the old dame, his owner can—”

But here Paula suddenly lunged forward, seizing the wicked youngster by the wrists with a surprising strength for one of her age.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” she cried. “Let him go; do you hear me?”

“Let me alone!” said the young bully as he tried to bite her.

Not being able to accomplish this, he gave her a ferocious kick, which caused Paula to let go with a cry of pain. She now saw that her efforts were useless.

“See here,” she said to him, after a few seconds’ thought, “If you give me the cat, I’ll give you four cents.”

“Ah, you haven’t got four cents.”

“Yes, I have; I have it here in my pocket”

“All right, let me have the money.”

“No, no,” said Paula, “if I give you my four cents first, I know you will never let me have the cat. Come, give him to me,” she said beseechingly; “he’s never done you any harm, and you have made him suffer so much.”

But Joseph refused this appeal. With a diabolical grin he raised the cat again to swing it over his head. There was a meow of agony—but it was the last one! In spite of her former lack of success, Paula made one supreme effort to rescue the cat. Somehow the string got loose, the cat escaped, and was soon lost to view.

Then the rage of the young ruffian knew no bounds as he turned on Paula.

“Run, run!” I cried; but Joseph and his companions cut off the only path of escape.

Crazy with terror, I began to yell, “Help! help!” with all my strength; but the boys drowned my cries with their own shouts. This very circumstance saved us. I saw someone coming to our help.

We soon recognized with joy that it was Dr. Lebon. On seeing him the boys ran away, with the exception of Joseph, who was a little too late. The doctor, who knew him, suspected he was the guilty one, and succeeded in getting him by the ear. Then the doctor said to me, “What has happened, Lisita?” And I told him the whole story.

“Well, he won’t do it again; that’s one thing certain,” said the doctor.

“Oh, let him go!” said Paula generously.

“Paula,” said the doctor with a severity we had never seen in him before, “go back to the house with Lisita!”

We had nothing to do but obey. On the way back we could tell by Joseph’s cries that he was having a bad time of it.

Teresa was frightened when she saw the condition of Paula’s leg, as the result of the terrible kick she had received. The doctor soon arrived at the house, and Paula could scarcely help crying as the doctor examined her; but he said as he left us, “If I am not mistaken, Joseph will never trouble you any more.”

This was true. Joseph avoided us for a long time; but he took revenge on us through the other boys, who would cry after Paula as she walked up the street, “Cat mother! Cat mother!”

This incident won us a friend. Shortly afterwards, returning from school, an elderly woman that lived in one of the most miserable huts among the “Red Cottages,” stopped us and asked if one of us was called Paula.

“This is she,” said I, pointing to my cousin.

“Then you are the one that saved my cat,” she said. “How can I thank you enough, Mademoiselle? For that cat is my one consolation. If you would be kind enough to visit me sometime, I would be so pleased to see you.”

Paula looked at her in surprise, and said, “I will ask Teresa if we may come to see you.” Which permission Teresa readily gave.

“It’s Louisa. I know her well. She has lived in that little hut for fifteen years. True, she is a bit weak in her head but she would never hurt a fly. Speak to her of the Lord Jesus, Paula! It will do her good.”

On the following Thursday, therefore, we went to visit her. As we left the house, Teresa handed us a jar of preserves, saying, “Give Louisa this. Poor thing! Not many good things have come into her life.”

Louisa herself answered our knock, “Ah,” she said, “please excuse the disorder. If I had known you were coming today I would have straightened things a bit. Sit down here, on this box, Mesdemoiselles. I am sorry that I have no chairs to offer you. Ah, here comes Cordero!” she continued, and we could hardly recognize the beautiful black cat that jumped purring into Paula’s lap, as the same cadaverous animal that was swinging around Joseph’s head a few days before.

“It’s my one friend,” said the poor old woman, sitting down on another box.

“Do you believe that?” said Paula. “Can you not call us your friends? And there’s another friend who has sent you a present. Our Teresa sent this for you.” She placed in the eager hands of the old woman the preserves.

“Is it for me? How can I thank you? For years everybody has made fun of me, for I never speak to anyone; preferring the company of animals to that of people.”

Paula had such a sympathetic way of getting at people’s hearts, that instinctively she understood how lonely Louisa had been.

“By the way,” said Paula, “this is for your cat”—and she put two cents on the table.

The old woman did not seem to understand.

“It’s for him, you know,” said Paula, “you can buy some liver with this. Surely Cordero likes liver!”

The pleasure in Louisa’s eyes was almost childlike, as she addressed her cat saying, “You must thank this good mademoiselle,” and Cordero jumped down and rubbed against Paula in a most affectionate manner.

It was time to leave, as the short day was ending and we had to be in the house before dark.

“How can I thank you, mademoiselle?” said Louisa. “Do come to see me soon again, even though I am a poor old woman who nobody loves.”

“Oh, Louisa,” exclaimed Paula, “there is One who loves you: don’t you know Him?”

Louisa shook her head sadly.

“No, nobody loves me. And to tell you the truth, I don’t love anyone else either.”

“The Lord Jesus loves you, Louisa.”

“The Lord Jesus? Tell me about Him, mademoiselle; I have heard the name—who is He?”

“The Lord Jesus is He who died on the cross, that you might go to Heaven. He suffered much before He died. They despised Him. They beat Him. They spat in His face. Even His own friends deserted Him. And He was so poor that He didn’t have any place at night to lay His head. Yet, He was God Himself. He died for our sins—and He rose from the dead. He is now in Heaven, and He waits to receive you there, Louisa. None of us deserve to go to Heaven, but He who was so perfect suffered in our stead. He died for all of us sinners that we might be pardoned. I wish I could explain it better, much better, but Jesus loves you, Louisa. I know He loves you more than you could ever dream.”

Louisa’s wrinkled face lighted with a smile; but she did not seem able to believe or comprehend this good news, which came to her, oh, so late in life.

“Oh, if it were only true,” she murmured, as she clasped her hands together and her eyes filled with tears.

“But it is true, Louisa; don’t you believe it? See here, He knows very well you live here alone with your cat, and that you are so sad, and that you have nobody else to care for you. He wishes to be your Friend, and He will be if you will ask Him. Why not ask Him now, Louisa?”

“Oh, perhaps so, some day, mademoiselle.”

“Do it now, Louisa.”

“No, no; not now.”

“Oh, why not now, Louisa?”

“Because I don’t understand very well, mademoiselle. How could God love me, a poor, forlorn, useless old woman, who never loved Him, nor served Him. You come back again. Perhaps I’ll end up by understanding better. And now, goodbye, mesdemoiselles. I have delayed you both too long.”

We shook hands with her. Oh, what a cold hand it was! The touch of it sent a shiver through me!

“Goodbye, Louisa,” said Paula, and suddenly kissing her, she gave her a hearty embrace as well and added, “I am going to pray for you, dear Louisa.”

One could see that the poor old woman was greatly touched as she said simply: “Thank you, mademoiselle, thank you.”

---

I had almost forgotten Louisa and her cat when, a few days later, a neighbor came in with a worried look, asking for Teresa. When she appeared, the woman blurted out the news that Louisa was dying.

“Louisa dying? Nonsense, I saw her on the street yesterday.”

“Perhaps so, for she dragged herself around until the last minute. But I knew she was ill, so I took her a cup of hot soup this morning. I found her in bed with a terrible cough, and now she can scarcely breathe. She keeps calling for Mademoiselle Paula.”

“Have you sent for the doctor?”

“No; she’s afraid he’ll send her to the hospital and they’ll take away her cat.”

Teresa shrugged her shoulders.

“I’ll go at once, and I’ll take Paula with me.”

Murmuring her thanks, the woman left. “Can’t I go?” I said. “Oh, Teresa, please let me go too.”

Teresa hesitated. “All right, come along!” she said at last.

Louisa’s neighbor had not exaggerated her condition. The poor woman was sitting up in her bed. Its thin covers could not protect her from the cold, and a terrible cough racked her thin frame. When, at times, the cough left her she would fall back on her pillow completely exhausted. It needed all Teresa’s efforts to restore her.

“My poor Louisa!” said Teresa tenderly.

“You were very good to come,” said the neighbor who was staying as nurse. “And Mademoiselle Paula?”

“Here she is. Come here, Paula.”

And as Paula came near the bed, Louisa said with a weak voice. “Now I understand the love of God, for when you kissed me and embraced me, it was that kiss that made me understand that God loves even me. I will soon be far from the living, but I shall die in the arms of the Lord Jesus.

“Now, don’t cry,” continued Louisa weakly, as she saw us all weeping. “My misfortunes have been my own fault. I was selfish, I wished to live alone without God and without hope. I have been abandoned. I have known what it was to be cold and hungry for many years; but the happiest time of my life has been these last three days. They began with your visit, Mademoiselle Paula. That afternoon I prayed, and I believe God had pity on me. I am sure of that.”

Here Paula broke in: “You had better not talk any more now, Louisa. Your cough will come back—you are already too tired.”

“Perhaps so,” Louisa said, “but I must speak while I have strength for it. Oh, Mademoiselle Paula, I did want to thank you before I die!”

“But Louisa dear,” said Paula in the midst of her tears, “I have done nothing for you; I didn’t even know you were ill.”

The poor sick one took Paula’s soft hand between her thin ones, and raised it to her lips, “You have been like God’s angel to me.”

“No, no, Louisa, Louisa!”

“Yes, and you loved me, mademoiselle, and your love revealed to me God’s love! May He bless you richly!”

“Amen,” sighed Teresa.

Then again came that terrible cough which seemed to tear the poor, weak body in two.

“I can do no more,” she murmured, as soon as she was able to speak.

“Well,” said Teresa, “you will soon be with the Lord Jesus in heaven.”

A contented sigh came from the bed as we caught the words, “Oh, what happiness!”

“Is there nothing you would like us to do for you? No word to send to some friend or relative?”

“I have no other friend but Cordero, the cat. What will become of him?”

Teresa hated cats, and we never dared bring one into the home, but now we saw a struggle going on within her, and finally she said, “Would you be happy if we took him home with us?”

“Oh, indeed, yes,” said the poor dying woman, “but please don’t take him yet. Leave him with me until the end. He has been my only comfort and the nights are so long.”

Louisa, however, did not remain alone any longer, for Teresa and several kind neighbors took their turns night and day to care for the poor invalid. Teresa brought from home pillows and blankets, and had a good hot fire always going in the grate. Dr. Lebon was called immediately, but it was too late; he could only make her last hours more comfortable. A few days later she died in Teresa’s arms. A beautiful smile on the yellow, wrinkled face gave it a happy expression that had never been seen there before.