The Pious Tabby
THERE had been three song-birds in the house, and they had been disposed of—one after the other—by the pious tabby. She was no ordinary cat, but a pious, a really pious soul, who wore her white coat in true Jewish fashion. Heaven herself was reflected in her clear eyes.
She was indeed a pious cat. She washed herself at least ten times a day - and took her meals quietly, off in a corner somewhere, disturbing no one. All day long she subsisted on dairy food; and it was only after nightfall that she ate flesh—ritually pure mouse-flesh.
And she did not bolt her food, like a course, ignorant thing. She did not quickly catch and devour her food, as gluttons do, but obtained it slowly, playfully. "Let the little mouse live another moment, just another moment....." she would think. "Let it dance about a little, tremble a bit, say its last prayers..... a pious cat should not seize her prey roughly."
When the first song-bird was brought into the house, she at once pitied it - she was touched to the heart.
"Such a beautiful, charming little bird." she sighed, "to be deprived of any share in the World-to-Come."
And she is firmly convinced that there is no salvation for the dear little bird,- for several reasons:
First, it bathes quite after the modern fashion- dips its whole little body into the basin of water in the cage.
Second: Since it has been confined in a cage, it must be an evil thing, even though it is a young, sweet and pretty little song-bird. It evidently considers dynamite of greater value than sacred writings.
Then there was the singing - that bold singing, that whistling, that looking unabashed, at heaven itself.
And, again, its struggles to get out of its cage, out into the wicked world, the free air, the open window. Surely, there
never was a cat who was conf.ned in a cage - never did a pious cat whistle like +hat
"Such a pity," the cat lamented to herself. "It is a living creature, a precious soul, a spark from on high."
And great tears stand in the eyes of our tabby. "The whole trouble is," she reflects, "that its sinful body is so beautiful, it craves the pleasures of this world,- it is so strongly tempted by the Evil Inclination. And how can such a wee bird withstand the terrible power of the Evil Inclination?
"And the longer it lives, the more it sins, - and the greater will be its punishment."
"Ah!"
The cat was inspired with a holy fervor, with a priestly, prophetic ferror, and—
She leaped upon the table, where stood the cage of the little song-bird, and—
The room was filled with flying feathers.
Tabby was whipped severely. She accepted the blows with pious resignation, and meowed a sorrowful penitence.
She would sin no more.
The clever cat understood why she was whipped—she resolved that she would never again earn any blows.
She was whipped, she reasoned, because she mussed up the room with feathers, and left blood-stains upon the white table-cloth.
Such a punishment must be quietly and resignedly accepted; she resolved that hereafter no feathers should fly, no drop of blood be spilled.
And so, when the second song-bird was brought and left in the house, she choked it quietly, daintily.....and swallowed it, feathers and all.
Again she was whipped.
Only then did she understand that she