XX The Big Pet Cat
One evening in the nineties I went to dine at the house of a friend in Burma, and was unexpectedly greeted at the entrance by a leopard almost fully grown. He received me with the same restful manner of dignified armed neutrality that may be seen on the features of a domestic cat, or of an old family servant, observing a strange visitor.
“Do the others know?” I asked the host, meaning the other dinner-guests, not yet arrived.
“Yes, they all know him, but none of them like him, or maybe it is that he does not like them, I don’t exactly know what is the matter. He seems to feel by instinct that you’re a friend. Dear old fellow!” and the big cat laid its head confidentially on his thigh, and rolled its eyes dubiously in the way cats do, while a fat hand caressed its fine fur tenderly, lovingly.
“It’ll be rare fun to see the rest arrive.” It was indeed a pleasant entertainment to see that bachelor’s house being entered as if a very distinguished hostess were receiving the visitors. The sight of “Mr Spots” made the most free-and-easy a little constrained in manner. They kept their eyes upon him; and as he moved about at his ease, they made way for him with an agility of quick politeness more common in Frenchmen than in Englishmen. But though he engrossed their conversation as much as their thoughts, there was a lack of heartiness in their appreciation which seemed to sadden their host. He tried to keep the fine animal beside himself.
“Pets should always be young and growing creatures,” he said, as he scratched its head, and with many mingled puffs and sighs went on to say, “They are a nuisance when they grow up.... You lose their affection, you see.... Women are just the same.... This beautiful beast does not heed me now, and at one time no puppy could be fonder.... He would lie on his back to be tickled by a straw, and play with me by the hour.... He hardly ever snarled, even at the servants. Look at him!” The gentle beast was made to show his teeth and opened a capacious mouth.
“Yes, indeed,” said one. “I’ve done nothing but look at him since I came in, and have had my hand on my pistol already, once.”
“He won’t hurt you. He’s had his dinner.”
Another visitor sent his dog home, and opportunely remarked that as leopards were fond of eating dogs, they felt at home with humanity as lions or tigers never could. It was hunger only that made these bigger beasts eat men. The normal tiger or lion would run away from a child, or at any rate pass it by. But even a well-fed leopard might take to “long pig,” meaning humanity, in simple wantonness, for a change.
“I hope he always has plenty of salt with his food,” said one. “Might I tell the boy to fetch some for him now?”
“Why, in all the world?”
“Because it is the salt in human flesh that is said to be the great attraction.”
“You don’t suppose my leopard spends his time in studying chemistry, do you? I tell you he would not eat you if you offered yourself. His belly’s full.”
“Mr Spots” yawned and looked round the company with an air of royal indifference. His master continued to scratch his head. In obedience to a gesture, he submitted quietly, when a servant fastened a chain on his neck, and reluctantly but unresistingly he let himself be led away.
“I’m very sorry,” said his master, looking after him affectionately, almost as if apologising to the pet. “That’s what is hurting his feelings,” he explained to us.
“What?”
“The chain—the restriction—the want of confidence is spoiling his fine temper.” After a pause he added: “As I was saying, it’s the lapse of time. Pets should always be adolescent, and women too.”
“Not women,” protested one, who quoted “Age cannot whither her nor custom stale her infinite variety.”
“It’s not variety that I want,” cried he. “I hate change. I would like my pets never to grow up. It’s the change I object to. It’s horrid, these transfers....”
“Hillo! Are you transferred?” we cried, more interested than surprised; for, as readers are probably aware, the Europeans of every kind in the east are at the best respectable vagabonds, globe-trotters by trade, and only a few derelicts, who are settling down to die, can have a fixed abode.
“Transferred? No, no—I don’t mean that. I was thinking of transfers of affection,” he explained, and he proceeded to discuss the claims of various Zoos, and the chance of poor “Mr Spots” being more happy in one than another, like a mother discussing her daughter’s suitors.
Amidst the merriment that arose when all constraint was ended, he was advised to wed, and seemed to take the advice most seriously. He did send away the leopard, and did take a wife, not long afterwards; and as he was a good-hearted man, I believe she is a happy woman; but she little suspects who was her predecessor in her husband’s affections.