It was on Saturday night that she met the sad end to which I have before
alluded. She must have been very drunk, for the man told us that, in
consequence of the darkness, and the fact that his horses were tired, he
was proceeding at little more than a snail's pace.
I think my grandmother was rather relieved than otherwise. She had been
very fond of the cat at one time, but its recent conduct had alienated
her affection. We children buried it in the garden under the mulberry
tree, but the old lady insisted that there should be no tombstone, not
even a mound raised. So it lies there, unhonoured, in a drunkard's
grave.
I also told him of another cat our family had once possessed. She was
the most motherly thing I have ever known. She was never happy without a
family. Indeed, I cannot remember her when she hadn't a family in one
stage or another. She was not very particular what sort of a family it
was. If she could not have kittens, then she would content herself with
puppies or rats. Anything that she could wash and feed seemed to satisfy
her. I believe she would have brought up chickens if we had entrusted
them to her.
All her brains must have run to motherliness, for she hadn't much sense.
She could never tell the difference between her own children and other
people's.
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