About two
years before his death, a new kitten was added to the family. This
kitten, named Jim, immediately conceived the greatest affection for old
Jack, and as the old fellow's senses of sight and smell failed so that
he could not go hunting himself, Jim used to do it for both. Every day
he brought Jack mice and squirrels and other game as long as he lived.
Then, too, he used to wash Jack, lapping him all over as a mother cat
does her kitten. He did this, too, as long as he lived. The feebler old
Jack grew the more Jim did for him, and when Jack finally died of old
age, Jim was inconsolable."
Twenty-five years might certainly be termed a ripe old age for a cat,
their average life extending only to ten or twelve years. But I have
heard of one who seems to have attained even greater age. The mother of
Jane Andrews, the writer on educational and juvenile subjects, had one
who lived with them twenty-four years. He had peculiar markings and
certain ways of his own about the house quite different from other cats.
He disappeared one day when he was twenty-four, and was mourned as dead.
But one day, some six or seven years later, an old cat came to their
door and asked to be let in. He had the same markings, and on being let
in, went directly to his favorite sleeping-places and lay down. He
seemed perfectly familiar with the whole place, and went on with his
life from that time, just as though he had never been away, showing all
his old peculiarities.
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