was caught at an inn in Clerkenwell, and became so tame that the landlord’s son used to carry it about in his pocket. It answered to the name of “Tommy,” and was very fond of stretching on the rug before the fire along with the cat. For the amusement of the customers, the master would sometimes catch half a dozen mice, and put them into a pan or tub, and then master Tommy would kill them one after the other for the gratification of the lookers-on. His master said he was of infinite value in the cellar, as he used to decoy other rats, sometimes five or six of a night, into the traps, but always avoided them himself, and when his master wanted him it was only necessary to whistle, or call “Tommy, Tommy,” and he would instantly come forward, and crawl up his legs to be caressed.
Some time ago the driver of an omnibus was moving some trusses of hay in his hay-loft, when, snugly coiled up in a corner, he found a little miserable-looking rat, whose mamma, having tucked him carefully up in bed, had gone out on a foraging expedition to find something for her darling’s supper. The little fellow, being of a remarkably piebald colour, excited the pity of the omnibus driver, who picked him up, and took him home to his family. The children soon took to their little pet, and named him Ikey, after their eldest brother, whose name was Isaac. The little fellow soon grew up, and returned the kindness he had received by excessive tameness and gentleness towards every member of the family. He was, therefore, allowed to roam about the house at perfect liberty. His favourite seat was inside the fender or on the clean white hearth; but, strange to say, he would never get on it unless it was perfectly clean. On one occasion, when the good wife was cleaning the hearth, she gave master Ikey a push; so up he jumped on the hob, and, finding it an agreeable resting-place, there stayed. As the fire grew brighter and brighter, so the hob became warmer and warmer, till at last it became most unpleasantly hot; he would not move from his perch, but rolled over and over, till the hair on his legs and body became quite singed with the heat; and had they not taken him off, there is no knowing what might have been the consequences. His master held a perfect control over him, and had made, for his especial benefit, a little whip, with which he used to make him sit upon his hind legs in a begging posture when bid, or jump through a whalebone hoop, drag a small cart to which he was harnessed, carry sticks, money, &c., in his mouth, and perform many other amusing tricks. He perfectly understood the use of the whip, for whenever it was produced, and his master’s face or voice betrayed anger, in fear and trembling he would scamper up the sides of the room, or up the curtain, and perch himself on the cornice, waiting till a kind word from his master brought him down hopping about and squeaking with delight. In these gambols of mirth he would run round so fast after his tail that it was impossible to tell what the whirling object was, and his master would be forced to pick him up to stop him. At night he would exhibit another cat-like propensity, for he would stretch himself out at full length before the fire on the rug, and seemed vastly to relish this luxurious way of enjoying himself. This love of warmth made him sometimes a troublesome creature, for when he found the fire gone out, and the room becoming cold, he would clamber up gently on to his master’s bed, and bury himself under the clothes. He was never allowed to remain there long, if they were awake, but was made to turn out. In that case he would take up his quarters in the folds of his master’s clothes, which were placed on a chair; and there he was allowed to remain till the morning. The man became so fond of him, that he taught him, at the word of command, to come into his great-coat pocket. In the morning, when he went out to his daily occupation of driving his omnibus, it was only necessary to say “Come along, Ikey!” and the anxious Ikey was instantly crawling up his legs. He did not carry him all day in his pocket, but put him in the boot of his omnibus, to act as guard to his dinner. But why did not the rat eat his master’s dinner? “Because,” said the man, “I always gives him his belly-full when I has my own breakfast before starting.” The dinner was never touched, except when there happened to be plum-pudding. This Ikey could not resist. His liking overcame his sense of right, and he invariably nibbled out the plums, leaving the rest for his master. Ikey acted as a famous guard to the provisions; for whenever any of the idle vagabonds, who always lounge about the public-houses where the omnibuses bait, attempted to commit a theft by running off with the bundle out of the boot, he would fly out at them from under the straw; and the villains would run as if his Satanic Majesty were after them; and he thus saved his master’s and other property.
The Happy Family.
Having given a variety of well-authenticated facts respecting tame rats, and incidentally adverted to the “Happy Family,” a further description of that interesting group may be acceptable to those who have never seen it; and with this I shall wind up the present chapter.
The “Happy Family” are confined in a large cage about six feet by four, and about four and a half feet high. The whole is surrounded by wires; and the vehicle is drawn about like a truck. The interior is plentifully supplied with soft clean straw, and at night illumined with candles, for the sake of public inspection.
In this singular group you see jackdaws, magpies, hawks, owls, starlings, and pigeons—a white cat and five white kittens—six-and-thirty white rats, in addition to others purely black and purely brown; to which may be added a host of piebald young ones of various colours. There are also guinea-pigs, a monkey, and rabbits; and, to crown the whole, there is a magnificent white ferret, and a black-and-white dog. There they all are, snoozing, sleeping, and rolling over each other in one harmonious concord; and nothing in the shape of discord among them. Such a motley group I never saw before; and taking into consideration their opposite natures, some of which are of the most deadly carnivorous character, it was one of the most interesting sights I ever beheld.
The monkey is very kind to his companions; but, like most other monkeys, extremely mischievous. Nevertheless he has formed an extraordinary attachment to one of the young white rats, and is never happy but when it is within sight. I may say with truth, that Jacko has adopted it as his own, for he nurses and fondles over it just as a mother would over her child, and the rat is perfectly conscious of the attachment, and is quite attached to the monkey; so that let the monkey handle it how he may—which sometimes seemed rather roughly—yet the rat never bites him. But, in order to show me the sagacity of the monkey, his master gave him a biscuit, and bade him feed his baby. He immediately caught his favourite, and, placing it in his lap, gave it a piece, and then had a mouthful himself; yet he had a great objection to the rat having more than its share, which, to tell the truth, was sometimes a very small one.
I have watched this Happy Family for hours together, and all is one unchequered scene of harmony, except now and then, when the monkey, who is king of the colony, is taken with fits of mischief. For instance, when they are all embedded in one corner, and fast asleep, he becomes lonely and unhappy. Down he will jump, and, like a peevish old bachelor, in the bottom of a lumber-cupboard, seeking his lost slipper, he commences groping about for his favourite; and, should he not at once meet with it, he shows his royal indignation by seizing the kittens, rats, ferret, and guinea-pigs by their heads, tails, backs, or bellies. Away he sends them, right and left, flying in all directions to the other end of the cage; but when he finds his favourite his anger ceases. Indeed he is never quiet. Sometimes he will roll his pet on its back, and, with all the anxiety of an affectionate parent, will turn up the fur with one hand, and catch the fleas with the other,—a job he is very fond of, and to which parental solicitude the rat yields with all the complacency of a little fat baby. There is no trouble in finding out which is the monkey’s favourite, for its fur is all turned the wrong way with rough nursing, which makes it look more like a little white hedgehog than a rat. At other times his grotesque majesty will take an instantaneous tour through his dominions. Away he flies, with the rapidity of lightning, all over the cage; and then, bounding from side to side, wantonly sweeps the perches as he passes, upsetting hawks, owls, jackdaws, magpies, starlings, and pigeons, and pitching all the animals that come in his way up to the ceiling; so that, with the fluttering of birds, and the helpless flight of cats, rats, ferret, and guinea-pigs to the ceiling and back again, the cage appears crammed with fluff and feathers; and it is a question whether the great earthquake at Lisbon caused a more instantaneous consternation than does his bobtailed majesty in the Happy Family, when seized with his periodical propensity for polking.
