"...we should pass over all biographies of 'the good and the great,' while we search carefully the slight records of wretches who died in prison, in Bedlam, or upon the gallows."
~Edgar Allan Poe

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Newspaper Clipping of the Day

The fourteenth "Famous Cats of New England" presented by the "Boston Post" is Squeak, modest homebody with unexpected aquatic talents:
"Squeak" can claim to probably be the highest type of cat in the annals of New England's famous cats. No public institution cat is Squeak; seeking publicity in the busy marts of men. Squeak is the quiet home dweller, beloved in the bosom of the family; puss that, purring contentedly on the hearth rug, beside the old high backed rocker, has made "home" more of a home for so many of us.

"Just a regular feller, not fancy, but oh, so nice," says Squeak's mistress, Mrs. Webster Hayward of Spring street, Somerville, of her silky coated fireside pet. Stronger still are the praises of Squeak's master. He tells how the coming home hour is made so much the fuller by the sight of the cat silhouetted against the lamp post at the corner, watchfully waiting for him to get off his car.

Each summer Squeak motors with his "folks" to Boon Lake. There the warm months are spent in the companionship of Michael--a most delightful Irish terrier. The best of friends, the cat and the pup vie for the affection of their mistress.

It was when Squeak felt that Mike was winning out that the cat performed a feat that has gone down among the traditions of Boon Lake. It was Michael's custom to swim after the canoe whenever Mrs. Hayward paddled out across the lake. Squeak followed only to the shore and stood there looking wistfully out to sea--decidedly out of it.

Paddling as usual one morning, Mrs. Hayward looked back to assure herself that Michael was coming along in safety when she descried a smaller series of ripples emanating from a small dark object that was battling manfully with the current. Backing until she was closer Mrs. Hayward recognized Squeak, and at the peril of capsizing pulled the valiant little cat into the canoe, where it rested perfectly satisfied with having gone Michael one better.
~December 22, 1920


  1. Ha! Squeak was a true cat, not letting even a bathe in probably cold water, stop him from being where he wanted. Squeak is my type of cat.


  2. I used to live on Lake Boon, which covers parts of Hudson and Stow Massachusetts.


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