For new readers: I was raised on a ranch in South Texas in the 1950's. The next farmhouse was a half mile (1km) away and the next one after that was several miles. I was an only child so my friends were mainly my cats and my dog. While they were my pets they were working animals. The dog helped heard cattle and had guard duty. The cats (The Gang) were in charge of rodent control. I introduced readers to "The Gang" in my last post, when I told about them time I discovered that they wanted variety in their diet of mouse and rat, so they put rattlesnake on the menu. They went rattlesnake hunting.

Note on hunting: I realize that some readers will hold political views against hunting, believing that sport hunting is immoral. I was not sport hunting. We were a poverty family in the days before poverty programs. My hunting put meat on the table. I will, however, freely admit that I took satisfaction in my hunting ability. And in that hunting I learned to admire and respect nature.

THE STORY

Whenever I returned from hunting, generally with rabbits, I would have to clean and dress them. That means taking the skin off and removing the parts that people don't eat. Of course the cats loved these servings of rabbit parts (except the skin) and rapidly learned that when the kid fired his shotgun, tasties were soon to be served. Soon one of them got the idea that if they went with me they could be there at the kill and get snacks sooner. So when I stepped out of either the front or back door with the shotgun, one of them would see me, then raise the alert and in seconds the gang was formed, following at my heals. This was not good. Not only would all the meowing scare the rabbits, but I frequently walked for miles in my hunting. Cats simply aren't built to go that far in one trip.

So I started trying to evade them. I would step out one door with the shotgun, wait for them to muster, and then go back inside and out the other door. After a few times they caught one to that, and it was on to another trick which was soon discovered and I was running out of tricks. Then I had an idea. Normally one hunts rabbits at sunup or sundown as that is when they are moving around. In the heat of the day they go to their burrows to get cooler underground. But I decided to hunt once in the heat of the day. Since it was August the temperature was around 105F (40C) when I stepped out and allowed the gang to follow. Of we went, for awhile.

About 100 yards out I got the first deserter. By 150 yards all had turned back, except one - dear faithful Sue. Sue was solid black and was one my two favorites. And the bright sunshine on her black pelt had to be rough on her. At 250 yards she was still at my heels and although panting furiously, wasn't about to quit. If I let her continue she would die. I picked her up, and holding her in my shadow, carried her back to the house. Setting her, still panting but less furiously, in the shade on the porch, I stroked her a few times and got up to leave. Fellow cat lovers will know what I mean when I say that I could see a look of gratitude, of thanks for carrying her back, in Sue. She accepted her spot in the shade and stayed. I returned to the hunt, which being at the wrong time of day was unsuccessful, but the gang never tried to follow me again. "Why bother when the kid is going to bring the snack back to us anyway?" the cats seemed to decide. In that special wisdom of cats that allows them to put so many things in proper perspective (theirs), they were right. Sue suffered no ill effects from the heat and continued to be the nightly terror that rodent mothers told their children about.

Copyright © Wayne D. Cowey
July 2, 1998