
I was raised on a ranch in South Texas.  We had a large number of working
cats that were loving pets to me. They held the position that cats have
held in agriculture for thousands of years: rodent control.  Sue, a solid
black, averaged several kills per days when she had a litter of kittens to
feed. 

We grew corn and hay to store it for feed for the cattle during the winter.
One August day Dad and I had to clean the leftover of last year's corn crop
from that barn, to make room for the new crop.  We stored it dry, on the
cob, still in the shuck. That made it the perfect nesting place for
rodents.  Now pitchforks in hands Dad and I began to scoop the last of the
old crop out of the barn and into the wagon to be thrown to the cattle. 
Somehow the cats knew what was going on and took up sentry stations in and
around the barn.  Wild, (He was actually as tame as all the rest of the
crew but I had named him that anyway.) who was a yellow tabby, took a
position amid the straw where his yellow, deeper yellow, tiger stripes made
his seem to vanish.  Sue settled into a  deep shadow becoming one with it. 
The others all found places to become as invisible as a cloaked Klingons,
and just as deadly. Every few minutes one of our pitchforks would bust open
a mouse nest, sending now evicted tenant dashing for safety but finding the
jaws of terror. Cat!!!

My pitchfork was the next to flush out a freeloader who started his run for
one of the mouseholes along the wall.  Sue's side.  Her game.  The other
cats held positions as Sue raced in.  The mouse seeing her vectoring in
knew that he wasn't going to make it to the mouse hole and in a flash if
inspiration saw another sanctuary from the approaching doom.  It ran up the
inside of Dad' s trousers!!!!  Dad leaped into the air, swatting at his
legs.  Now he jumped from one foot to the other, slapping his legs,
hollering, and stamping on the floor, trying to get rid of his guest.  If
there had been a fiddler present it would have been a fair barn dance.  But
the mouse wasn't leaving.  He had seen what was outside.  Poor sue had
stopped short and now leaped back a few feet from him, then sat watching
the spectacle.  Finally Dad dropped his trousers to his ankles, swatted and
them some more, and the mouse burst forth.  Sue didn't care.  She sat there
amazed, looking at Dad, undoubtedly thinking, "People are so strange.  Let
a mouse jump on my leg and I'll show them how to handle that."

Deprived of his harbor and seeing the black terror still between him and
the nearest mousehole,  the mouse dashed to a different one on the other
side of the barn.  Bill's section.  His game.

Hope you enjoyed this little story from my boyhood.

Wayne D. Cowey

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

     Subject: Texas Cat Tales: The Gang Follows Me Hunting
        Date: 2 Jul 1998 17:27:20 GMT
        From: "wdcowey" <wdcowey@diversicomm.com>
  Newsgroups: rec.pets.cats.anecdotes

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, (All
available on DejaNews) 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.

Coming attractions:  Next story will be a tribute to Blue, a bobcat (Lynx)
that Dad found in the wild as a kitten.


%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

     Subject: Texas Cat Tales: A Quiet Evening
        Date: 4 Jul 1998 17:07:22 GMT
        From: "wdcowey" <wdcowey@diversicomm.com>
  Newsgroups: rec.pets.cats.anecdotes


I had planned to make "A Tribute to Blue" as my next entry, but I realized
that the line about poverty in my last post set the stage for this memory. 
Blue will make his only appearance in the next post.


A QUIET EVENING

It could have been spring, summer, or autumn as it happened so many times. 
At evening I would sit on the grass, leaning against a fence post, and
watch the setting sun paint the undersides of the clouds yellow, then
orange, then red changing to dull red as the sun's paint bucket spilled
onto the curtain of the sky itself.  The whole bright sky then repeated the
sequence. Rowdy, my dog, a border-collie, lay beside me.  When I was
outside we were inseparable.  To find one of us was to find the other.  Sue
would approach and speaking that half-meow/half-purr that cats make for
"Hello" would climb into my lap.  Rowdy was not jealous for he had been
raised with the cats and all accepted each other as family.  While all of
the cats were tame and enjoyed being petted, only Sue or Diana would seek
me out for affection.  Diana mainly indoors, Sue mainly outdoors. Sue would
then stand, front paws on my chest, and lick my chin or nose as I stroked
her.  After a couple of minutes she would curl up in my lap, purring
softly.  

As the sky faded the stars turned on, one by one.  I had developed an
interest in astronomy and tried to learn their names.  When it was fully
night I would lie on my back to see the full heavens.  The Milky Way was
easy to see, a fuzzy ribbon that cut the sky in half, as I searched for the
patterns and names that I had read about.  There was Vega, and there was
the blurry dot that was Andromeda, the only galaxy that can be seen with
unaided eye.  Sometimes a meteor would steal the show for it's half second
of life. When I lay down Sue would shift from my lap to stretched out on my
chest, her head under my chin, still purring as I petted her.

The night song of the south Texas countryside slowly began.  First the
frogs from the pond in the valley, counterpointed by the crickets, with
parts for the occasional cow or owl.  When night was fully come the coyotes
would join in a serenade. So I lay there beneath uncountable diamonds, deep
in the heart of Texas, Sue purring upon my chest, Rowdy at my side.
Poverty? I was rich! 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

If you're still looking for Wayne D. Cowey's Texas Cat Tales, you can
find them on my Web Page of Cats!

http://www.cs.utexas.edu/users/shui/cats.html

Enjoy!
Steve.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

    Subject: Texas Cat Tales: A Tribute to Blue
       Date: 20 Jul 1998 17:41:55 GMT
       From: "wdcowey" <wdcowey@diversicomm.com>
 Newsgroups: rec.pets.cats.anecdotes


A TRIBUTE TO BLUE

I was about 15 or 16 years old when Dad found Blue.  It was in 1961 or 62
in the spring.

I was sitting on the front porch as Dad's pickup truck pulled up.  He
wasn't wearing his shirt, but was carrying something wrapped in it, as he
got out and told me to come see what he had.  We stepped in the house after
him as Mom also came up.  Setting the shirt in this lap he partly unwrapped
it to reveal a little gray head that immediately hissed and spat.  A
terrified kitten, ready to do battle with a world too large for it,
struggled against the wrapping's of Dad's shirt.  Mom found a cardboard box
and Dad gently shook him free of his shirt into the box.  He was grayish
with black spots and a hint of blue to him and only a stub for a tail; a
baby Bobcat!  It backed into a corner of it's prison and faced us with the
courage of the doomed.  It might be about to die but it would go out
fighting.  Mom put a saucer of cream in front of him and we covered the box
with a cloth so he would feel less threatened and left him alone a bit. We
named him Blue for that faint hint of blue in his coat

Dad sometimes brought baby animals in and tried to raise them.  Most died
in a few days anyway, but a raccoon had lived to become Dad's special pet. 
 In the wild a baby animal, separated from his mother, will live only a few
days at the most.  They either starve or get eaten by other predators.  Dad
had been in the brush working with the cattle when he came across this
little guy.  I was given, (wanted) the task of taming him.

The back porch was completely enclosed with screen so that became his home
until he would accept us.  Every day, after school, I would pick him and
overdose the poor little fellow with cuddling and stroking.  After a few
days he quit fighting and soon enjoyed the affection.   I didn't know
bobcat growth rates but he seemed to be about the same as a five week old
cat-kitten, just bigger, and would accept tidbits of meat.

Blue was twice lucky.  Not only had Dad found him, but Sue (introduced in
earlier stories) had kittens that she had begun to hunt rats for.  She was
an extremely efficient huntress and would bring in two or three dead rats
for each kitten.  Since the rats were as big as her kittens, we had quite a
bit of leftover natural "kitten food", as well as some fat kittens.  Sue
might be persuaded to adopt him and teach him to hunt. 

I introduced Blue to the kittens.  After a little bit of hissing and such
they were chasing and pouncing on each other with that full acceptance that
the very young give to each other.  Soon they wore themselves out and
making a kitten ball, they slept.  Good.  Now the scents were intermingled
and my scent was on all of them as I had played with each. I took the
comatose Blue back to his box.  Sue would be aware of the strange scent on
her kittens and hopefully accept it.  

After a few days of this (And a fun time for me.) I didn't take Blue back
to his box, but instead waited for Sue.  She soon returned with the first
serving of dinner for her brood.  She gave a hint of a growl as she stepped
into her kitten box and I started stoking her and talking to her.  Gently I
dug a groggy Blue from the bottom of a complaining fur pile.  Sue was a
gentle cat, (Although I am sure the rats in the barn would use different
words to describe her.) and after a few sniffs began to groom her new son.

During the summer Blue grew as any other kitten, only much larger, well fed
by Sue's largess.  He was quite loving and would do all of the things a
house cat would do, including meow at the door to be let in and sit in my
lap as I watched TV, or play chase-the-string. Rowdy's wagging tail was a
favorite victim of his pounce and my long-suffering dog would get up, move,
lie down again and the stalk would begin anew.  I trained him to leap into
my arms when I called.  Well, OK, one doesn't "train" cats, and that goes
double for bobcats.  I guess we trained each other.

By autumn Blue was fully grown at about 30-35 lbs (15kg) and had a problem.
 He was too big to hunt rats in the barns.  While he could manage an
occasional catch, he just didn't fit in the places the gang went into to
hunt.  He began to hunt his natural prey: rabbits.  Since there was miles
of brush, fields and meadows about us there was no shortage of rabbits. 
Blue was in no danger of starvation, although he did supplement his diet
from Rowdy's food bowl while he was learning to hunt rabbits instead of
rats.  He could have lived entirely fed by us,  but cats have "hunting
hunger" as well as "food hunger".  He had to hunt.

Predators know instinctively not to overhunt an area.  Too much hunting
pressure can deplete the prey below quick replacement level, so predators
shift their hunting around within their territory. Blue began to roam.  He
had three advantages over his wild kin.  He had a totally safe den, a
guaranteed food supply if needed, and because of never having been short of
food while growing, he was b-i-g, even for a bobcat.  He began to sometimes
come in bearing the marks of  fights.  He was carving out his territory.

His forays became longer, lasting for days, until in the spring of the next
year he didn't come back.  A few months later, while hunting in the late
evening, almost sundown, I was walking along a fence line separating brush
from meadow looking for rabbits, when I saw a bobcat step into the meadow
about a hundred feet (30m) ahead of me. I froze in midstep.  I would not
have shot him in any case as by this time I had learned proper hunting
ethics.  Even if it wasn't Blue, I wanted to watch.  But I was sure it
would be him.  Bobcats, like all wild animals, will stop at the edge of a
meadow and look around before they venture out into it.  With his keen
hearing and natural caution he had to know I was there and a wild bobcat
wouldn't step out.
So it had to be him.  He turned to me and came as I called him.  I called
"Kitty, kitty" just like any other cat and knowing the call he bounded up
to me and leaped into my arms. It was him!

We visited there as the sun set.  Now I had to leave.  It would soon be
night and I wanted to be back on the road before the light began to fail. 
I needed light to watch for rattlesnakes.  A wrong step in the dark could
be fatal.  I picked up Blue to carry him to the house but he jumped free. 
I took a few steps and called but he wouldn't come.  I understood.  He had
his own home and I was in his parlor.  Maybe there was a Mrs. Blue
somewhere.  I didn't know (and still don't) if bobcats were completely
solitary or formed mated teams.  I stepped back to him, gave him a good-bye
stroke on the head and left.

I never saw Blue again.  I felt saddened, yet also proud and  happy as I
walked the road home.  It was like "the wild" had accepted me. 

Not long after that "Born Free", by Joy Adamson, was published in
paperback.  It was a moving true story of how she and her husband George
had raised a lion cub, Elsa, and then had taught it to hunt and returned it
to the wild.  I would have been touched by her book in any case, but
because it paralleled my experience with Blue I feel like I know how she
felt.


%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
