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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781524622329 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 08/04/2016 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 40 |
| File size: | 11 MB |
| Note: | This product may take a few minutes to download. |
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Tom Cat
By George Eidson, Dian Rentschler
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2016 George EidsonAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5246-2231-2
CHAPTER 1
AN UNEXPECTED SURPRISE
It was a cold, clear night late in December of 1944, December 26th to be exact. The cattle were fed, the sheep had been bedded down with fresh straw and the coal stove had been banked for the night. It was a quiet night at home for the Eidson family. My brother and I were playing a card game, and my parents were intently listening to the news of the war on the radio. All of a sudden my father jumped up and peered through the frosty window. "What is it, Dad," I exclaimed.
There was a short pause and he replied, "I think I saw a car stop down by the mail box." We all ran to the window as it was late for anyone to be out on the country roads, especially with the snow as deep as it was.
My brother Denny whispered, "I think I saw someone throw something out of the car" No sooner had that been said, and the car sped off into the darkness, leaving a dark brown object in the snow.
My mother, Marion, said, "It's time for us to go to bed"
"Wait" I said, "Doesn't anyone wonder what's lying in the snow by the mailbox?"
"Probably it's just garbage," said Denny, "I'm calling it a day. G'night all"
"Anybody want to go with me to see what's in the bag?" I asked. No one answered. "I'll go myself and take the rifle with me for protection."
"Not so fast young man, you know the rules: the rifle goes out only when I go along and I'm going to bed. You can take the BB gun if it will make you feel better, but be careful and don't shoot yourself in the foot" laughed Dad.
Our lane down to the mailbox was about a quarter of a mile. That's 1320 feet, to be exact, or 440 steps on dry land, but with deep snow the steps would be shorter, probably close to 600 steps. That's a long walk in the dark for a 12 year old, but the mystery in the sack made it impossible for me to do anything but go. Mittens, scarf, coat and 5 buckle boots that came almost to my knee, seemed to be sufficient for the frosty night. The boots belonged to Denny whose feet were a good three sizes bigger than mine causing my feet to slop a bit in the boots, but I was warm, dry, and well protected. I imagined myself on a great mission in the frozen tundra of central Illinois on a starry night with little but my whistle and a Red Ryder 500 shot BB gun to protect me from all sorts of possible harm.
A farmer's dog barking in the distance and the whistle of the train going through Colfax offered vivid sounds in the clear quiet night. As I approached the mailbox, I thought that I saw motion in the brown burlap bag that had been thrown out of the car. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck begin to stand up, and I gasped as I heard faint pathetic cries coming from the bag. With hands shaking, I untied the twine that held the bag shut, reached in and pulled out a tiny grey and white kitten, then a calico, then a black one, and finally a tiger kitten. By now all the kittens were yowling as I hurried to get them back in the bag for the trip up the lane and into the house.
"Mom! Dad! Denny! Come quick! Look what I found in the sack by the mailbox" The family assembled in the kitchen, all with a different point of view.
My mother said, "Oh my, those poor little precious babies must be starving. George go out to the barn and get some nice warm milk from one of the cows. We'll have to hand feed them with an eye dropper. Look, they don't even have their eyes open, and when you get back, please take off those dirty boots"
Denny said, "Who said you could wear my boots just to get some dumb cats! Ma, he's always using my stuff without asking. Last week he tore a hole in one of my good mittens and be sure to put my BB gun back on the hall shelf"
Dad, as always calm and relaxed, said "I wonder why anyone would want to get rid of a good looking bunch of cats like that unless they already had a barn full of cats? We could use some good cats, I've noticed more mice lately, and as I always say you can't have too many cats in the barn"
"Harry," my mother said, "You're not going to put those sweet little babies out in the barn, are you?" "Yes," my father said with authority.
"I think I'll go get some fresh milk for the kittens," I said and off to the barn I went. Denny went to bed, but as he left I heard him mutter something about me keeping my hands off his property. My mother sat in the rocking chair stroking the kittens in her lap uttering words of love and kindness. As I went to the barn to get the milk, I thought to myself ... These four kittens bring out something different from all of us. I was sure that everything would work out for the best, but at this moment in time, everyone in my family had a different slant on the subject of cats.
CHAPTER 2THE KITTENS BECOME CATS
Kittens, or cats as my dad referred to them, like people, are all different. It wasn't long before the kittens began to show their individual personalities. The grey and white kitten was the most lovable of the bunch. He was always smiling; at least it seemed to me that he was. I called him Timmy. I don't know why except that he was the most unlike Tommy, whose personality is the reason this book begs to be written.
The calico kitten remained unnamed not for any good reason. She was the prettiest of the litter but lacked personality. She spent a good deal of time sleeping and being friendly to all. She was not at all remarkable in any way, a totally forgettable cat.
Curious, adventuresome, or just plain nosey would describe Blacky the best. She could be found in some of the most out of the way places, not getting into trouble but just checking things out minding her own business. One time we found her sleeping in one of my mother's mixing bowls; and another time we found her sleeping in the washing machine. It was not unusual to see her climbing up on the back side of the draperies, which upset my mother to no end.
Tom had a mind of his own. He was unkind to the other kittens and would not miss the opportunity to extend his sharp little claws into anybody or any thing. He had a nasty little raspy laugh, Heh,-Heh,-Heh, which my mother thought was cute. He delighted in teasing me, the dog, and the other kittens.
At the end of the first week of January, the kittens' eyes began to open. They started climbing out of their box behind the stove. We thought that was so cute, but by the middle of the next week we had CATS all over the house. Dad began his campaign to get the cats out of the house. My father was a very mild mannered man, slow to anger and extremely patient, but I could tell that our kittens had turned to cats and their time in the house was coming to an end. The conversations with my mom about those barn cats in the house became louder, with greater frequency. I wasn't sure who would win the battle.
By the first week of February, an agreement had been reached. Three kittens would be moved to the barn; Blacky, Timmy and the calico cat with no name. Tommy, or Tom as he became known to the family, could remain the HOUSE CAT with all the rights and privileges bestowed on him that is fitting of a family member. We later realized this was a mistake, but my parents arrived at this point after much discussion and this time there was mutual agreement.
From the day that the three kittens were taken to the barn, a slow but definite change was noticeable in Tom. He was never more than a few feet from my mother and never did anything wrong in her eyes. She always made excuses for his bad behavior, like the time he tried to ride the dog or the time he took a bite out of the center of a fresh apple pie.
"Oh poor Tommy, he just wanted to play with the dog. It was my fault" said my mother, "he was hungry because I had forgotten to give him his breakfast" She covered for him and never was she able to acknowledge any of his evil doings or inappropriate behavior.
Denny and I noticed immediately that Tom was being spoiled, given anything he wanted, and had the run of the house. He had the run of everything! He became the master of the house, and if things didn't go his way he could think up ways to get someone else to take the blame for his behavior. I began to get suspicious and planned to get even, but to do so I had to win his trust. He finally would let me pet him or he would lie on my lap and let me stroke his tiger-like fur. He even would purr. He purred louder for my mother, but at least I was slowly gaining his trust. I would lose it and regain it many times over the next few years.
CHAPTER 3CENTRIFUGAL FORCE
If you put water in a bucket and spin it rapidly over your head, then down to the bottom of the circle, and up again, the water stays in the bucket. At least that is what Denny told me, and he was usually right.
"It's just like the Tilt-O-Whirl at the county fair," he said, "the force holds you in the little cart."
"Do you think it would work with a cat?" I asked.
"I don't know why not, it works with water, and with people, probably would work on a cat too"
"Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, come on Tommy, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty" I had no sooner stopped calling when Tom stretched up from his resting spot on the back porch and started toward us. Denny got the bucket, and poor unsuspecting Tom came within reach. I picked him up and slowly lowered him into the bucket. He didn't seem to mind being in there, so I began slowly swinging the bucket.
"He likes it," I said, and with that, increased the speed and began overhead revolutions of the bucket with the cat in it After about ten complete turns, we proved that a cat was susceptible to centrifugal force, a scientific principle proven.
When the bucket was set down Tom wasted no time running for the house, screaming as though he had been severely harmed. His path was not direct. He was so dizzy that he staggered, fell, and went in circles, all the time yowling at the top of his lungs. By this time my mother was out of the house. She scooped him up in her arms and disappeared into the house.
"I've never seen a dizzy cat," said Denny. "I wonder what sort of a story he's telling mom right now. I'm sure he is making it a lot worse than it really is"
That night at supper, Mom said in a sarcastic voice, "Either of you boys want to tell me what you did to my pretty little baby?" I looked at Denny, he looked at me, we shrugged our shoulders and looked at Tom who was sitting behind the stove, looking as though he was about to draw his last breath. He had convinced my mother that he was near death, and it was my fault. I really think he enjoyed the ride but was trying to get as much sympathy as he could from my mother.
Dad just smiled. I was sent to my room. As I headed up the stairs, I heard two things. Tom was saying, Heh,-Heh,-Heh,-Heh!" and Mom said, "You'll think twice before you play any more tricks on my baby"' I did think twice, three, four and maybe a hundred times about how I could get even with that spoiled Tom.
CHAPTER 4CAT AND MOUSE GAME
All farms have mice, and our farm was no exception. We had mice in the barn, the hen house, the corn crib, the tool shed and just a few in the house. Tom was a good mouser, as were the other kittens, but none of them had the drive and the determination to rid the farm of those grey fuzzy little pests as much as Tom did.
One evening at the dinner table Dad said, "I've noticed lately that the hen house has more mice in it than chickens. I think if we go out there after dark when all the hens are roosting with a couple of hungry cats and a flashlight, we could get rid of some of those varmints"
"Great idea" I said, "how soon will it be dark?"
After we had gathered three cats, including Tom, we entered the hen house. Several mice scurried across the floor and disappeared under a feeder. They were pursued by the cats, but none were captured. Then Dad took over, called the cats and tipped over the chicken feeder. Seven mice made a dash for cover, and each kitten caught a mouse. The second feeder was tipped up and five more mice ran for a safe hiding place. Again and again feeders, nests, water troughs and buckets were tipped over producing a plethora of mice. The cats loved it and had a great time, but none had as much excitement as Tom. His eyes shone, he grinned as much as he could. At one time he had three mice in his mouth and one in each paw. It seemed to me that this is as close to kitty heaven that those kittens could ever come.
At this point Tom and I were real buddies, but this good feeling would last but a few days. Our small tool shed was near the south end of the barn. We always kept the chicken feed in a barrel in the tool shed. I noticed there was a mouse down in the barrel when I went to get feed for the chickens. I thought this would be duck soup for Tom. If I put him down in the barrel, he would get the mouse in a flash, and jump out of the barrel. It would be a good snack for him, and rid the farm of another unwanted critter.
"Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty," I called at the top of my voice. Denny came running, I showed him the mouse and explained the plan, but no Tom! We both called, "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty" Then we heard a very faint pathetic, "mew, mew, mew" It was Tom, but where was he? We called some more, "Here Kitty, Kitty, Kitty"
Then Denny spotted him inside the barn at the top of the hay door with just his head poking out, about three stories up. He must have been 25 to 30 feet up in the air
By this time I had regained Tom's trust. Denny looked at me, I looked at him; we both smiled, nodded and began calling. Soon, Tom's shoulders squeezed through the small opening. And he began leaning forward. We kept calling and Tom kept stretching out further and further, and then he passed the point of no return.
As he hurdled toward the ground, I began to regret that we had goaded him into making what I thought would be his final leap. Ker thud! He landed on a pile of manure, which I am certain softened his landing, but as I stood over the motionless body of a silent cat, two thoughts crossed my mind. First, I wished I hadn't tried to get him to catch the mouse for me. Second, my mother is going to kill me.
After what seemed to be a very long time, I saw Tom open one eye, then the other. He shook his head then slowly rose up on four shaky legs, and he headed for the house and my mother's sympathy.
"You did a good job landing in that soft stuff, probably saved your life and mine" I said. By this time, Tom was moving quite fast on his wobbly legs and beginning to howl woeful cries which were like nothing I'd ever heard before, or since. My mother met him at the back porch, picked him up and went into the house to tend his wounds.
"You shouldn't have done that" Denny said, "he'll tell Mom all sorts of lies" I turned to finish the chores I had started, wishing I lived anywhere but the Eidson farm.
CHAPTER 5GONE FISHIN
"George," Mom yelled from the back door, "would you go down to the creek and get some fresh fish for supper?" What a break! I was getting tired of working in the garden and doing chores. Denny, being four years older than me, got to work with men in the field and I had to stay back and help Mom. The chores that I mentioned included taking water and feed to the hens, and gathering that day's eggs. The cattle, sheep, and hogs also had to be fed, and then the matter of milking the cows was a rather tedious task.
"Supper will be ready at 6:30," my mom said, "I'll have Denny do the chores, so you will have to have the fish here at the house by 5:45. So hurry along I think ten or twelve will be enough, unless you get some big ones. Take this basket for the fish. I'll ring the dinner bell at 5:40, which will give you plenty of time to get here by 5:45."
"Hot, Diggity! An afternoon off!" I thought. Now all I had to do was dig a can of worms, and be off across the pasture to the Reinhart Bridge. With any luck a basket of fish should be easy. I had left the pole hidden in the weeds and found it with no trouble. I sat on the bank in a cool shady spot, being quiet so as not to scare the fish away. I had no sooner put my line in the water when the bobber went down and out came a dandy. I took the fish off the hook and pitched it over my shoulder and into the basket. This was going to be easy! Soon a second fish, then a third, and after a short I time I had about five or six fish. I got up to admire my catch and, to my surprise, the basket was empty!
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Tom Cat by George Eidson, Dian Rentschler. Copyright © 2016 George Eidson. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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