Red Saunders Pets and Other Critters | Page 2

piece of meat he
said 'Cree,' and clawed chunks out of you, but most of the time he sat in
the corner with his chin on his chest, like a broken-down lawyer. We
didn't get the affection we needed out of him. Well, then Wind-River
found a bull-snake asleep and lugged him home, hanging over his
shoulder. We sewed a flannel collar on the snake and picketed him out
until he got used to the place. And around and around and around
squirmed that snake until we near got sick at our stummicks watching
him. All day long, turning and turning and turning.
"'Darn it,' says I, 'I like more variety.' So that day, when I was cutting
close to a timbered slew, out pops an old bob-cat and starts to open my
shirt to see if I am her long-lost brother. By the time I got her strangled
I had parted with most of my complexion. Served me right for being
without a gun. The team run away as soon as I fell off the seat and I

was booked to walk home. I heard a squeal from the bushes, and here
comes a funny little cuss. I liked the look of him from the jump-off,
even if his mother did claw delirious delight out of me. He balanced
himself on his stubby legs and looked me square in the eye, and he spit
and fought as though he weighed a ton when I picked him up--never
had any notion of running away. Well, that was Robert--long for Bob.
"The style that cat spread on in the matter of growing was simply
astonishing; he grew so's you could notice it overnight. At the end of
two months he was that big he couldn't stand up under our sheet-iron
cook-stove, and this was about the beginning of our family troubles.
Tommy, the snake, was a good deal of a nuisance from the time he
settled down. You'd have a horrible dream in the night--be way down
under something or other, gasping for wind, and, waking up, find
Tommy nicely coiled on your chest. Then you'd slap Tommy on the
floor like a section of large rubber hose. But he bore no malice. Soon's
you got asleep he'd be right back again. When the weather got cool he
was always under foot. He'd roll beneath you and land you on your
scalp-lock, or you'd ketch your toe on him and get a dirty drop. I don't
think I ever laughed more in my life than one day when Billy come in
with an armful of wood, tripped on Tommy, and come down with a
clatter right where Judge Jenkins, the hawk, could reach him. The
Judge fastened one claw in Billy's hair and scratched his whiskers with
the other. Gee! The hair and feathers flew! Bill had a hot temper and he
went for the hawk like it was a man. The first thing he laid his hand on
was Tommy, so he used the poor snake for a club. Wind-River and me
were so weak from laughing that we near lost two pets before we got
strength to interfere."
[Illustration: We near lost two pets]
"But, as I was saying, the cold nights played Keno with our happy
home. Neither Tommy nor Bob dared monkey with the Judge--he was
the only thing on top of the earth the cat was afraid of. Bob used to be
very anxious to sneak a hunk of meat from His Honour at times, yet,
when the Judge stood on one foot, cocked his head sideways, snapped
his bill and said 'Cree,' Robert reconsidered. On the other hand, Tommy

and Bob were forever scrapping. Lively set-tos, I want to tell you. The
snake butted with his head like a young streak of lightning. I've seen
him knock the cat ten foot. And while a cat doesn't grow mouldy in the
process of making a move, yet the snake is there about one
seventeen-hundredth-millionth part of a second sooner. And that's a
good deal where those parties are concerned. Now, on cold nights, they
both liked to get under the stove, where it was warm, and there wasn't
room for more'n one. Hence, trouble; serious trouble. Bob hunted
coyotes on moonlight nights. We threw scraps around the corner of the
house to bait 'em, and Bob would watch there hour on end until one got
within range. It was a dead coyote in ten seconds by the watch, if the
jump landed. If it didn't, Bob had learned there was no use wasting his
young strength trying to ketch him. He used to sit still and gaze after
them flying streaks of hair and bones as though he was thinking 'I wisht
somebody'd telegraph that son-of-a-gun for me.'"