By Velma M. Rose Smith, 1978

My first memory of a cat was the yellow and white cat, named Edward, at my home, (where Merritt lives) when I was four years old. We moved to Cherry Flatts for the winter, then in March we moved by team and bob-sled to Scodac. When we stopped at home to water the horse, at the old watering trough, the cat came down and jumped up on the seat by Mama and me. I remember Mama saying to Uncle Jay, “You had better change this cat’s name to Edna”. Of course, I asked why. The next time we visited Grandma and Uncle Jay, I played with Edward’s kittens.

While we were living in Scodac, we got the little black, curly haired dog, named Rex. One day when we were visiting Aunt Sadie and Uncle Roger, on St. James Street, in Mansfield, their neighbor, a lady named Mahalia, gave me a tiger kitten. We named her Mahalia. When we moved from Scodac to the State Road, beyond Mainesburg, Mama drove a horse and buggy, Rex sat between us and Mahalia rode on my lap. She was a character, being raised with a puppy, she thought she was a dog too.

They went hunting together, all I can remember their bringing home was snakes. They would bring them to the front lawn, she would howl and he would bark for us to come see their catch. We stood our distance for Rex would then shake that snake so vigorously, it would fly in pieces. These two pets followed me when I went berrying or chasing our little pigs home. On moonlight nights, Rex would set on the lawn and “howl at the moon”, accompanied by Mahalia’s howl. One summer day, I was setting by the roadside in front of the house, with Mahalia on my lap and Rex laying beside me. At that time, in 1908, an almost unknown machine, a large black automobile drove past, the driver swerved out of the road onto the roadside, striking Rex, killed him instantly. I couldn’t believe it at first. Then I went berserk, I lay on the Kitchen floor, bumping my head. I wanted to knock myself out, I guess, so I wouldn’t know Rex was gone. Mahalia was as lost as I was without our constant companion. Unbeknown to Mama, I took her box of carpet tacks and scattered them in the dusty road. I hoped that car would come back and get flat tires. When we moved from there in Feb. 1910, I brought Mahalia, on my lap. Although Uncle Jay left several black cats there, she made her own place and seemed contented. One day that summer I was setting on the steps, holding her on my lap, she scratched at me rather roughly as she did sometimes, to show her independence. She walked over to the spring ditch, jumped across it, turned around and looked back at me, making one of her loud yowls, she turned and disappeared in the orchard. The last anyone ever saw of her. Farewell Mahalia!

I mentioned Uncle Jay’s cats, I remember when we got out of the buggy, walking up the path and there facing us on the porch were several all black cats, with white neckties. Mama said “I hate black cats”. I didn’t make any special pets of them, but we kept them. They were really pretty cats.

After Arnold and I were married, we set up housekeeping in the lower Miller house. A three colored cat appeared at the back door, and wanted to come in. We surmised it was Wheeler’s cat, they had just moved out and lived in Cherry Flatts. I called Mattie and they came and got her. This happened several times, so, she asked me, if we would like to keep her, and I said, yes. She was a lot of company. She would play hide and seek with me. She could hide real good, if she thought I wanted to put her outside. Once she hid behind a picture on the chiffonier, and I called, and hunted for her for a long time. One night we had been to a Church Service, and Len and Sadie Miller brought me home in their buggy, and Arnold walked home. They let me out in front of the house and I went in through the enclosed front porch, into the living room on the way to the kitchen for matches and the lamp. Something dropped right in front of me, thump! I was petrified. If I hadn’t have been frozen to the spot, I would have been out of the house and up to Miller’s. But, before I could move, there was a loud me-ow, a greeting, and I realized it was the cat. Before Wayne was born, we left the house and went to my folks. We left the cat with Millers, and she stayed at the barn where she had lots of milk. She wasn’t used to the cows, and got stepped on, killing her. I felt badly, I wished I had taken her with us, for she was an extra special cat. We took her kittens, Peter and Paul with us. I stayed there with baby Wayne and Arnold worked at Geneva, N.Y.

We moved onto the Smith farm, the following August (1923). We put the cats, Peter and Paul in a cardboard box, in the back seat of the car, to move them. In a few days, Paul, a tiger and white cat disappeared. Mama called a week later, said a very dirty, thin Paul had arrived at their house. We took him back to the farm, and again he returned to Papa and Mama Rose. He rode on Papa’s back while he did chores. He had the misfortune to get caught in someone’s trap, and lost a hind leg and a front leg. They healed over. It was a sight to see him catch rats, and he caught lots of them, by the chicken coop. He would hold onto them until they died, or Mama Rose helped him. He lived to old age. His brother, Peter, a tiger cat, born with a stub-tail, wasn’t so lucky. He stayed with us, and in the first fall, someone shot him, on top of the stone wall not far from our house. Arnold went out to hunt for him, when he didn’t show up for his supper.

When Arnold’s folks left the farm, to go to Elmira, in August 1923, they left their cat, Tinker. He was a character, a large tiger, with a little white on him. A former hired man had taught him to set up and box. Arnold would say to him, “You want to box, Tinker?”, he would stand on his hind legs, and box with his nails sticking out, so Arnold made sure he wore gloves. Wayne was a creeping baby, when we moved there, they warned us to watch old Tink. One day, I found Wayne hanging to the cat’s tail, and the cat actually hauling him along the floor. In a few days, I watched as Wayne crept past Tinker, the cat put out his paws and with the claws caught Wayne’s diaper, he hung on as Wayne tried to creep on. He never scratched Wayne but would play with him. When Wanda came along, he decided to sleep beside her, in her baby bed.

One day the young pigs got out, I heard the commotion on the south porch and looked out as they were going through everything. I noticed Tinker, sleeping on the big urn. Just then one of the pigs picked up Tinker’s food dish, and started to carry it away in his mouth. Tinker opened his eyes, then leaped onto that pig’s back and rode it out across the lawn. If you ever heard a pig squeal, in fright and pain!

When we decided to move, we discussed what to do about Tinker. This was his home and he was an old cat, by rights, he would be happier here. But, Ernest didn’t like Tinker, he had been scratched by him several times, also their kids would tease him, and when he scratched back, Ernest would probably kill him. We decided to take him with us, to the place on Route 6. He seemed happy with us, we kept a cow and pigs and chickens, so he would go to the barn too. A few days after Jay was born, he came in and jumped up on my bed. I petted him, and Aunt Jen who was tending the baby said to him, “You better get down off the bed, we have a new baby, your nose is broke now”. He jumped down, and strutted out of the room, with his tail held high. I never saw him again. Arnold called, and went looking for him. He found him dead, in the barn, setting in front of a rat hole. Arnold said he died of old age. I believe he died of a broken heart.

That summer a female, maltese cat came to our place. She soon presented us with two kittens. They were two of the cleanest kittens there ever was, for we had a young pet coon that would grab a kitten that got close enough and dip it in her water dish.

We moved them to Montoursville with us. While we were there, the two kittens died. We moved Tabby back with us to the Burr Dewey house. She was smart enough to stay out of the road and spent most of the day at the barn, hunting mice. I acquired a pet pigeon, he would fly from the barn roof onto my shoulder, whenever I went outside. He would roost in our woodshed on stormy days, and nights. We discussed how we would move him to Niles Lumber Camp. The last night as we were finishing with the packing, I stepped outside for something, of course the pigeon came flying from the barn roof, to my shoulder. Then he spotted some food on the ground and hopped down. Tabby pounced on him and killed him before I could stop her. I scolded her and slapped her, for I felt badly. That night we stayed all night with my folks. We shut Tabby upstairs in the house, with the stair door shut. The next morning, I opened the door and called, she didn’t come, so we went upstairs, no cat in sight. The windows were closed, there were no holes anywhere. We moved without her, we never figured out what happened to her. We stopped at Dewey’s a week later, he never saw her around the barn.

While we were in Blossburg, we got another Maltese cat. She became Eileen’s “baby”, she rocked her, dressed her in doll clothes, and wheeled her in the doll carriage up and down the sidewalk. After we moved here, I remember seeing Eileen wheeling that little carriage with the cat sitting up, wearing a bonnet, up and down the bank to the drive way. The cat must have enjoyed it. We called her Kitty. At Bloss we had a phonograph in the dining room. The cat would jump on there and lay down on the record table, turn the switch and ride around and around. Sometimes, I would wind it up again, just to watch her ride. One night after we had lived her for a few months, Eileen’s cat didn’t come in to go to bed. The next morning all the kids went looking for her, but they couldn’t find her. We all felt badly, Eileen was broken hearted, lost, without her “baby”. I began inquiring around. I found out that Jess Bryant had shot and killed her. He said she was in his hen house and he thought she would kill his hens. They were laying hens, not chicks, how would a little female cat kill a hen. I guess I can say I never forgave him, at least, I never forgot.

For years we didn’t have a housecat. We had beautiful cats, at the barn. Jay had a large golden cat, but one morning he found it dead in front of the cows. We had two large tom kittens, we named Mark and Luke. Luke was black and white and Mark was tiger and white. Luke got sick and Mark brought him mice or other food. He washed him and stayed with him, but in spite of his good care, he lost his brother. Mark became a tramp. He would live at the barn in cold weather, sometimes he would come in the house. He was a big cat, and he loved to jump up and land on my shoulder, especially if I was talking on the telephone, or carrying a pail of milk. It would almost knock me over, and I know he grinned at me. Summers, he spent around Whitneyville, at Hemkers and Harris’s and John Dean’s. He never missed an Aid dinner at the Church. The women always put out a big plate for Mark, everyone knew him. There came a bad ice storm. He must have decided he should come to the barn. In the morning I found Mark dead, frozen in the slush, a few feet from the stable door, just before he reached shelter. His fur must have gotten so loaded with sleet that he couldn’t quite make it. Everyone missed this big friendly cat.

Then there was Frisky, my cat. We had nice cats at the barn. We had two mother cats that had their kittens in the same nest and took turns kitten sitting. When the kittens got big enough to leave the nest, they were all over the barn. Basil brought one tiger and white kitten to the house. “These kittens are going to get stepped on by the cows or run over by the tractor”, he told me, “and this one is so pretty and smart, I thought maybe you would like to save it”. Because he was so frisky, Basil named him Frisky.

The first winter Frisky lived in the cellar with our big white rabbit, Bucky. It was a circus to watch them play, chasing each other around, playing games. I would take them a slice of bread, the first one to grab it would run and jump with the other in pursuit. In the summer we let Bucky run loose. I wish I had taken a picture of Cubby, our white Spitz dog, Frisky, Bucky and the pet pigeon, out under the clothes line, the pigeon on Cubby’s back.

As Frisky grew older, he liked to spend his time in the house. If I sat down to read, write or mend, he curled up on my lap. He was house broke, but he had one bad habit, he would get on the table. This annoyed Gram Smith, who was living with us. She would tell Arnold when he came in, “That cat was on the table again”. One day in November he caught him, opened the door and threw him clear across the driveway into the garden. I didn’t see him again, until Thanksgiving Day. The grandchildren were playing on the barn floor, and found him dead on some feed bags. He froze to death, or died from injuries received when he hit the frozen ground. I had a feeling at the time, but as I think back I might have been wrong. I felt that they both hated Frisky because pf what I made of him. I said I’d never make of another cat or dog.

I kept that resolution until Bernadene and Sheldon had to find a home for “Buttons”. Of course everyone called him a cat, but he didn’t know he was a cat, he thought he was a human being. He might not even like to be included in this tale of cats. When I let him outside, he walked straight across the porch, tail erect, eyes straight ahead, never looking at the cats on the porch. When I wrote letters or worked on my income tax papers, he would jump on the desk, stretch full length, covering the paper. He didn’t snoop nor leave messes, so Arnold liked him. But it was me that arose at 2:00 a.m. to get him a piece of cheese from the refrigerator, otherwise he would sit there and ask for it in a loud voice.

He had a cat disease as a kitten and it came back on him. Arnold took him to a vet, he rode quietly on my lap, and sat on the vet’s table, as if he knew. I made him a bed, in our bedroom, and there he died. Arnold took his body to the Humane Society to have it taken care of. I just couldn’t dispose of it here, I respected him too much.

Arnold liked cats at the barn. One mother cat had black kittens in the hay mow, they were wild, but she finally brought them downstairs for milk. Soon after Arnold died we found one of them dead in the barn. After we sold the cows, the other one, a beautiful black shiny tom cat came to the porch. He would rub around my legs, and eat, but he didn’t want to be petted. In the summer of 1976, I went with Linda to visit Leslie, I went down to the barn to tell Berwyn, goodbye. Blackie came over to me and rubbed around my legs, I petted him and said goodbye, but I noticed he acted weak as he walked. When we came hone, Berwyn told me he found Blackie dead, on the hay.

When Berwyn was in the hospital, after being struck by a car, Robbie took over on the paper route. Once cold rainy night, he and Kyle found a little tiger kitten, such a bedraggled little mite that they brought in to me. I dried it off, gave it warm milk, and they took it to the barn. We named him Tiger. He kept coming to the porch and finally Arnold let him in nights, and he slept on a chair. The he decided to sleep in Mama’s room, but he never came into our room (parlor), he seemed to know the limits. The night after Arnold died, Tiger Tom came into the bedroom, jumped up on Arnold’s side of the bed, curled up and went to sleep. That is where he slept every night. One night, in the winter of 1974, he acted as if he didn’t feel good, he was 14 years old. I fixed a box in my room for him, and he slept there. When I got up to tend Mama, he always raised up his head and meowed. One night, when I got up, he raised his head and spoke as usual. I said to him, “Wait a few minutes Tiger Tom and I’ll be back to talk to you”. In about 15 minutes, I returned, and went to his box, he didn’t look up, I felt of him, he was dead. He had been good company for me, and I really missed him. I sent his body to be cremated.

I lay there day dreaming, half awake and half asleep. I wondered what time it was, but I didn’t want to sit up and look at the clock. I knew I would know when it was 8:00. Just then 10 lbs of cat, landed on my chest and two paws encircled my neck, a tongue licked my cheeks. This is Caesar’s way of saying Good Morning, it is time for you to get up. I had been thinking of the cats I remembered best, and that is when I wrote these “Cat Tales

Someone gave one of our renters a young male (neutered) cat. He wouldn’t stay with them, but wanted to stay in our barn. His name was Caesar. He lived in the barn until the winter Arnold died, and I began bringing him in. He soon became a real housecat. He liked to lay on my chest, with his paws around my neck. He liked to sit on the TV and radio. A handsome cat, all white with a black tail. He liked me best but he made friends with others. Caesar became sick, but he wanted to stay on the barn floor. He died there, the fall of 1982. Needless to say, I miss my friend.

In 1978, I have five beautiful cats, Jay calls me the Cat Woman of Whitneyville. When Tina was about 3 years old, Arnie Gerow threw an all white pregnant young cat, into our car. They brought her home, and she became Tina’s cat, and we called her “Mama Cat”. Two years ago, Mama” had 3 white kittens and one yellow. Russell wanted the yellow kitten. I had given him a yellow kitten the year before and he named it Apple Sauce, but it was a nuisance and Tom took it away. So he named this one “Apple Sauce” and I kept it. It is a female and I had her neutered, and she has grown big. She is a cutie, she recognizes Gordon’s truck and runs from the Grange Hall up to greet him when he gets out. When a strange cat or a dog comes around, she “blows up”, about twice her size, and chases them away. She is a clown, and likes to show off, especially for Gordon.

In another litter, there was a tiger kitten that Theresa wanted, a tiger with yellow hairs and a yellow patch on the back of her neck. I kept her, she was into and onto everything, so I called her Nuisance. Berwyn had her neutered for she howled so loud.

We gave a white kitten to a party in Wellsboro, when they left for Alaska a year later, they brought her back to us. They had named her Muffin. She doesn’t like the other cats, and she doesn’t like us to move her from a chair, she growls and hisses.

Every night we call the roll, Caesar is in the big chair, Apple Sauce on the stand under the lamp, Nuisance on the back of Boots’ (dog) chair, Mama is on our bed, of course, sleeping by Tina, pink tongue hanging out. We hunt for Muffin, find her on one of the dining room chairs, under the table. In the summer, they all stay outside.

Spring 1984

Mama Cat got a nasty sore on her nose, which we were afraid was cancer. We were getting quite a number of kittens. Whiskers, a tiger cat, had two kittens, we gave Mary Rice a black and white one. A black and yellow male, a beautiful kitten, we called Velvet, he was so soft. We gave a tiger kitten to Mary too. Mama Cat had the nicest kittens, always intelligent, not snoopy, she house broke them, and they were good hunters. Linda has a yellow male and so do Giles’, Kater. Merritt’s white one came up missing. One day when Tina and I were away, Berwyn and Bernice took all the cats but Apple Sauce, Nuisance and Muffin to the Pound. I’ll never know what happened to them. It has been over 2 months now, and I have tears in my eyes as I write. In the night I think I hear a cat meowing, and I get up and look out on the porch. Maybe they killed all of them. Mama would have returned home, I am sure. Tina misses her so much, but we must remember the sore.

That fall of 1984, Tina brought a black and white male kitten home from Fillmore’s. At first I said no, no more cats, but she wanted one to take Mama’s place. We kept him, she named him Pirate, he bosses the other cats and sort of runs the place. A nice clean cat, and we love him.

This summer of 1985, Berwyn found Nuisance dead, out near Bernice’s trailer. I felt pretty bad, she was so lovable, and lay on my lap a lot.

Tina brought home another kitten, a three colored kitten, we call Cally. She is a character too, getting into trouble, on top of everything. Right now, she is the last tail of my Cat Tales.

1988

Pirate, age 4 years, died March 9, 1988. A beautiful shiny, black and white cat. Distinguished, proud, loving, mischievous, inquisitive, clean, intelligent, describes this past friend of all. He knew his name and would come from wherever he was, at any time I called him. He like to climb into cars or trucks that parked in the driveway. He like to lay on our laps, and Gordon’s and Merritt’s. He slept on the couch with Berwyn or maybe go upstairs to sleep on Tina’s bed.

When Brownie came, he accepted him, and they played like two puppies. We will never forget Pirate, he was a part of our family. But, we began to notice his coughing, and then he wasn’t eating much. We took him to the vet, they took blood samples, and found he had Feline Leukemia, a fatal disease. That is what Buttons died of, and probably others, that we didn’t know what they had. The vet said we could bring him home, he would live a week or so, or they would put him to sleep. I will never forget seeing him sitting upright on his towel on their table. Sitting there, proud, clean, trusting in me to pick him up and bring him back to his home. I wonder if he heard me say, “Put him to sleep”. He didn’t turn his head to see the tears roll down my cheeks. The girl vet did, she said, “He is beautiful”.

April 30, 1988

My name is Puddin. Isn’t that a strange name for a cat? Tina said, what are you doing here, Pudding Head, and the name stuck. It was a cold rainy evening, I was huddled on a cold damp porch with two other cats, no relatives of mine. I was hungry, cold and lonesome. I missed my mother dreadfully. I remembered her warm body, the warm milk and most of all, the love I felt as she washed and cuddled me.

Then I heard a voice. There was no one home, so the voices and laughter was coming from people on the road. I can’t stay here, I haven’t had any food in days, I am going out to the road, even if I am scared. I will follow these happy voices. There are big feet and little feet, I’ll just keep following these feet. They left the road, crossed a lawn, climbed some steps, I followed closely. A door opened, warm air rushed out. I kept close to the feet. Then someone spied me. They said, this kitten must belong to the house up the road. Warm hands held me, as the man carried me, to the top of the hill. The man there said, he doesn’t belong to us, try the next house, I saw some cute cats there. So I was back on that cold dark porch again.

I heard voices and fast steps again. I remembered that warm room. I scampered out to the road. I kept behind the feet again. They went down the road, across the lawn, to the same porch. The door opened and I ran into the house. “Hi there Puddin, how did you get back here. You look as if you could drink some warm milk”. Boy! did that sound good. After I was full, I looked around. I climbed upon a nice warm lap. I looked at the lady, with my big eyes and I purred my very best. I felt I had found a new home.

There are two other cats, Pirate and Cally. They don’t act too pleased to have me join them at meal time. There is also a shaggy dog, they call Brownie. She is jealous of me, but I think she likes me, we play together.

It was Halloween night that I walked into this home, how lucky for me. I didn’t venture into the outside world all winter, for fear the door would shut me out, but now that the weather is warmer, I like to set in the sun on the porch, or run up into the pear tree to scare the birds.

Pirate has disappeared, I miss him. I have looked in all of his favorite spots, but he isn’t there.

Midnight
My name is Midnight. I am black, a shiny black. I have perky ears and strange eyes. I was born the spring of 1988. I was brought to my new home, with Tina and her family, by a friend of Tina’s. I like to play and have finally convinced Puddin that we can play together. Sharing our home is a pesky, shaggy dog, called Brownie, she tries to get every mouthful of food around here, and make me move from chair to chair, but last night I got her on her nose, she cried.