SNOWBALL THE CAT

by Floyd Bralliar 

In Memorial

This is a very sad story to me as it shows the ignorance of cats that was so common in the past. People believed that only a dog was capable of loving people and a cat would just hang around for a place to live. This is not at all true. Cats are just as capable of loving people and being very attached to them as any dog. They also are just as smart or smarter. They have found that cats have emotions very similar to humans. Temcat

  Beginning with the kitten mentioned in this story, I have always kept cats wherever I lived where I could do so, and I have found them both interesting and valuable pets. They are not so intelligent as dogs, or at least their intelligence is not so nearly like our own as is that of dogs, but they are very interesting just the same. They are not so interested in our affairs as are dogs, and they will not watch our property for us, but I am not sure that if I were taken as a pet by some great animal whom I could not understand, I should take any great interest in his affairs either.

One day, when I; was six years old, I was allowed to go alone to visit my oldest sister, Alice, who was married and lived on a farm some distance from us. Tome this was a real, event, for it meant going all alone for over a mile and a quarter through fields and pastures with no house in sight any of the time.

My way led past the head of a slough where the grass grew five or six feet tall, and only a few days before father had seen a coyote hiding in this grass, and he was not at all sure it did not have its den there. My path next crossed a fence into an eighty-acre pasture where more than a hundred sheep were kept, and one of these, an old ram, was known to chase everyone he saw crossing his domain. Then it entered Stalker's woods, the largest body of timberland I had ever seen.

For a quarter of a mile I must travel in this dark woods, in which great owls, coyotes, foxes, and even wild cats lived. Even a panther had been seen in this woods years before, when the country was new. No one had killed it, and it might still be there. Who could tell! And if it were still alive, what was there to hinder its catching me? It was at least worth thinking about, and thinking about it certainly added to the thrill of the journey.

Of course, I never thought of any of these possibilities till I was well on my way. Then I made a great detour to take me far below the tall grass where the coyote might live. This meant I had to go through some brush bordering the slough and jump across the slough itself where it had grown into a small creek. And just as I jumped this creek a rabbit sprang out of the grass right under my feet and went crashing through the brush in its anxiety to get away.

It might just as well have been a bear; it would not have startled me more. But I went on. I stood a long time on the fence over�looking the sheep pasture, then crossed it on the run, without seeing so much as one sheep. I learned when I reached my sister's house that all the sheep had been moved to another pasture a week before.

I saw nothing in the woods more terrifying than Stalker's old black dog chasing a squirrel that had strayed to the ground and was trying to cross an open place in the timber. As soon as the squirrel reached a tree it was safe, and the dog came to me. I knew this dog well, and it went with me to the other side of the woods, where it stood watching until I was almost to my journey's end. I never did know just how many wild animals it kept from eating me up.

I have very little idea what happened at my sister's except that "Mag Reems," a neighbor, came over about a half hour before dinner for a few minutes' visit. She told me she had some kittens at her house and that I might have one if I would come after it. Of course I went, and she gave me a little female kitten so young that its eyes had been opened only two or three days. It was only a tiny, fluffy, white kitten, but I would not have been more pleased had it been worth a thousand dollars, for it was really my own, and besides, it was an exceptionally beautiful kitten.

As soon as I had my kitten safe in my arms I was ready to go home. My sister tried to get me to stay and visit at her house till evening when she would take me home in the buggy, but I would not think of such a thing. I must get home with my kitten before Mag Reems decided she had made a mistake in giving it to me. I do not remember anything about the trip home except that I carried my kitten in my arms all of the way and that it began crying long before I reached home. I remember how surprised mother was to see me coming into the yard with a baby kitten in my arms when we had plenty of cats at home, but if she was not as well pleased with it as I, she never let me know. Now that I am older I understand what father meant that evening when he learned about the kitten. He merely remarked, "She might have given him a Tom, at least."

My first anxiety about my kitten was to stop its mewing. As usual, mother came to the rescue and told me to get some new milk and feed it. I had recently learned to milk one of the, cows and that particuliar cow happened to be in the pasture near the house. I ran out with a pint cup and milked it full of good warm milk, filled a jar lid with it, and set it on the kitchen floor beside the kitten; but the poor little thing had no idea how to drink. The smell of fresh milk only made it mew louder. So I took it by the back of the neck and stuck its nose into the milk. It sniffed and sneezed and tried to get loose, but made no effort to drink. But when I let it loose, it did try to clean its face by licking off the milk. When it had pretty well succeeded in this, I stuck its nose into the milk again. Mother said it was getting some milk at least by cleaning its nose and face.

After the first two or three times its nose was stuck into the milk, the kitten did not fight against the proceeding. In fact when I decided that it had had enough, it stuck its nose in the milk itself and then licked it clean, but it still did not think of lapping the milk. When it was finally satisfied I put it in a little box in which I had made a bed of woolen cloth, and set the box behind the stove. The kitten promptly curled up and went to sleep.

The second time it was fed it learned to lap its milk and now that it knew how to drink, its worst troubles were over, for I saw to it that there was always milk in its reach whenever it wished it.

The night was cold; and when the fire went out, my kitten crept out of its box and began to cry piteously. I slept on an old-fashioned lounge bed just off the kitchen, and I promptly got the kitten and took it to bed with me. When it felt the warmth of my body it settled down contentedly and soon went to sleep. This was the beginning of its sleeping with me, and for a long time it never failed to sleep on my bed.

Soon another problem presented itself. My collie dog, Frank, and I were inseparable. We played together all day long. But when I took my kitten out into the yard it was badly frightened when Frank came running to me, and made frantic efforts to get out of my arms. When I held it tightly, it scratched and spit pretty bad. Frank was little better pleased with the kitten than the kitten was pleased with him, and it looked as though we might have trouble all around. But I was determined to play with them both, and in a few days they became the best of friends. After a hard hour's play we often all three lay down in the grass, and had a sleep together. And it was not very long before the kitten's favorite sleeping place was between Frank's paws. Frank would lie down on the back door step in the sunshine and Snowball would creep under his chin between his paws and together they would sleep for hours. In fact it was Snowball's preference; for Frank that weaned her from sleeping with me. No matter how cold the night, she preferred to spend it with the dog; and Frank soon learned to protect her against any strange dog or other enemy that might come about.

When my kitten was about one third grown, mother decided it was time I should teach her to hunt. So I used to catch mice, kill them, and feed them to her. After I had fed her a few in this way, I began tying a string to a mouse and dragging it on the ground so that Snowball would have to catch it if she were to have it at all. The next step was to hide a mouse behind a box and get Snowball all set, all ready to jump, and then move the box. Of course, as soon as she could see the mouse she would grab it. In this way I trained her to really co-operate in a mouse hunt. Most cats run here and there when one is trying to help them hunt, and so are usually at the wrong place when the mouse finally jumps out. But Snowball was trained to stay where she was stationed and to remain there while I did my part by moving boxes, boards, or any other thing that might hide a mouse.

Soon we were hunting everywhere. I often took her on my shoulder, where she would crouch ready to spring. Then I would begin rolling over logs, moving boards or barrels, or trying in some other way to find a mouse, and just as surely as a mouse or a rat came in sight, Snowball would get it. It was seldom indeed that she ever failed to catch any creature that ran out from under anything I moved, no matter what it was.

At this time the mice were very bad in the great corncrib in our barn. The previous year we had raised more corn than had been needed to feed the stock, and as the price was too low to make it profitable to sell we had carried this cribful over the summer. It had not been disturbed for over a year and naturally had made a wonderful breeding place for mice. When at last we began feeding this corn, we found there were hundreds of mice in it. As soon as the crib was half empty, we boys began occasionally throwing all the corn from one end of the crib to the other, killing as many mice as possible when they ran out. Though we always killed a great many mice, most of them got away; but the ones we killed helped some in keeping down their number.

Then I brought my kitten into action. She would stand by me and catch the mice as fast as they ran out of the corn. At first she was afraid of the ears of corn we were throwing about, but she soon learned that none of them were intended to hit her so would allow the ears to cave down all about and even on her if there was a chance of catching a mouse. But, catlike, she wanted to eat every, mouse as soon as she caught it; and when she had eaten all she could hold, she was no longer interested in the hunt. So we trained her to put her mice in a pile as fast as she caught them, and to eat none until the hunt was over. When she learned this, she became a really valuable helper.

I well remember our biggest and most successful hunt. It was on a warm rainy day in early spring, when it was not too cold to work in the barn and was too wet to work anywhere else. We decided to have one big mouse hunt and see if we could not really get rid of the mice that were ruining our corn. Father agreed to help us, a thing which he seldom had time to do. We boys had learned by this time where the holes were that the mice used in getting away when they were disturbed, and the first thing we did was to stop these holes. Then we began carefully pitching the corn from the back of the crib to the front, end. The crib was nearly enough empty that we had room to leave a space of four or five feet which the mice must cross before they could get from the old pile of corn into the new one we were making. It was almost an hour before many mice began to run, but when the pile became small the mice soon started running by the dozens. We had a half bushel measure placed conveniently so that all of us could throw our dead mice into it.

While each of us caught a great many mice, Snowball caught as many as all four of us put together. I well remember one time when the mice seemed running everywhere, she caught five at one grab, two in her mouth, one under one paw, and two under the other, and she killed them all too. When the hunt was over, our half bushel measure was almost level full of mice. From that time on we never had many mice about our barn and corncrib.

I have heard a great many people say that cats catch very few mice. This may be true of cats that are fed all the meat, milk, and other foods that they can be induced to eat. I have seen cats that were so overfed that they were so fat and lazy it was a real burden for them to move. It is small wonder that such cats are not very aggressive hunters of anything.

I have also heard people say that cats catch very many more birds than they do mice. This may be true sometimes; but if it is true, it is because their mas�ters have failed to give them the proper �training. Any cat can easily be taught not to catch birds.

One lesson is usually enough for a young kitten. If a cat is older, and has already learned to catch birds, several lessons may be necessary to break them of the habit; but usually two or three will be sufficient, if they are given close together.

Catch a small bird that you would like to get rid of anyway. I always choose an English sparrow. Dust its feathers full of finely ground cayenne pepper. Now turn the bird loose where the cat can catch it. I prefer to have the cat alone in a room and to turn the bird into the room with her and shut the door. One lesson is sufficient for most kittens, and two are sure to do the trick. It sometimes takes three or four lessons to break an old cat that has been catching birds for years.

Snowball was a great ratter. She learned to catch rats before she was fully grown, and I must say she was the best cat for this purpose I have ever seen. Most cats will not catch rats unless they can jump on them from behind and get a good hold before the rats see them. She was different. One day I saw her and a rat meet in our yard not far from the corner of the house. The rat was an exceptionally big fellow and he had no intention of allowing the cat to catch him. On the other hand she had no intention of allowing the rat to get away.

We have all heard the expression, "quick as a cat," but all of us may not know that a rat is even quicker. The rat crouched in the grass with its eyes on the cat, waiting for her to spring. I knew that neither one was aware that I was near and so I kept still to see what would happen. I did not have to wait long. The cat sprang at the rat, but it was too quick for her and caught her by the cheek. It bit till its teeth met through her cheek, but she only caught it with her claws and pulled back. Finally she pulled it loose and grabbed for it again, but again the rat caught her in such a way that she could not get her mouth on him. For fully fifteen minutes they fought in this way, till finally the cat succeeded in getting hold of the rat with her teeth. Now she began biting him through, and then quickly shifting her hold and biting him through again. At last she killed the rat; but when she was through, her face was bloody all over. I washed the sores and put salve on them so they would not become infected. She was stiff and sore about the head and neck for a few days, but suf�fered no ill effects other than this.

Snowball learned to catch moles, and from the time she learned the trick till her death, or rather till I moved and had to sell her, we were never troubled with moles. She would even go over to the neighbors and catch their moles. Nor was this all. She taught all of her kittens to catch moles.

Some people have the idea that cats and other animals just naturally know how to do all they ever do. They think for instance, that one cannot teach a cat to hunt. And this is partly true. There is little doubt that a kitten that had never seen another cat catch a mouse, if hungry, would not know how to catch and eat, one. But it is doubtful whether it would ever learn to hunt and kill things it does not, care to eat were it not taught to do so. I have never seen a cat that would eat moles. Again, there is little doubt that a cat left to itself would learn to catch and eat little chickens as readily as it would learn to catch and eat mice.

The reason it does not do so is because it is taught not to do this, while it is encouraged to catch mice. It is well worth the time and effort of any one who means to keep a cat or a dog to train it to do the things that will benefit its master and not to do those things that will be an injury to him.

I presume most cats teach their kittens to hunt, but Snowball was the only cat that I have ever known to do it thoroughly and systematically. As soon as she thought her kittens were about old enough to wean she set about teaching them how to make their own living. First she would hunt with them about the house. Then some morning every kitten would be gone. This sometimes occasioned me considerable anxiety, for Snowball was a pure bred Angora cat, and her kittens were usually sold before they were even born, and I got good prices for them.

To have a hundred dollars' worth of kittens disappear over night, and not to be able to find a trace of them for a week or more was not always pleasant. And the strange part of the whole proceeding was the fact that Snowball spent about as much of her days at the house when her kittens were gone as she did at other times. This did not mean, however, that she was not really training her kittens to hunt, for she made it a practice to go on a hunt once or twice every day, kittens or no kittens.

Only once did I ever know where she had her kittens in training. One time when a particuliarly fine lot of kittens was gone, and two of the families who had engaged kittens wished to get their property, I made inquiries in the neighborhood to learn if any one
had seen these kittens. An old colored man told me he had seen the cat with her kittens about an old, ruined cabin that stood in the thick woods nearly a half mile from my home. But when I went to this place to look for the kittens they were not there. When almost another week had gone by and no kittens had been found, I made up my mind that surely they were gone this time, but one forenoon Snowball finally brought them all home, and from that day she began weaning them.

Without doubt this habit of training her kittens accounts for the fact
that without exception they were all good hunters. Snowball not only caught rats, mice, moles, and rabbits, legitimate prey of most cats that have been properly trained, but she was especially fond of catching lizards and snakes. In fact it was not very long till she had to go far away from home to find either of these two choice foods, for to her they were the very choicest of foods. And go far from home she did. She was often seen as far as a mile from home, hunting along rail fences, piles of logs, or piles of stones. If she saw a stranger while on these hunts she managed to disappear as effectively as a phantom in spite of her white color and large size.

But if she sighted me while on any of these excursions she would immediately mew to me and come running for me to take her up and pet her. If her hunt had been fairly successful and she were no longer hungry, she always wanted me to carry her home, and if I should put her down she would trot at my heels like a dog. But if she were still hungry, she would let me hold and play with her for a while, then would beg to be put down, when she would run into the bushes and resume her hunting.

As my old duck-legged hen had been taught to foster any kind of baby bird I might choose to give her, even to Jonah the barred owl when he was a helpless, fuzzy fledgling, I thought it would be fine to teach my cat to care for any pet animals I might choose to give her, but it did not workout as I had hoped. If I gave her baby rabbits to care for along with her kittens, she would allow them to sleep with the kittens, but she would not let them nurse. It was the same way with baby squirrels. As the feeding of these little fellows was the one thing I wished her to do, I did not make much of a success of her as a foster mother. I could wrap my pets in a warm wool cloth and put them in a box by the stove to keep them warm. What I needed was some way to feed them.

One time I tried to make her adopt a family of five baby skunks. She had just lost a family of kittens only a few days old when a stray Tom cat killed them when she was not at home. I hoped she might have more sympathy with these orphan skunks because of her own bereavement, so I held her in her nest where the kittens had lived, and as the skunks were really famished, soon all were nursing hungrily. When I; thought all was well, I left the cat with her strange family, thinking that at last I had succeeded in getting her to adopt them.

A half hour later a fragrance known to all who are acquainted with skunks told me that all was not well. I went to investigate; and found that evidently as soon as the baby skunks had fully satisfied their appetites, they had decided that they did not like their new mother, and had taken the only way they knew to get rid of her. I could not blame her for this miscarriage of my plans, but I never again tried to get her to act as a foster mother to any kind of baby animals.

Snowball lived for years. When I went away from home to college she always acted wild with delight when I came home, and for days would tag me about wherever I went, as if afraid I might go away and leave her again. She was very fond of all the rest of the family, but she never seemed to forget that she really belonged to me. She lived longer than any other cat I have ever known and was a wonderfully valuable helper in keeping the place clean of mice, moles, and other pests.

I do not know just how long she lived, but I got her when I was only six years old, and we still had her when I was grown and began teaching school.

As Snowball became older, she became wiser, and more fond of her ease, but  she never ceased to be a hunter. One day she caught a fully grown gray squirrel, and but for the intervention of a neighbor who saw it, would have killed it. As it was, the squirrel was badly hurt when the neighbor made her turn it loose. This neighbor might kill squirrels himself if he chose, but for a cat to do so was a crime. He demanded that I get rid of my cat at once.

We were moving in a short time, and a lady had been trying for a long time to buy Snowball. So rather than have trouble with a neighbor, I sold Snowball for fifteen dollars and never saw her again.

The lady who bought her said that she seemed lonesome from the first, but that when she had a family of kittens she seemed better satisfied. When these were sold, she soon began to take long excursions in the woods or fields, sometimes being gone for two or three days at a time. When on these excursions she would run mewing to any man she might see, but when she got near enough to see he was a stranger, she would run away into the woods again. Everyone knew her, for she was the only white Angora cat that had ever been in her new neighborhood; so no one would harm her, though all marveled at her strange behavior.

Finally she began sitting out in the yard as if watching for someone to come. Her only interest in life was when she saw a man approaching, but when he proved to be a stranger, she was no longer interested in him. She lost her appetite and grew very poor. Then one morning she was gone. No one ever knew where she went or what became of her. Had she been a dog, men would say she had died of a broken heart; but being only a cat there is nothing to say, for they tell us cats never really love their masters and so could not sorrow for them.