Pole Cats

One afternoon along toward evening us three brothers took Cheeko down to the pasture about a mile south of the house. The pasture vegitation consisted of salt grass, bull rushes, water willows and other plants that grew in this marshy area. It was the home of black birds, big frogs and tadpoles and had that distinctive tantalizing smell that occurs only in such places.

We fiddled around looking for bird nests and toad frogs and other interesting things till it got dark, then headed up the lane for home. In places there was tall rabbit brush growing on each side of the one track road. We talked and laughed as we walked along.

About half way home something made a racket in a patch of that rabbit brush off to the left hand side. Seemed like I could see the brush moving in the dark. We stopped, watching and listening. No sound for a minute or two. Maybe it's just a cow or some such critter. Then, a blood curdling snarl, just like those African panthers in a Tarzan movie. EEEEKK!

We stampeded back down the road. Off on the opposite side I spotted a big tall gate post about 20 feet high and scurried up to the top like a Tom Cat with Ol' Bowser hot on his tail, only it was Keith a climbing just below me and Grant close behind him.

We peered up through the darkness, trying to see that mean critter, but all there was is the faint outline of the brush, no discernible movement or form. We perched there 5 or 10 minutes, whispering to one another. It's getting tire-some up on that precarious perch. Finally Grant says, "I'm not afraid. I'm goin home." He gets down on the ground and cautiously walks up along the fence line.

We're still perched up there keeping a sharp watch on that patch of brush. We're wondering and hoping that Grant won't get et up right there in front of our eyes. He gets up closer to that patch of brush, but on the far side. "Come on, it's gone. Let's go home, Mama will be worried about us."

We get down, not because we want to, but because we can't hold on much longer. We're treading soft, not making a peep when we get about even with the brush.

Yipes! ! that blood curdling snarl comes again and there's a thrashing around racket. Instantly we make a desperate dash for that tall pole. I'm in the lead again for I was bringing up the rear. There we perch again in our previous order, me on top, Keith standing on a knot, holding around my legs and Grant below him doing like wise.

"Maybe it's a cougar caught in a trap," we wondered, else it would have come after us. "Sure wish Daddy would come looking for us. He wouldn't be afraid of that old cougar." Then we hear the sound of a familiar and most welcome voice: "Come on down, sons, this old cougar won't eat you."