Every so often I will post bits that did not make it into my book "Marsh Fen and Town, South Lincolnshire and Beyond" This is a tale told in 1964 of the fate of a pet cat:
Old Bill F. lived in the country having retired from life in the City and very nice he found it. More of a fisherman than a shooting man he nevertheless owned a Mause .22 rifle with which he potted at rabbits in those pre-myxamatosis days when hedgerows teemed with them.
Bill's house was flanked by his neighbours Joe S. on one side and a Mr. B.on the other. Mr. B. did nothing worse than own a proud marauding ginger Tom cat which had the habit, as cats do, of wandering abroad in search of mischief. He did not have far to go as Joe S. was a bird lover and had a variety of birds in an aviary and also a number of geese.
Many and loud were the threats and abuse hurled at the ginger cat by Joe every time it ventured near the aviary and Mr. B. must often have wondered whether his pet would ever reach home safely.
Now one fine summer evening some nice half-grown rabbits were to be seen playing around in the long grass at the bottom of Bill's garden. Bill fetched his Mauser and silently drew a bead on one of his visitors.
There was a rather dull "plop" followed by a thud as the bullet struck home and the target dropped promptly out of sight. Bill carefully put the rifle away and wandered into the garden to collect his prize.
He came up to the long grass and there it laid, dead as a nit - a beautiful fluffy ginger cat!
Realising that any activity would attract attention, he waited for darkness to fall before creeping to the bottom of the garden, shovel in hand to dispose of the corpse. The job done he went to bed and pondered upon the ethics of the situation.
The next morning, having slept on it, and prudence outweighing ethics he said..........nothing!
This was 20 years ago and Bill is now 85. He moved away not long afterwards and even now he wonders whether Joe and Mr. B. have ever got on speaking terms again.
Comments