My adventure with bobcats in the garden has entered a new chapter with another pile this morning. Although the latest pile suggests it just might not be a bobcat and could be a very exuberant tomcat, like the two our neighbor’s have roam the neighborhood. But from the size of the pile the first time, i’m still favoring bobcat. The onions didn’t seem to deter whatever it is. The strangest part is there are no droppings, just a pile. But i don’t think tomcats or bobcats are into cultivation.
So i am searching the internet, seeking friend’s advice, and thinking of all sorts of answers on how to keep any kind of cat out of my garden. Solution is TBD.
But the problem brought me recall of another cat of a long time ago in a far off place called Houston.
Before Facebook, a lot of connecting was done on email. i found this exchange, updated and revised here that addressed that cat and four spankings.
…I am relaying this story from one of my all-time favorite shipmates and adventure sharers, JD Waits.
About ten years ago (now about twenty years ago), JD and i were reminiscing (and bragging a bit) about our youth and our experiences in spanking. JD topped me when he said, “I’ll bet you’ve never been whipped four times for one thing.”
“No, I replied, “How did you manage that?”
“Well when I was growing up in Houston, we had this old widow lady as a neighbor, and she had a cat,” he began.
“I was in the eighth grade and my science project was growing tomatoes in our back yard, and that cat kept getting into my tomato plants. So I asked my daddy how I could keep that cat away from my tomatoes. My daddy told me to get a water pistol and wait for the cat. He said if I shot the cat with the water pistol when he got in the tomatoes, then after five or so times, the cat wouldn’t bother the tomatoes.
“I was a pretty bright boy, and i figured that if it took five or so times with a water pistol, it would only take once with a BB gun.
“So I got out my trusty Red Ryder BB rifle and lay in wait. When that cat got in the tomatoes, i plugged him once right in the ribs. He went back to the old widow’s house like a laser, screaming at the top of his lungs.
“Unfortunately, I had made a tactical error, and the old widow saw me shoot the cat. She came out of her house, yelled for me to get over there, and wore my britches out. Before I could get home, she had run in her house, called my mama, and told her what I had done.
“When I got home and before I could explain, my mama spanked me too, all the time yelling at me about how I could have given the old lady a heart attack.
“An hour or so later, my daddy gets home from work; my mama tells him about it, and he whips me.”
“But that’s only three times, JD,” I observed, “What about the fourth?”
“I’m getting to that,” he said. “Later that night, one of my friends came over and we were sitting on the front porch steps.
“After I told my buddy about my bad day with the cat, he asks me, ‘’Would you do it again?’
“I replied, ‘I’d do it again if I didn’t think I would get caught.’”
“Without me knowing it, my daddy had come out on the porch and was standing behind me when i answered, and…he whipped me again.”