The Dog, the Cat, and the Deer Story

 This weekend when we were watching the deer watching us, I realized I'd never told you all on blogland my first encounter with deer.  Follow me way back in time to about 1974 (which puts me at about 12).  We lived out in the country, in a spot that had a name and a church and a few houses.  We were midway between New Haven (which does count as a city) and the major metropolis of Zulu (two bars and a repair shop).  I had a woods a little more than a mile to the south, and another just under a mile to the north, and up till this day, I'd only seen deer wandering near those woods.

At the time, I had a mutt named Chip, and a cat named Sambo (he was gray, not black- don't ask me, Mom named him), and without getting too far afield of the story, they were best of buddies.  Also, Dad had taken to feeding a stray female- short haired in front, LOOOONG in back, all calico)- which he named Mergatroid.  Now Mergy had two female kittens from her first litter- birthed in the back of Dad's 37 Chevy, as all subsequent litters were- a tan named Muffin (she was skittish and not at all friendly) and Gypsy (kind of a negative calico- black where white should have been, and the friendliest and most faithful).  And of course, they all had litters- Mergy banged out 2 at a time, as did muffin, but Gypsy was 5 at a time.  So we had 12 outdoor semi-tame cats as this story happens.

I decided to take me and Chip a walk to the north woods.  We were crossing a field, I think something akin to soybeans were thinking about coming up, or it may have been harvested and not plowed, I don't remember.  Anyway, Sammy came out and decided to tag along, which was slightly unusual.  Much more unusual was the parade of outdoor cats- everybody except, of course, Muffin.  It was after dinner and would be getting dark in about an hour or so, so it must have been summertime, but early.  So off we tramped to the woods.

No, I'm not drunk, just crappy with Paint.  The X is home, with me waving; the blue is the ditches that were the boundaries of our world back then; Green is woods. Not long after you enter the woods, there was a bridge, big enough for farmers to get their tractors across. We crossed the bridge onto the right side,m and at that first corner, we saw a large herd of deer disappear into the junction of woods.  Chip and I immediately ran after them, Sammy close behind.

What we never knew until then was that, in the corner all but hidden, was a pathway into that field surrounded on three sides by woods.  The deer high tailed it across the field, and when the three of us gave up the chase, we looked around us and realized:

1- we had no idea how we arrived in a field we never knew existed;

2- It was getting dark enough that we needed to be heading home;

3- The entire side of the woods that we ran along was peppered with the little meowing voices of cats and kittens who had decided to run WITH us, panicked, and now were IN the woods with no idea of where they were, or we were.

I had to laugh, but only for a moment, because our time was running out.  So slowly, one at a time, we retrieved 11 cats from a quarter mile of steadily darkening woods.

Amazingly enough, we all made it home, and I can't say as I recall any of the cats ever following us to the woods ever again.  Mergy and Muffin were around for several seasons- but we lived on the old 2-lane US30, before the 4 lane was built well away, and the road always thinned out the cat population.  Pretty much the only non-victim was Gypsy, who was blind and still trying to have litters she couldn't carry to term, when Dad put her down- other than burying Mom, the hardest thing he ever had to do.  The woods is gone as well, Buchanan Brothers having logged it out and turned it all into fields.

Chip was also a victim of the road, running out ahead of Mom when she went out to get the mail one morning. Sammy moped for about 3 days, and disappeared, apparently committing suicide by car over the loss of his best friend.  It wasn't a surprise; you had to see how they were together.  Mom would spend her evenings crocheting ( or if the item was finished, un-crocheting) doilies, with one of them on each side of her on the chair.  It always started the same; Chip would set his head on Mom's leg, looking at Sammy; Sammy would reach over and bap him, they'd take to brawling, and Mom would toss 'em.  Legend has it one time Sammy jumped Chip from behind, got his arm around Chip's neck, and bit his ear.  Chip tore through the kitchen, Sammy riding like a cowboy.  It would have been hard to imagine them apart, and I guess Sammy felt that way too.