relative_q posted:

cjs (current jackson status):

dee eight posted:

Yukon King was the best catte. He was born in the early spring of 1977, in a barn in western Montana, part of a small litter brought forth by the brief and noisy union of a feral mom and a long gone and unknown dad. He had only one brother and one sister, Old Blue and Medusa.

Mrs d8 and I adopted all three and took them into our bucolic home. We lived in a 100 year old farm house situated on a bend of the Clark Fork River in Mineral County. Medusa was a butt ugly kitten, kind of brought to mind a bar mop that somebody had puked on. Old Blue was brain damaged, destined to live out his life as very "special" kitty. Yukon, though, was a handsome boy, snowy white with pale green eyes. He grew up to be sleek and strong and a natural born mouser.

I had a little shooting range behind the farm house. I set up a target in the field about forty yards out and when the mood struck me, I would go out to the porch and puncture paper targets with .451 round balls and .38 semi wadcutters. One morning I went to set up a target and Yukon King was sitting on a fence post between the porch and my target stand. I brought him back to the house and thought nothing of it.

The next day, he was there again, on the same fencepost, staring intently into the large pasture on the other side of the fence. Then next day, he was perched on the next fencepost to the west. Mrs d8 commented that Yukon had been spending a lot of time post sitting. We started watching him and soon he had moved over another post.

A week passed and I was going to do a little more target practice. As I crossed the fence, I was hit by the stench of death and decomposition. WTF IS THAT? I wondered. I found out soon enough. Near the first post was a heap of dead field mice. The maggots were feasting and dancing, I was clenching my teeth to keep my breakfast in place, and Yukon was sitting about 9 posts away waiting for another mouse to come into range.

I strolled down the fence line and found piles of dead mice at every other one, each pile slightly fresher than the one before. Yukon was systematicly eliminating rodents, not eating them, just killing and stacking them like cordwood. If there were such a thing as kitty trains, Yukon would have made them run on time.

By the end of summer, Yukon King, the white sword of rodent death, had covered about 150-200 yards of fence. Before he finally gave up his self appointed mission, I needed binoculars to spot his latest perch.

tehloki posted:

ehehheehhhehueheu
eahhehhe
hehehheh



post cats

duTrieux. posted: