The Cat's Out of the Bag

My cousin, Tommy Simmons, recently sent me a link to the real estate listing of his old house on Smith St.  in Grapevine, Texas.  The house is listed on the market for $375,000.  Not bad for the house his parents built in 1937.  A little remodeling and a few upgrades by the current owners didn't hurt the original value either. 

After my family moved to Beaumont around 1950, we made frequent trips back to Grapevine.  Almost every weekend to be exact.  So there was a part of my brother and me that never left. 
My brother, Bobby, was 3 1/2 years younger than me and Tommy was between us in age.  We spent a lot of time playing together.   The rural setting of Grapevine and the dairy farm Tommy's parents owned provided different playground activities than Beaumont. 

After seeing this picture I was reminded of one particular adventure.  At one time a small barn and pasture was behind the house.  tI provided a haven for some stray cats that were probably brought from the dairy.  These cats were usually wild and untouchable.  One time while exploring the barn, we came across a litter of kittens.  They weren't too friendly, but were small enough that we could catch and play with them.  In an adolescent attempt to domesticate the feline, we found a small collar and I put it on one of the kittens. 

When we returned to Grapevine a couple of weeks later, the kitten had grown.  My Aunt was rather small is stature, but when she told you to do something, you knew she meant business.  This particular day was one of those occasions.  She told me I had better catch that "cat" and take off the collar before it strangled.  Since I was the oldest, I was the one held responsible. 

The house was built on piers with a small crawl space underneath.  We chased the cat all over the yard until it ran under the house.  Knowing this was our best chance to catch the cuddly little creature, I sprung into action.  Bobby and Tommy were covering the openings and I crawled under the house to bring the little ball of fur out.  When I finally got to the corner where he was holed up, I grabbed the little fellow.  This is when I learned that the kitten had grown into a full fledged wildcat.
He clawed, scratched and bit me the entire time.  Since I was more afraid of Aunt Day than this cat, I was not about to let go. 

The cat was out, the collar off and I was bleeding like a stuck hog.  I never saw that cat again. 

I still don't like cats.