Joy Herring - Letters from a Little Black Cat: and other rescue stories

Tootsie and Tammy My Childhood Pets

Cats have always held a fascination for me right from childhood. My parents had sold their business in the small country town in Western Australia that I grew up in, and moved out to permanently live on the farm they had pioneered together.

It was especially exciting for me because I was the youngest child by a long stretch with my mother having had a little surprise arrive in her forties. My eldest brother had already left home to pursue his own farming life and my sister and other brother were away at boarding school in Perth.

My first close encounter with Tootsie the shed cat, as she was called, was when our house was being built. We lived in our shearing shed with bits of AAA class wool hanging from rafters where the wool classer had overthrown the fleece. The smell of lanolin from the oily floor permeated the air, counteracted by icy blasts from a southerly wind coming up through the race. Tootsie used to climb into bed with me and snuggle up for the night, both of us luxuriating in the warmth of each other. In the morning I would wake up with her gone. She was usually waiting patiently with my father, who after milking the cow would give her a bowl of fresh warm milk.

Being an undesexed farm cat, as most cats were, Tootsie had lots of kittens and I adored spending time with them. Tootsie was a pure white cat but quite often her babies were a mixture of colours with the occasional pure white ones in the mix.

After the school bus had dropped me off at the gate I would ride my bike quickly home, grab a bite to eat, then go down to the shed to spend time with Tootsie and her babies.

The kittens were gaining in strength, playing and starting to run around. They were so much fun and kept me entertained for hours before I was called to go home for dinner.

One day after arriving home from school, there were no kittens but Tootsie was there, patiently waiting for me to arrive.

Where are your kittens? I demanded to know.

Tootsie looked at me in a satisfied way as if to say, Its just you and me today. Time for lots of cuddles.

I wasnt at all satisfied with a smooching cat and demanded she show me where her kittens were. Searching all over the shed and surrounds with Tootsie closely following, I once again demanded to know what she had done with her babies.

Tootsie seemed to sense my concern and started meowing before moving off in the direction of the paddock.

I started to follow her; after all, I had been watching Lassie on our newly bought black and white TV. Lassie was an intelligent dog who showed her master the way to save someone. Tootsie was my Lassie so I dutifully followed her through the gates and along some paddocks. Eventually we came to a heap of old logs pushed together ready to be burnt. From within the pile came the sound of tiny mewing, growing louder and more desperate as Tootsie placed herself among her kittens. Mumma had arrived and so had their milky feed time.

In my childish mind I was disgusted that Tootsie had brought her babies out to these dirty old logs so far from her comfortable bed in the shed. What sort of mother was she?

After their short feed I then placed the kittens into my jumper, carrying them all home to the safety of their bed in the shed. Tootsie followed quietly behind.

The next day after school I followed my normal routine of going down to the shed to play with the kittens. They werent there but Tootsie was.

Once again, I played the Lassie trick and demanded to know where the kittens were. What have you done with them? I asked in a stern tone. Tootsie looked at me, then started to lick her paws. She was not going to budge.

I again demanded she show me where she had taken the kittens. Tootsie kept licking her paws and finally groomed the rest of her soft white fur in total exasperation. This poor little cat had obviously spent all night carrying each kitten in her mouth, one by one, back to wherever she had chosen to teach them life skills. She was exhausted and no amount of coaxing by me was going to make her bring them back. I just had to accept the inevitable.

After what seemed like ages but in all probability was a week, she brought the kittens back to the shed. I was a lonely child so I was ecstatic that my playmates had come back.

Eventually my parents said the kittens had to go to new homes and leave the farm. Sometimes people did arrive to collect one of our kittens and I would sadly wave them goodbye. The other kittens would also disappear but it wasnt until years later I learnt that my father had put them in a sack with some stones and thrown them into a dam. That was the way things were controlled in those days. So many kittens, so disposable.

The compensation was that I was allowed to keep one of the kittens from a litter and she was another pure white cat we called Tammy.

It came time for me to go to boarding school in Perth and I was quite a miserable child there. I hadnt grown up with many children or siblings around so my friends were the farm animals and I missed them. Especially Tammy, my sweet little white cat, and Topsy, my Border Collie Kelpie cross dog.

For some reason Tammy was naturally sterile so the line of pure white farm cats ended with her passing. That didnt mean that there werent other cats around though. Being so disposable, people used to drive along the road, see a dam, stop their car and throw the cat out. Their reasoning was that it would be alright because the cat had somewhere to drink from and there might possibly be other animals drinking there that it could eat. How people could think that way always disgusted me and still does. The cats would turn semi-feral in their fight for survival and the only measure to deal with them was to shoot them. I hated hearing the sound of the gun going off as some animal had to die.

The day before I came home on school holidays, the most extraordinary thing used to happen. Tammy used to come up to the house and wait by the back door. She knew she wasnt allowed into the house so just patiently waited outside. My mother used to go out and talk gently to her saying, She will be home tomorrow. How did this little farm cat know I would be coming home? That was my first lesson on how special cats could be and what respect they deserved.

It wasnt the first time Tammy would come up to the house, because while I was on holidays, I used to sneak her in through the flywire window and onto my bed. What a wonderful greeting there was between us with her purring her heart out with all the affection I was placing on her and me being so happy back in my own bed on the farm with my adored cat.

Sneaking Tammy into my room did have consequences, though. While I was away at school, there was a night when my father went into the spare room next to mine to sleep, probably because his snoring was keeping my mother awake. Realising someone was in the room, Tammy sprang up to the windowsill and carefully pulled at the flywire until there was enough room for her to squeeze in.

My father must have been in a deep sleep when Tammy started to nuzzle him around the head. A quick swiping reaction from my father sent Tammy flying across the room but not before she had tried to cling to the closest thing within reach my fathers head. Being mostly bald, he was left with deep red welts across his forehead and head, which took a bit of explaining whenever he met anyone, and left most sniggering with laughter.

That was the end of my nightly reunions with Tammy. She was forbidden to come up to the house anymore and was scolded whenever she tried.