|Best friends - Dusty & I (circa 1970)|
Dusty was a very special friend to me. He came into my life when I was 9 years old, born to a stray (who had adopted our family 2 years earlier) named Smoky. His mother had had 2 litters previous to his, but the tomcat got them all. This time, Dusty was the only one that escaped, because my father was able to hide him in the hayloft before it was too late.
Dusty was spoiled rotten by his mother Smoky, since she could devote herself solely to him. She was a great mother, and we watched with fascination as she eventually started to teach him all about the important hunt. She first brought home her catches and would eat it in front of him, allowing him to sniff and examine. Next, he would try nibbling on a mouse or shrew; he found he rather liked them. Once he got a taste of them, Smoky couldn't keep them coming fast enough! He literally stuffed himself, the little piggy! We would laugh, wondering how many today. I think the record was 5 mice she brought in, and all for her son. Eventually, she started bringing her prey home alive, and would present them to him and we'd see how he would play with them, and not know what to make of them, and then his mother would show him how it - the kill - was done. It was humane, really - cats take a mouse by the neck, make a quick bite, severing the spinal cord (or as my father would say when he witnessed it, the cat would do a coup de grâce...) It was an amazing process to watch over a short time as Dusty was growing up. It's another story, but during this critical time, he lost his mother. But she was there long enough to help him grow up. He never forgot his lessons, and was an amazing mouser the rest of his long life.
Dusty and I hung out a lot. We slept together, we hunted together, we played together, we took walks together. He wasn't sure what to make of my horses, but he sometimes played chicken with them! He was pretty brave, sniffing noses with Sunny a few times, considering how much bigger Sunny was compared to him. He loved to show off his kills, and would often come trotting out of the pasture or woods, proudly carrying a mouse, vole, shrew, gopher, or other feline delicacy, for us to crow over. I swear, he looked so proud every time! We'd pause whatever we were doing, Mom would even come out of the house, and we'd watch with fascination as he went through the cat ritual: play, torture, play some more, let the prey think they were escaping, then viola, execution! He would usually eat the head first, which he particularly seemed to enjoy (BRAINS!) He invariably would leave nothing but...the tail. Sometimes, even when we weren't there as an audience, we would come home later to find a tail or two on the steps.
|Dusty in his (doll) bed, getting ready to go to sleep...|