“Domestic cats” we mean — the descendants of cats who came from the northern world during the last hundred odd years. We do not know the name of the vessel in which the first Thomas and his Maria came out to Australia, but we suppose that it was one of the ships of the First Fleet. Most likely Maria had kittens on the voyage — two lots, perhaps — the majority of which were buried at sea; and no doubt the disembarkation caused her much maternal anxiety.
* * *
The feline race has not altered much in Australia, from a physical point of view — not yet. The rabbit has developed into something like a cross between a kangaroo and a ’possum, but the bush has not begun to “develop” the common cat. She is just as sedate and motherly as the mummy cats of Egypt were, but she takes longer strolls of nights, climbs gum-trees instead of roofs, and hunts stranger vermin than ever came under the observation of her northern ancestors. Her views have widened. She is mostly thinner than the English farm cat — which is, they say, on account of eating lizards.
English rats and English mice — we say “English” because everything which isn’t Australian in Australia, is English (or British). — English rats and English mice are either rare or non-existent in the bush; but the hut cat has a wider range for game. She is always dragging in things which are unknown in the halls of zoology; ugly, loathsome, crawling abortions which haven’t been classified yet — and perhaps couldn’t be.
The Australian zoologist ought to rake up some more dead languages, and then go Out-Back with a few bush cats.
* * *
This reminds us that the Australian bush cat has a nasty, unpleasant habit of dragging a long, wriggling, horrid, black snake — she seems to prefer black snakes — into a room where there are ladies, and, in such cases, the cat will proudly lay the snake down in a conspicuous place — usually in front of the exit — and then look up for approbation; and wonder, perhaps, why the visitors are in such a blessed hurry to leave.
* * *
Pussy doesn’t approve of live snakes round the place — especially if she has kittens; and, if she finds a snake in the vicinity of her progeny — well, it’s bad for that particular wily serpent.
This brings recollections of a neighbour’s cat who went out in the scrub, one midsummer’s day, and found a brown snake. Her name was Mary Ann. She got hold of the snake all right — just within an inch of its head — but it got the rest of its length wound round her body and squeezed about eight lives out of her. She had the presence of mind to keep her hold, but it struck her that she was in a fix, and that if she wanted to save her ninth life, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go home for help. So she started home, snake and all.
The family were at dinner when Mary Ann came in, and, although she stood on an open part of the floor, no one noticed her for a while. She couldn’t ask for help, for her mouth was too full of snake. By-and-bye one of the girls glanced round, and then went over the table, with a shriek, and out of the back door. The room was cleared very quickly. The eldest boy got a long-handled shovel, and in another second, he’d have killed more cat than snake; but his father interfered. The father was a shearer, and Mary Ann was a favourite cat with him. He got a pair of shears from the shelf and deftly shore off the snake’s head — and one side of Mary Ann’s whiskers. She didn’t think it safe to let go yet. She kept her teeth in the neck until the selector snipped the rest of the snake off her. The bits were carried out on a shovel, to die at sundown. Mary Ann had a good drink of milk, and then got her tongue out and licked herself back into the proper shape for a cat; after which, she went out to look for that snake’s mate. She found it, too, and dragged it home the same evening.
Cats will kill rabbits and drag them home. We knew a fossicker whose cat used to bring him a bunny nearly every night. The fossicker had rabbits for breakfast until he got sick of them, and then he used to swap them with a butcher for meat. The cat was named Ingersoll, which indicates his sex and gives an inkling to his master’s religious and political opinions. Ingersoll used to prospect round in the gloaming until he found some rabbit holes which showed encouraging indications. He’d shepherd one hole for an hour or so every evening until he found it was a duffer, or worked it out; then he’d shift to another. One day he prospected a big hollow log with a lot of holes in it, and more going down underneath. The indications were very good, but Ingersoll had no luck. The game had too many ways of getting out and in. He found that he could not work that claim by himself, so he floated it into a company. He persuaded several cats, from a neighbouring selection, to take shares, and they watched the holes together, or in turns — they worked shifts. The dividends more than realised even their wildest expectations, for each cat took home at least one rabbit every night for a week.
A selector started a vegetable garden about the time when rabbits were beginning to get troublesome up country. The hare hadn’t shown itself yet. The farmer kept quite a regiment of cats to protect his garden — and they protected it. They used to sow things there, too, that didn’t come up — but that’s got nothing to do wit the yarn. He would shut the cats up all day with nothing to eat, and let them out about sundown; then they’d mooch off to the turnip patch like farm-labourers going to work. They would drag the rabbits home to the back door, and sit there and watch them until the farmer opened the door and served out the ration of milk. Then the cats would turn in. He nearly always found a semi-circle of dead rabbits and watchful cats round the door in the morning. They sold the product of their labour direct to the farmer for milk. It didn’t matter if one cat hadn’t been lucky — hadn’t got a rabbit; each had an equal share in the general result. They were true socialists, those cats.
One of those cats was a mighty big Tom, named Jack. He was death on rabbits; he would work hard all night, laying for them and dragging them home. Some weeks he’d graft every night, and at other times, every other night, but he was generally pretty regular. When he reckoned he’d done an extra night’s work, he would take the next night off and go three miles to the nearest neighbour’s to see his Maria and take her out for a stroll. Well, one evening Jack went into the garden and chose a place where there was good cover, and laid low. He was a bit earlier than usual, so he thought he would have a doze till rabbit time. By-and-bye he heard a noise, and slowly, cautiously opening one eye, he saw two big ears sticking out of the leaves in front of him. He judged that it was an extra big bunny, so he put some extra style into his manoeuvres. In about five minutes he made his spring. He must have thought (if cats think) that it was a whopping, old-man rabbit, for it was a pioneer hare — not an ordinary “English” hare, but one of those great coarse, lanky things which the bush is breeding. The selector was attracted by an unusual commotion and a cloud of dust among his cabbages, and came along with his gun. He was in time to witness the fight. First Jack would drag the hare, and then the hare would drag Jack. Sometimes they’d be down together, and then Jack would use his hind claws with effect; finally he got his teeth in the right place, and triumphed. Then he started to drag the corpse home, but he had to give it best and ask his master to lend a hand. The selector took up the hare, and Jack followed home — much to the family’s surprise. He didn’t go back to work that night — he took a spell. He had a drink of milk, licked the dust off himself, washed it down with another drink, and sat in front of the fire and thought for a goodish while. Then he got up, walked over to the corner where the hare was lying, had a good look at it, came back to the fire, sat down again, and thought hard. He was still thinking when the family retired.
* * *
Our own cat — dozing on the end of the table — had just woke up and favoured us with a decided, unmistakable wink. We’ll close this article with that wink.
Henry Lawson. Short Stories in Prose and Verse, L. Lawson, Sydney, , pages 17-23
duffer = a non-paying or unproductive mine
fossicker = someone who searches for gold, especially by picking through dirt that has already been worked on
give it best = give up, give it away, abandon, cease to operate, withdraw from a situation, to quit
Ingersoll = Robert G. Ingersoll (USA) was a well-known orator and agnostic, and was active in the Republican Party
Out-Back = remote rural areas; sparsely-inhabited back country; often given as one word and capitalized, “Outback” (variations: out back, outback, out-back, Out Back, Outback)
selection = an area of land obtained by free-selection; land owned by a “selector”
spell = rest, or a period of rest (“spell” refers to a period of time, but was also used to refer to a period of rest, due to the common phrase “to rest for a spell” and variations thereof)
[Editor: Corrected “its bad” to “it’s bad”; “Ingersol” to “Ingersoll” (in three places).]