I Remember When . . . .
Great Stories about growing up in the Horntown, Oklahoma area!

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CATS
 

     My father had a good friend named Bud Taylor. He also had a good friend named Frank Fennell. These three were all the best of friends. However, Bud and Frank loved to play tricks on each other. My dad liked cats because they were good mousers. I don’t know if Bud and Frank did or not. I do know they did not like a multitude of cats around their house, so they began a game of delivering cats to each other, at night, uninvited of course. One would spend weeks gathering up all the cats he could find and then some night after dark would make a delivery to the other’s home in sacks, open the sacks and turn them all loose at the other one’s house.
     Now I be talking cats here, not just 5 or 6, but many cats. After a week or more had passed, the donee would gather them all along with any others he could find and return them in the same manner. They were very sneaky about this. One never knew when he was going to wake up some morning with noisy cats all around his house.
     One night Bud Taylor had so many that he felt he needed help in transporting and releasing them all quickly at Frank Fennell’s house. Bud asked my dad to help him and my dad refused, not wanting to get mixed up in this turmoil. He already had all the cats he needed. Finally Bud said how about Harry? Dad agreed that if I wanted to, it was okay. I must have been about 14 years old at the time. I went with Bud to make his sneaky attack. Frank lived on Highway 270 and had a long driveway. We made it about halfway down the driveway when Frank, sitting on the front porch started whistling, as if he was calling the dogs. Bud and I lost no time in dumping all the cats and getting out of there as lightning speed.
     Frank, later saw my dad and mentioned this. He said I was sitting on the porch waiting, When Bud came. He said there was a smaller person with him, but he couldn’t tell who it was. It looked like it may have been a kid. I think he probably had the correct suspicions, but we never heard any more about it. And I never tried it again.
Harry V. Shumard—Class of 1943
 

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