Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 January 1876 — Defunct Felines. [ARTICLE]

Defunct Felines.

It is estimated that between fifteen and twenty thousand cats perished in the flames that lately licked half our city from the side of .Mount Davidson. The estimate is probably too high, as it appeal to us that we miss no more than about ten or twelve thousand—that is, in a general way. We, however, particularly miss and mourn no more than two or three hundred. These were favorites of our neighborhood that were wont nightly to do gambols and execute difficult musical selections for our diversion. How often, when the witching hour marking the moon of night was stealing in, have we seen some giant of the feline horde—a fighter from Bitter Creek—mount the giddy height of a neighboring fire-wall and sound his warlike bugle. We can see him now, as w ith arched back reared against the sky like some rounded chaparral hill and erect tail weaving like a cedar in a storm he stands, in his sphere and according to his knowledge, a defiant Ajax. The moon is playing at hide-and-seek among a floating archipelago ot clouds as he thus stands up and defines his position categorically as the boss fighter of the town. Another yell of warlike portent tells that the

challenge is accepted, and another Ajax appears upon the wall, arches his back and waves an angry tail. The pair draw their feet well beneath them, dig their claws into the wall and cautiously creep forward, ever and anon uttering sounds that would seem great though they came from the lungs of a pair of adult mastodons. The friends and allies of the champions mane their appearance on the roofs of surrounding houses aud sheds, utter their several war cries and deploy as skirmishers. The two champions come together like rockg-rolled from the sides of opposite hills; the skirmishers, with green eyes flashing, engage in all directions, and the battle has become general. The air is rent with howls, shrieks, groans and gurgles—all the house-tops are covered with hair. Half a dozen soda bottles and as many old boots crash down upon those roofs and against the walls; there is spit, a sputter and a fizz; then all is as silent as the tomb. Where now are those hejoes and their heroic followers? Alas, their calcined bones alone are left in the places where they once frisked and fought. All are gone! The tortoise shell of the, old maid, the mighty' Maltese of the old bachelor, the pet cats that used to sleep on the counters and bite all who stroked them, and the wild cats that dropped down from places and stared at one in the night—all are gone! The great fire cremated them alh In vain they started, from shed to stable and from stable to sidewalk with their tails erect and smoking or all aflame. Their time had come and they were either cooked in their holes or roasted as they ran. Let all true lovers ol the cat join in and wail a willainous caterwaul. — Virginia City Enterprise.