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 »  Home  »  Pets & Animals  »  Cats  »  The Cat and the Evil Mower
The Cat and the Evil Mower
By Janette Blackwell | Published  11/28/2005 | Cats | Rating:
The Cat and the Evil Mower
Janette Blackwell
Janette Blackwell has loved cats since she first learned to toddle over to one and pet it "real nice" the way Mommie said. Janette still pets cats real nice and, what is more to the point, feeds them real nice too. She also has a website devoted to gifts and stories for cat lovers: Cats and Flowers at catsandflowers.com -- or you can visit her at Food and Fiction  

View all articles by Janette Blackwell


Caution was the watchword in Der Doc’s life. He was a grey cat, striped like a tiger but decidedly without the tiger’s courage. Daddy said, “He’s the original scaredy-cat.”

Der Doc had the run of our farm in the Bitterroot Valley of Montana, and the farm had multitudes of opportunities for a diligent cat. The chief opportunities lay with barn mice during the winter and field mice in the summer. Der Doc regularly partook of these opportunities. Cautiously, of course.

How ironic it was that his most searing experience took place when he was cautiously minding his own business. His business being a field mouse in our hayfield, as Daddy drove the John Deere tractor into the field and began mowing the alfalfa.

We children were never allowed in the field when Daddy was mowing hay, because the sickle on the mower extended out eight feet from the tractor. You couldn’t see that sickle coming, as the uncut alfalfa in front of it hid it. “Cut your little feeties right off, and you’d never know what hit you!” said Daddy. He would have given Der Doc the same warning if Der Doc had understood English. For on that sad day the uncut alfalfa hid Der Doc as well as the sickle.

Fortunately the worst did not happen. Der Doc did not have his little feeties cut right off, but he did lose the last two inches of his tail as he belatedly fled.

Bleeding profusely, Der Doc ran to the safest place he knew, the inside of our house. Everyone was tremendously sympathetic. My little brother asked, “Is it all right to pray for a cat?” Learning that it was, he prayed fervently. Daddy probably did too. He felt terrible about what happened.

I was away at camp that week, but when Der Doc decided my bed with its snowy white bedspread was the best place to convalesce, everyone was sure I would want him to sleep there, so he did.

I came home to a bloody bedspread and a traumatized cat. For the rest of his life, Der Doc felt that only vast distance could protect him from a John Deere tractor. As soon as he heard the distinctive put-put-put of its engine, he put not one but several fields between him and the tractor and did not return until the tractor was through with its day’s work.
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