Ginger the Cat
I dont think I was six years old, certainly not more. It was in the afternoon, with me in the lead as usual, Keith next and Lorne tagging along. We weren't allowed to go too far, but this day we had got out of our yard and were heading towards the railway tracks (a forbidden trip) when we saw this nice orange kitty-cat. It ran under an old building, not old really, but abandoned because many people had taken advantage of the free freight to move out of town. We ventured under the building trying to find the poor little kitten who needed our help.
When we got home with the cat, Keith was badly scratched up. It was just like a wild cat, but Keith would fight tigers if he decided he wanted to get one. With much pleading and cajoling, we were allowed to keep Ginger, our lovely little boy cat. Ginger became quite a nice pet. It seemed to enjoy the mauling it often received and it had a hearty appetite.
We were happy to have this nice pet, but one day we couldnt find it. We looked everywhere, but could not find Ginger. It was a sad day Ginger had escaped. We even looked in our big playhouse. This was a one-bay garage, but Dad put a nice floor on it and turned it into a wonderful playhouse for us boys.
The next morning, Mother led the three of us upstairs after breakfast into her closet. There was Ginger, the boy cat, with five kittens, their eyes closed, with Ginger nursing away. It was a pleasant surprise, we boys thought it was really great to have kittens. But of course, what were we going to do with five kittens? You know, I really dont remember what happened to them, but I do know we had Ginger for a good number of years.
Somehow Ginger never had any more kittens, I guess she must have learned her lesson, or maybe Mother or Dad took her somewhere and taught her a lesson. She was a lovely, warm, cuddly cat. Im sure after about 2 years, she couldnt have lived without the boys mauling her and tossing her and generally abusing her with love.
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