Some of the stories I can remember are my own, I’m sure, but others have been told and retold, and I am no longer clear on whether the memories are mine or not. This is one of those.
I was living at Buckhorn Lake with my family. I was on the porch of the house, and there was a high (to me) railing around the porch. There was a dugout area which must have been just beside the house, and it was full of water.
My two year old self looked, and behold! The cat sat on the railing of the porch soaking up the sunlight, minding his own business. In my recollection I tried to pet the cat; I rather suspect that in my urge to justify myself I have trained myself to think that pulling that cat’s tail was “petting” it. The cat took exception, and took a swipe at me with his claws open. I think he drew blood. I seem to recall bodily grabbing the cat and throwing him over the railing, though I may be exaggerating my physical prowess just a little. Whatever the case, the cat went off the rail and into the dugout.
Jamie crying and the cat yowling drew a crowd, and soon my siblings were looking in the dugout for the cat, fearful that I may have drowned it. They needn’t have worried; the cat was found a few minutes later in the house, sitting on the register drying off.
