Television newscasters are big on animals these days. There’s nothing like a trip to the zoo or a cat up a tree to fill some time on slow news days.

I would hesitate to guess how many cats I’ve seen rescued on television. Each rescue reminds me of the big gray kitten we got from friends years ago.

Our friends had two kittens, but I knew right away which one we wanted. One was small and friendly, and the other was much larger, but a bit wild.

I talked my wife into getting the wild one, because I want a cat that can stand up for himself … one that strikes fear into the hearts of small mammals … a cat that can hunt bulldogs with a switch.

When we got home, I put the kitty in the bathroom and promised to put him in the shop the next morning. The next day, the kitty and I headed for the shop. I had walked only a few yards when I thought, This cat isn’t so wild. He would stay around if I just put him down near the house.

The cat’s feet had barely hit the ground when he took off as if he planned to run the 30 miles back to his old farmstead. I couldn’t catch him, but I finally got close enough to herd him back toward the house.

Then I remembered the dog. If I let the dog out of his pen, he will run around the house, and the kitten will run up a tree, I thought.
It worked. The cat ran up an oak tree, and I had him under control – sort of.

Whoever said, “What goes up must come down,” has never seen a cat in a tree. The cat finds going up so much easier than coming down, that he just keeps going until he runs out of tree. Then the kitty whines until someone gets him down.

A city resident might call the fire department in a situation like this, but you can’t do that in the country. If I call the Rural 7 volunteers to rescue my cat, I might as well dial the moving company, as well – a person just doesn’t live down something like that.

I waited for my son to get home from school and pulled out the extension ladder. The cat was 20 feet up and still climbing. There wasn’t much chance of climbing down with a cat scratching me from elbow to elbow, so we rigged a plastic sheet for a safety net (for the cat; I prefer to work without a net).

The net hung about three feet from the ground and Russ was supposed to bag the cat with a fishing net when he hit the plastic. I reached up toward the cat. “Nice kitty. That’s a nice kitty. Just stick your leg over here.”

Then: Awrrr, Phfft!  Phfft!, Arawrwrrr! Yeoww-r-r-r-! Ker-thump!
“Get the net! Get the net!”

Whoomp! “Got him.”

“Good job, Russ. Now, put the cat in the shop and call the fire department to see if they can get me out of this tree.”

Readers with questions or comments for Roger Pond may write to him in care of this publication.