I went off to bed with my heart all torn up in little pieces, and cried myself to sleep.
The next day Papa had to go to the store. Late that evening I saw him coming back. As fast as I could, I ran to meet him, expecting a sack of candy. Instead he handed me three small steel traps.
If Santa Claus himself had come down out of the mountains, reindeer and all, I would not have been more pleased. I jumped up and down, and cried a whole bucketful of tears. I hugged him and told him what a wonderful papa he was.
He showed me how to set them by mashing the spring down with my foot, and how to work the trigger. I took them to bed with me that night.
The next morning I started trapping around the barn. The first thing I caught was Samie, our house cat. If this didn’t cause a commotion! I didn’t intend to catch him. I was trying to catch a rat, but somehow he came nosing around and got in my trap.
My sisters started bawling and yelling for Mama. She came running, wanting to know what in the world was going on. None of us had to tell her. Samie told her with his spitting and squalling.
He was mad. He couldn’t understand what that thing was that was biting his foot, and he was making an awful fuss about it. His tail was as big as a wet corncob and every hair on his small body was sticking straight up. He spit and yowled and dared anyone to get close to him.
My sisters yelled their fool heads off, all the time saying, “Poor Samie! Poor Samie!”
Mama shushed them up and told me to go get the forked stick from under the clothesline. I ran and got it.
Mama was the best helper a boy ever had. She put the forked end over Samie’s neck and pinned him to the ground.
It was bad enough for the trap to be biting his foot, but to have his neck pinned down that way was too much. He threw a fit. I never heard such a racket in all my life.
It wasn’t long until everything on the place was all spooked up. The chickens started cackling and flew way up on the hillside. Daisy, our milk cow, all but tore the barn lot up and refused to give any milk that night. Sloppy Ann, our hog, started running in circles, squealing and grunting.
Samie wiggled and twisted. He yowled and spit, but it didn’t do him any good. Mama was good and stout. She held him down, tight to the ground. I ran in and put my foot on the trap spring, mashed it down, and released his foot. With one loud squall, he scooted under the barn.
After it was all over, Mama said, “I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble with that cat. I think he has learned his lesson.”
How wrong Mama was. Samie was one of those nosy kind of cats. He would lie up on the red oak limbs and watch every move I made.
I found some slick little trails out in our garden down under some tall hollyhocks. Thinking they were game trails, and not knowing they were Samie’s favorite hunting trails, I set my traps. Samie couldn’t understand what I was doing out there, messing around his hunting territory. He went to investigate.
It wasn’t long until I had him limping with all four feet. Every time Papa saw Samie lying around in the warm sun with his feet wrapped up in turpentine rags, he would laugh until big tears rolled down his cheeks.
Mama had another talk with Papa. She said he was going to have to say something to me, because if I caught that cat one more time, it would drive her out of her mind.
Papa told me to be a little more careful where I set my traps.
“Papa,” I said, “I don’t want to catch Samie, but he’s the craziest cat I ever saw. He sees everything I do, and just has to go sniffing around.”
Papa looked over at Samie. He was lying all sprawled out in the sunshine with all four