Here is a true story of a wild stray cat which I hope may interest your
readers. Some years ago I lived with my parents (my father being a
retired manufacturer of artificial eyes) on the banks of the river
Dodder, near Dundrum. In the back-garden there was an old summer-house,
where we used to store cabbages, disused kippers, Carlsbad plums and
other odds and ends, and here a stray cat took up his abode in an empty
porter cask during the latter part of January, 1901. He was of some rare
breed and very beautiful in appearance--a blend between a marmadillo and
a young loofah--but so savage that no one dared to touch him. During the
cold months of the year we placed bottles of stout in the summer-house
for him, the corks of which he drew with his claws, which were
remarkably long. In the summer-time he used to forage for himself,
subsisting mainly on roach, with an occasional conger-eel which he
caught in the Dodder. One day early in April, 1902, the cat--whom we
called Beethoven, because of his indulgence in moonlight fantasias--came
to the back door mewing, and on opening the door my father found that it
had lost an eye--probably in a fight--and evidently wished him to supply
the loss artificially, which he did. I have never heard a cat purr so
loudly as Beethoven did on that occasion. After that he completely lost
his shyness and became quite one of the family, singing in the choir on
Sundays and contributing to the larder during the week by his skill as a
fisherman. He lived with us until a few months ago, when he unhappily
died through inadvertently swallowing a cork. He is buried in our
garden, and on the stone are inscribed the following lines composed by
my mother--
Here lies Beethoven in his grave,
No earthly power could him save;
An envious cork blocked up his breath
And that was how he met his death.