Big-cat knew the neighbourhood thoroughly for a distance of at least
two miles in every direction.
Along fence and ditch, which were his hunting-paths, he crept in search
of his prey....
Then he disappeared in a cornfield, and commenced his laborious
stalking operations, the thick forest of corn-stalks making constant
demands on his skill.
The green, brown-jointed stems stood quivering and swaying in the wind;
their withered, rust-spotted leaf-tips scratched his nose and poked him
in the eyes, while inflicting constant torture to his soft, sensitive
moustache. But once in the field he was unmindful of such trifles, and
with noiseless steps he stole along utterly absorbed, like the true
sportsman he was, in the breathless exaltation of the chase.
He was alone with Nature ... and in his ears sounded her unique
harmonies: the swishing of the wind through the poplar-top--that
full, rich music with its sharp undertone which could only be fully
appreciated by senses as finely attuned as his--and the thin, eternal
seething of the barley or the rattling of the oats, were to him the
earth’s song of love; he was its best cat, its greatest and happiest
hunter!
He felt in touch with Nature; inspired by her music to great deeds....
Tiny red ladybirds with black-spotted body-shields wandered up and
down the corn; and when he stopped to think, or to peer ahead through
the waving green multitude of straws, he could see the little red
fox-tongue of the poppy and the rough-haired cornflower’s deep blue
snake’s-eyes. At intervals the white marguerite flashed like a lark’s
breast momentarily into view, fixing his gaze for one fleeting moment
with hypnotic attraction.
The depths of the corn vibrated with mystery.... Sounds which lived
and died before he could guess their maker, thronged his ears on every
side! _Uncanny_ things happened out here in the jungle of the summer
corn--he felt sure of it!
A sudden rustling followed by a crashing retreat sounds in front of
him; it is the corn shrieking under the foot of a fleeting hare!
Presently a loud turmoil in the air breaks for the moment Nature’s
harmonious melody: he starts up, and the nervous twitching of his
whiskers betrays his overwrought condition; soon he hears the warning
call of an approaching partridge--and now he recognizes the noise, and
sits down again while his sensitive nerve-strings gradually resume
their normal vibration.
Finally, when a long-legged frog, panic-stricken at his approach, leaps
with its cold body right into his face, he has, fortunately, recovered
from his previous shock, and continues calmly on his way.
A large flock of tame pigeons from the farm sweep past just overhead,
bringing a glow to his eyes. Soon afterwards he hears the flap of
their wings as they land among the peas. In the flock are white, red,
and blue pigeons....
His body sinks to the ground. Now is the chance to prove that he is a
born master-hunter. He feels his pulse hammer and his heart thump!
After a quarter of an hour’s stalking he pokes his head out of a heap
of cut-down peas. He is panting for breath with a half-open mouth, and
his eyes shine with a greenish light. His muscles are tense to the
uttermost--the great thing now is not to surrender to his exhaustion
and so spoil everything he has already done....
The pigeons rise and float round in a circle--a habit they have--and
the next moment a dazzling white turbit flaps within reach.
No need for him to spring; he just lashes out and hooks three of his
curved claws into its breast! The claws go in easily enough; but they
will not come out again so willingly! In fact, the more frantically the
victim struggles to get loose, the more firmly his nails seem to hold;
they literally stick to everything they touch. Now his jaws flash
forward with their strong muscles--and the pigeon gives up the ghost at
the first bite!
With the spoil in his mouth Big-cat retires hurriedly into a recess
between two burdock plants; here he devours his catch.
“MADNESS” AND THE OWL
In the evening it is brother Black’s turn!
Reckless as “Madness” was in the daytime, it was nothing to what he
became when darkness fell. The moment the sun had set, his claws itched
to be out on the warpath....
At first he captured maybugs and grasshoppers; but when the darkness
began to gather he prepared for serious work. From the top of the
turf-house roof or from the brow of some hill he peered out over the
landscape, listening: were there “humans” or dogs about?
Worming and creeping between molehills and grass-stems he made his way,
stopping at frequent intervals to look round or listen. Where did the
lark go to bed? Where did the partridges assemble? He was not in the
least afraid of weasels and stoats; he let fly at them with his claws,
spitting and hissing....
One night when the sky is lowering and the clouds are scudding he goes
out as usual. He moves along on his soft, noiseless paws like a part
of the silent darkness itself. The owl over in the village copse hoots
hideously, making other creatures rush into hiding; but Black does not
hide; the sound makes his blood rage!
He steals into the copse, choosing the leafless places near the
boundary hedge and along the paths. “Ow!” Now he will be quite lame and
crippled; for he is compelled to remain motionless and silent at the
very moment he steps on a sharp-pointed stone.
The next second he is crouching flat on the ground, his ears directed
ahead.... Something is moving in front of him!
Oh, it is only the little baby hare which he has seen several times
already! It gambols round him--until the owl dives out of the darkness
and blots out the hare with its black wings. Then it utters that
diabolical shriek again. Black goes mad; it calls to him, he feels; it
_pulls_ him ... and he hurls himself forward--to be reduced to sheer
spitting and spluttering at the sight that confronts him.
A cat like himself, but with feathers and wings, rolls a beaked head
forward out of the bundle before him! It hoots mournfully, like the
wind sighing among the giant stones--and tears his nose with its
claws....
Black, also, blows himself out and glares fiercely at the enemy, while
his tail whips restlessly to and fro. He is suddenly a _cat of nine
tails_ standing there! What is more, his body does not stand on all
fours; only the two hind legs and the left forepaw bear its weight--his
right forepaw is, as usual, slightly raised ready for his lightning
spring!
Then his face twists sideways, and he intones the war-chant which he
has inherited from his father: “Auw-auw-auw--o-o-o--ttt!”
Can he capture spoil by hanging back and hesitating? Can he gain meat
by being afraid and running away?...
His thoughts drive him to frenzy!
He flies at the owl, and transfixes one of its ears. He attacks
again--and the flying cat decides that things are getting too warm. It
swings itself up to a branch and begins also to wail its war-cry:
“Auw-auw-auw....”
“Oo-oo-hoo-oo....”
“Tt-ttt....”
During the pauses Black devours the best parts of the hare.