A Tail of Two Kitties
without beginning - without end
Gunsmoke fanfiction
littlegreenlake
^..^
one
Seven year old, Betty Spreckel's daddy, C. Rudolph Spreckel, had been promoted to the position of President of the First National Bank of San Francisco. Betty, her mother, and two brothers, one older and the other younger were taking the train to the west coast, where they would join Mr. Spreckel, in the big fancy house, he had recently erected on the corner of Van Ness and Clay Streets. Mrs. Spreckel, a pretty woman in her middle thirties, along with her personal maid, Clarice, had their hands full; as they navigated the various train stops, and depots along the route. The Spreckel boys, although well mannered, were full of energy and curiosity. 'Thank heavens', the one lady had mentioned to the other, 'little Betty has that cat with her'. The patient beast, known as Fluffy, was half Siamese and wore the markings of the breed, with slanted sapphire blue eyes. His points, that being his ears, feet and tail, were a cider shade of orange and his nose, mouth and paw pads, were a delicate pink. Fluffy, fearing childish retribution, meekly submitted to being dressed in doll clothes, hugged and dragged about as though he were nothing more than a stuffed toy.
The entourage stayed overnight at the Dodge House. On the morning of Monday, March 26th, 1888, they were to leave on the 8:00 A.M. train to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Perhaps accidentally, the little door on his wicker carrying basket was left open, and Fluffy, the cat ran away. Little Betty was heartsick. "We have to look for him, Mama. Can't we ask that nice man with the badge to help us find him."
"I'm sorry, dear, I'm sure Marshal Dillon has more important duties than looking for Fluffy. We must leave without him. The train will depart soon. We can't miss it, for your father would be most upset, if we do not keep to his schedule."
"But who will take care of my kitten?" The little girl wailed.
Clarice, the maid, tried to soothe the child, "There, there, Miss Betty … some other little child will find Fluffy and make him their own and look after him, just the same as you did."
Freddy, the old brother said, "Good! Now, we can get a dog."
The younger brother, Teddy agreed, with a knowing nod of his head; holding up his dimpled little index and middle fingers, "Two dogs!"
Walter Iverson, the long time, train conductor, on the Atchinson, Topeka and Sante Fe, offered to put up a poster on the cat's behalf, but Mrs. Spreckel shook her head, declining. "Thank you, but it's just a cat after all, and really quite easily replaced, should we decide to do so."
With that, the family and Clarice boarded the train, leaving behind Fluffy the cat, last seen wearing a blue satin bow around his neck and a pair of hand-crocheted pink baby doll booties on his back feet.
^..^
Julian Wendell was a juvenile delinquent. At 13, he was a gangly limbed, pimply skinned lad, with a nose too big for his face and beady eyes, often hidden behind unkept hair. He seemed to take pleasure in misdeeds, among them; petty theft, lying, cheating and most especially bullying. Every kid, his junior avoided confrontation with the boy at all costs. He was the cause for more bloodied noses in Dodge City, than a Saturday night brawl at the Long Branch.
His father, George, a rancher had died when the boy was six. His mother, Juanita, a former saloon gal, had taken over the running of the ranch and succeeded far better than the late Mr. Wendell could ever have hoped to. She was what would be referred to in later generations, as a career woman — to be sure, a noble calling. She had a head for numbers and a shrewd and cunning talent for making money. However, she lacked the maternal skills which might have made a difference in young Julian's temperament.
Julian had been expelled from the Dodge City Schools, and then had been kicked out of St John's Seminary for Young Gentlemen in Salina, Kansas, and the Missouri Military Academy in St Louis. Even private tutors, had thrown up their hands in defeat and declared he was incorrigible. For in their eyes, even the wealthy Juanita Wendell wasn't rich enough to pay the cost of dealing with the iniquitous child.
Needless to say, Julian had had a few run-ins with the authority figures in town. The General Store was off limits to him. Kindly, Mr. Lathrop, threatening he would press charges against the boy if he stepped foot inside his place of business again. Festus and Newly had tried to reason with the kid, and both had ended up with bruised shins from where Julien had kicked them with the pointed toe of his Mexican made, armadillo cowboy boots.
It was when he and his buddy, Dougie Sharlow, got caught sneaking into Miss Lou Lou's boudoir, that Dillon decreed it was time to lay down the long arm of the law. In this case, it was the hard hand of the law, on Julian's bony rump. In a public display of corporal punishment the child had been spanked on the Front Street boardwalk, to the delight of the local citizens.
That seemed to settle things down for a bit; although there was no doubt, from that point on, the kid carried a mighty grudge on his scrawny shoulders, for the big man and his badge.
^..^
Ol' Scudder the jailhouse cat, turned up missing one day in the middle of April, 1888. The battle-scarred veteran, had served thirteen years active duty as the chief mouser of the United States Marshal's Office. Dillon had bought the cat, as a kitten, from the Ronniger kids for six pennies. Although, he had no intention of employing the animal, the little beast had quickly shown a prowess for eliminating mice and other vermin from the cells and office. Although Festus, who had named the kitten, had an open affection for Scudder, Dillon too, had formed an attachment to the feline. The old yellow cat had a fondness for curling up at the bottom of any warm and occupied bed. And more than once the Marshal had awakened to the loud contented rumble of the old cat's purr.
It was Festus, who first mentioned the elderly tom had disappeared. "Ain't seen nary a hair of Ol'Scudder in the last three or four days."
Dillon, tried to dismiss his worry. "He probably found himself a new lady friend."
This had appeased Hagen's concern, for Scudder had a history of vanishing for several days, only to reappear with what Festus called a "big ol'grin curlin' up the corners of his whiskers'.
Except, this time, Scudder didn't reappear and with each passing day it became more apparent, he was gone for good.
Hagen had looked for him everywhere, finally checking, what had always been one of his favorite summertime haunts — the pine needles under the old evergreen behind Ma Smalley's Boarding House. Festus had found the stiff, decaying carcass several days later. All appearances were the old cat had just curled up and died in his sleep.
With Ma's permission, Festus had buried the cat in the spot where he'd died. Hagen had invited Matt, Doc and Newly to come and say a few words of remembrance, but they'd each declined the request. So, the only ones to witness Ol' Scudder's final interment were Mrs. Smalley and the Deputy. Ma, stood out in the cool spring air, holding Hagen's hat as Festus dug the hole. The remains were wrapped in a freshly laundered flour sack and gently placed in the ground, to be covered by loose packed soil. Ma lugged over a pretty quartz flecked rock, she'd always fancied, and solemnly placed it over the grave to serve as a marker. Afterward, Ma invited Festus to come inside the Boarding House to partake in tea and cookies. Dottie and Harry Bender joined them, and together, they shared stories of cats they'd known. "I just wish I coulda been there fer him, when he drew his last breath." Festus lamented.
Harry took a long sip of Ma's tea, and then gave Festus a pat on the hand, "You been around animals long enough to know, they like to be off on their own when their time comes."
Dottie concurred, "It sounds like he passed, the way we'd all like to. In a place we know, love and feel safe."
Festus took another sip of the herb tea and then nibbled on his fourth cookie. A wave of peace and understanding washed over him, it was as if the mysteries of the universe had been revealed. He smiled then and offered one final eulogy for his departed friend. "Scudder, he sure was a good ol'cat."
No mouser could have asked for more.