ate,
flying to the shattered place, clinging to the bark and picking out
splinters and pieces of wood. Then they would go up aloft and consult
about the nest itself. I watched them for the better part of an hour
when the verdict appeared to be to "take a chance" and go ahead with
the building. We left that place soon after and I never learned the
final outcome.

At one point, where our lines were about one hundred yards from the
enemy, there was a small pond in No Man's Land just outside our wire,
and a pair of ducks, teal, I think, made it their home during the
entire winter of 1915-16. In spite of the fact that shells were
continually falling all around and sometimes bursting squarely in the
pond itself, they never showed the least inclination to abandon the
place. As this pond was surrounded by a fringe of small willows we
often made use of the cover they afforded to make night
reconnoissances, but soon learned that it was impossible to approach
the pool without alarming the ducks and drawing from them a low
scolding note of protest, accompanied by a splashing of water. This
was carefully noted and, thereafter, all sentries at that point were
especially warned to listen intently for these noises as it would
probably mean that an enemy patrol was exploring in the vicinity. The
abandoning of so many of the farms and villages left a great many cats
without homes. Nearly every ruined barn or house sheltered one or more
of them and they were, as a rule, quite wild. Some, however, had been
caught and tamed by the soldiers who made great pets of them.
Frequently a soldier would be seen going in or out of the front line
with a kitten perched contentedly on top of his pack. There was one
big brindle "madame" cat who adopted our machine gun outfit when we
first went in. She traveled up and down the line but never stayed
anywhere except in one of the machine gun emplacements. On bright days
she would hop up on top of the parapet and sit there, making her
toilet, and then stretch out on the sand-bags for a nap. At this point
it was not possible to show a hand or a periscope or any other small
object without drawing the fire of some alert boche, but they never
shot at the cat I don't know why, superstition, perhaps.

This old cat had two litters of kittens while she was a "member" of
our section and they were all grabbed up as soon as weaned, by both
officers and men alike. It is simply human nature to want to have a
pet of so