me kind and, as it was forbidden to take dogs into the lines,
the soldiers turned to the cats. Of course they were of some use in
killing mice, but the real scourge of the trenches, the giant rats,
were too big and strong for any cat to tackle. There were literally
millions of these rats. At night they appeared to be everywhere. They
would eat up any rations that were left within reach and, boldly
entering the dug-outs, would run about all over the sleeping men. It
is decidedly unpleasant to be awakened to find one of these fellows
perched on your chest and "sniff-sniff-sniffing" in your face. The men
killed them in all sorts of ways, one of the most popular of which was
to stick a bit of cheese on the end of the bayonet and, holding it
down along the bottom of the trench, wait until Mr. Rat went after the
cheese and then fire the rifle. Needless to say that rat was "na-poo,"
which is soldier-French, meaning "finis."

At Captain's Post a cat had a family of kittens, just learning to
walk, hidden in a haymow, when we were shelled unmercifully. After the
bombardment ceased, upon going up into the mow to inspect the damage,
I found them. They were all covered with brick-dust but unhurt. By
actual count, no less than five shells had burst within ten feet of
the nest in which they were hidden; in fact, the whole place was an
utter ruin, yet they came through it untouched. Then, at Sniper's Barn
there was a big black cat, wild as a fox, which had a hiding-place
somewhere among the ruins of the upper story. I had a sniping nest,
burrowed under a lot of tobacco which had been stored there, and was
occupying it one day when the Germans shelled the place. They put
several shells into that part of the building, cutting the legs off
the tripod of my telescope and burying the whole works, including
myself. But what interested and amused me most was when a shell rooted
out that cat and sent it flying down into my quarters, unhurt but so
plastered with dust from the bricks and mortar that no one would have
ever suspected it of being black. It was an entirely new variety--a
red cat. It sat and looked at me for a long time. Disgust, just plain,
every-day disgust, was written all over that animal's face. I don't
know what would have happened had I not laughed. I simply could not
help it, the sight was so funny. With my first shout the cat seemed to
"come to" and, with a terrified yowl, sped through a narrow opening
and took to the woods.