The Lost Writing of Rotten Turnipseed: The Cats of WWI

By Richard Davidson

The war came ta America in 1917, and thousands of young Americans came ta join the war against the hun. They shipped out ta England like a herd a Water Buffalo, and they never did look back, neither. No sir, they was gonna show them Fritzies some American might, not ta mention teach the Limeys and Frogs somethin' about warfare.

Now we all know chargin' a machine gun nest don't work, whether yer French, English, or Eskimo, and it turned out American flesh was no more impervious ta Prussian bullets than a ham sandwich. And those boys woulda killed fer a ham sandwich, too. They didn't count on eatin' a sandwich a mutton fat, and some goat cheese, chased down with some greasy tea, and that jest ain't the kinda diet a man wants ta fight the precursor ta the Nazi supermen on.

Things was lookin' bleak fer our fellars, jest as it had fer all the other fellars fightin' before 'em. Troops was gettin' trapped, and couldn't get no messages through, what with all ther couriers gettin' shot, and all.

They was in a right pickle fer certain, when some old boy Private from Mississippi was caught hidin' a cat in his knapsack. The quick thinkin' youth told his CO, (that's commandin' officer, fer all you civilians) that the cat was specially trained ta get through German lines, and back ta friendly troops.

Now he didn't have no idea if this was true er not, but his CO was a drinkin' man, as were all CO's in WWI, and he told the boy ta give it a try. Maybe he didn't even believe 'im, but they was all pretty much lunchmeat by dawn anyway.

Sure enough, that there kitty cat, a large Yellar Tabby, did get through, and the 127th managed ta get plenty a mortar fire up there without even hittin' em!

Now the French countryside was jest crawlin' with cats at this time in the war, and them trenches was fulla rats, so it wasn't too hard ta get boatloads a kitty cats patrollin' 'em on a regular basis.

That there Private from Mississippi got himself a promotion, and was put in charge a the Office a Feline Warfare. Now this here fellar didn't know a darned thing about teachin' cats much a anything, 'cept fer maybe play with a piece a string, so he spent mosta his remainin' time in France in a big house fulla cats, stealin' wine and cheese from the neighbors.

Fortunately fer him, most cats seems ta have a natural ability ta get through German lines, so it looked like he was doin' some pretty amazin' work. That boy was on top a the world, until an errant shell turned the house to a blazin' inferno, and ironically all the cats survived, but not our boy.

His remains were buried in a Pet Cemetery near Marseilles, but his story is relegated ta the dustbin a history. Can't remember the fellar's name, but he served in the same unit as my dear, departed old granpappy.

By the end a the war, the Feline Troops, which were sworn soldiers ta the Allied Cause, had killed over 600 enemy troops, broken the German code twice, and helped the plannin' a some a the more successful battles the Allies fought.

A big black cat with white markin's on his toes and neck, General Smythe, successfully took a whole German division with nothin' more than a little bell, and six months a intensive trainin'. He received a Congressional Medal of Honor, and is buried right up there in Arlington.

And a Siamese by the name a Colonel Fluffy Ling-Ling jumped 30 feet from the top of a pine tree, puncturin' the Zeppelin Von Stuckenheim, causin' it ta delay long enough fer the Allies ta shoot her down.

The cats of WWI were quickly forgotten after the war, fer the most part. Many of 'em ended up spendin' ther last days foragin', and eatin' mice and rats in the back alleys a some a France's devestated cities. Most of 'em were too battle hardened ta ever become housecats, and the ones that got the shell shock mostly died a starvation, lonely and confused.

These cats were heroes, and though most folks long forgot about 'em, Old Man McGinley down ta the General Store is quite fond a tellin' ther stories. He was a good friend a my dear, departed old granpappy, and I reckon he knows the stories better than anyone alive.

I think it's a right shame that the world forgot these brave felines, and that's why I brought'cha what little I can recollect myself. I don't know if I can get Old Man McGinley ta log on ta this contraption, as he ain't real friendly with modern gadgets, but I aim ta try.

It's like my dear, departed old granpappy used ta say:

"Boy, when ya thought there was no hope; when ya thought that ya was licked, ther was nothin' more inspirin' than seein' a troop a kitties chargin' the German lines. They knew they wasn't all comin' back, but they never hesitated ta show Fritz some good old American kitty moxie."

I suspect that was one a them words he picked up over there. We always drank Pepsi 'round here.

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