Fortunately worst did not happen. Der Doc did not have his little feeties cut right off, but he did lose last two inches of his tail as he belatedly fled.

Bleeding profusely, Der Doc ran to safest place he knew, inside of our house. Everyone was tremendously sympathetic. My little brother asked, “Is it all right to pray for a cat?” Learning that it was, he prayed fervently. Daddy probably did too. He felt terrible about what happened. I was away at camp that week, but when Der Doc decided my bed with its snowy white bedspread was best place to convalesce, everyone was sure I would want him to sleep there, so he did.

I came home to a bloody bedspread and a traumatized cat. For rest of his life, Der Doc felt that only vast distance could protect him from a John Deere tractor. As soon as he heard distinctive put-put-put of its engine, he put not one but several fields between him and tractor and did not return until tractor was through with its day’s work.

I spoke to my parent, who reassured me that they would continue to take him on walks.

Two weeks after I had left, I had a phone call from my mother. She was panicking, stating that Shandy had managed to escape from back garden and that she could not find him. She insisted that she had bben looking for hours but that there had been no sign of him.

I was quite worried and thought about where he may have gone to. "Have you been taking him on his walks to park everyday?" I asked. She replied: "Most days" I asked her to try at park, telling her that he loves that park etc. "He would not be there, its miles away." She said. I again asked her to try there. Luckily he was there quite happily sniffing around, unaware of panic he had caused.

Stephen Hill

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