“The September Hunt ”

by Stumblin' Jimmy Watermelon

t was well into October. On the southern coast here the leaves had not yet turned to their fall colors. Nearly everything in fact was as green as summer. Only a lingering dry spell had thinned the thickness of the foliage around my yard and surrounding woods.

I was walking my back yard perimeter, wandering in and out between the oak trees when I spied a large black cat on the woods edge. Someone’s one-time pet gone feral, that cat was stalking something. Its focus was so intent that my presence went unnoticed. The dark feline crept forward in low slinking strides, stopping and watching, then moving again. Squinting my eyes and searching ahead, my vision brought into clarity the cat’s intended prey. It was a small young rabbit holding frozen and trying to blend into a carpet of brown, fallen leaves. The gaze of each was intent on the other and I, unseen, was the happenstance spectator to this little drama.

There came that point during its approach when the black cat, in a surge of motion, leapt to grab and tackle the young cotton-tail. As the cat landed, the rabbit launched off but not quite quickly enough. The black cat had gained a hold of the lesser creature though it was a grasp poorly placed.
I had wondered in those seconds before, how it all might play out. I was to be surprised. The timid little rabbit of one moment now came full turn and fought to free itself. In the short ensuing tussle the rabbit let out a high pitched scream that I had never heard before from such a creature. It was evidentially as startling to the cat as it was to me. The big black cat dropped its grip for just a second, but that was all the smaller animal required. The rabbit bolted with cat in hot pursuit. My presence had still not been recognized and the path of their race led directly towards me. In a moment of incredible luck for the hare and rare coordination for me, I scooped that little rabbit up in my cap as it ran past. And the big black cat? Well that cat got very small very fast, its retreat being even more hurried than its approach.

I had always thought rabbits to be of a particularly delicate nature, but this little cotton-tail showed to be far from that. Looking it over, the little creature appeared a bit chewed up in places so I took it into my home with the idea of nursing it back to health. I dubbed the critter, Mongo Woody. Mongo, after a memorable and shall we say unusually resilient character from a movie, “Blazing Saddles”, which I had recently seen. Woody, because well, that’s where he (a fighter like that, of course it was a ‘he”) came from. Yes, Mongo Woody. Alex Kerras wrapped up in the disguise of a cat’s near future fur ball.

Have you ever tried to put salve on an irate rabbit? It ain’t easy. Mongo would wiggle loose of my grip and blister a ‘bee line” for a dark corner under my dresser. He had found that hiding place early on in his convalescence and it quickly became his favorite spot. I would have to get down on his level and run my hand, arm deep, under there to bring him out. He was some scrapper I’ll tell you. From his nips and scratches I wound up using more ointment on me than I did on him.

Feeding time showed his softer side. There was always a bowl of water down for him, but twice a day I’d set out a saucer of dry pellets and lettuce or carrots or something. They were placed in a corner of the kitchen, beside a china cabinet. He’d work his way around as hidden as possible and when he felt sure enough, he would quietly appear before the meal and have his little rabbit feast.

His messy side I found in the not quite so little pellets he’d create in payment, as it were, for the store bought ones that he would consume at dinner time. They were either very, very fresh or as hard as marbles. In either case they were always a surprise, usually found with bare feet. I’d like to have a word with the author of the article I had read stating, “Rabbits can be easily litter trained”.

Mongo Woody was a character, I swear. All to his own he seemed determined not to overly warm to his current benefactor. I think his most glorious moment in our few months together came when on one occasion a female friend stopped by to show me her new puppy. The young lady brought in a female yellow lab not more than three months old. It was a sweet little thing and now wide awake from a nap, a very curious explorer. As of course would be the case, the puppy and Mongo wandered from separate rooms, around a corner and head on into one another. I know the puppy was thinking “play time” and ran Mongo for a yard or two. I guess Mongo Woody had had enough. That cotton-tail rabbit jerked to a stop, turned facing the tail wagging lab and sternly, repeatedly, thumped his back foot on the floor as loudly as he could. To the astonishment of all he took off after the little dog and chased her back to the girl. It was like, “By Golly, turn the darn tables!” I’d swear that afterward, for a moment, he swaggered. That was Mongo Woody’s day.

Not long after, unceremoniously, I released him back onto the ground from which he’d come. When I set him down, he hopped off into a thicket and never looked back. In times later, I tended to step high on chance walks through those woods. There was that thought, “God help you if he ever made his way up your pants leg!” Ah yes, Mongo Woody……