SOME EARLY TRADING POSTS OF THE HUDSON’S BAY COMPANY.
The Tale of a Cat.
This is the history of the first cat ever brought into the farther Northwest. The Indians were told it would catch mice and perform other remarkable feats, and they at once concluded that it was a medicine animal of great virtue, so they dubbed it, “the little tiger”. Pussy was stationed at the Hudson’s Bay Post at Head mountain, and thither a band of Blackfeet went to see the wonderful animal. It so happened that no one was in the kitchen of the post when one of the Indians arrived, and finding himself alone with the cat he quickly grabbed it and put it under his robe. Lo, as was the custom in those days, (and perhaps in these, too), wore no undergarments. Just at this moment one of the employees of the company came in, and the Indian, fearing the cat would squeal on him, firmly pressed his arm on its head. The cat naturally resented this treatment, and its sharp claws were driven into the dusky hide of its captor. The Indian didn’t exactly emulate the Spartan youth who allowed the fox to eat out his vitals rather than be exposed, but he tried to hard enough. As the cat scratched, the Indian’s face became distorted and his body and disengaged arm went through such contortions that induced the H. B. man to imagine he was ill.
“Are you sick?” asked the H. B. employee.
“No-n-no,” and just then the cat used his claws again. His arm went up in the air and his body cavorted as if he had an attack of St. Vitus’ dance.
“Oh, yes, you must be,” said the white man with compassion.
“No, not ill”—and again the cat firmly drew its claws down the poor fellow’s bleeding breast. More contortions followed and then the Indian confessed, on condition that he would not be exposed for having stolen the animal. Just at this juncture old Mr. Christie, afterwards chief commissioner of the company, and who then was in charge of the post, came upon the scene, and the Indian motioned the other officer not to expose him. In doing so, he unfortunately squeezed the cat’s head again, and Miss Pussy resented the familiarity by again clawing the Indian, who gave another bound in the air, and went through his contortions while a look of agony settled on his face.
“What is the matter with the poor fellow?” asked Mr. Christie sympathetically. “Nothing,” was the employee’s answer, with a laugh.