Cats don't always have nine lives. The Silverwood Central crew had a disturbing experience last spring when we went to move some cars that had been in storage all winter next to the shops. We found a cat skeleton, kitten-sized, no collar, nestled against the foundation. It must have been a stray that came to the building for warmth and never got found because no one had any reason to go back there.
I can't remember a time when my family didn't have at least three cats roaming the house. Our first was a big tom who lived to be 18. We named him Casey because when he was hungry he'd issue a howl that sounded for all the world like a train whistle (N&W single-chime hooter, in my opinion). The latest is Emma, who is barely past kittenhood and has not been in my good graces since last Christmas, when she managed to get one of her string toys tangled up in the siderods of the G scale train I laid around the Christmas tree. I spend a good half-hour untangling it and cursing her out, while she sat very attentively at my elbow and purred when she finally got her toy back.
Awhile back on this board, tales surfaced of a stray cat that got adopted by the Chama station workers, and Earl gave us a funny story about the cat's efforts to hitch a ride to Antonito. The Sumpter Valley has its own canine mascot, an immense creature consisting mainly of fur, tongue, and an appetite, dubbed Briggs. I understand Briggs is renowned for his ability to make many doughnuts disappear in a brief amount of time, though I believe he carefully avoids performing this feat for an audience.
