Oh! Oh! I know that!
Too Much of a Cute Thing
Adorable little kittens became abhorred by adults and children when their numbers multiplied and these furry friends became “public enemy number one” during the first year of Colorado Springs’ settlement, in 1871. It took only three months before feral cats outnumbered human residents in Colorado Springs. The wild creatures thrived on small birds, common garbage, and plentiful horned toads—which are now considered extinct in this region. Efforts to domesticate them were futile and the cats caroused at all hours of the night, howling and screaming loud enough in the shadows of darkness to make grown men and women fearful.
“At first,” recalled Rose Kingsley, “it was whimsical to see these darling animals play and bring joy to our modest hamlet. . . . it reminded me a little of London.” The nickname for Colorado Springs, “Little London,” was unknowingly coined by Rose, not for the city’s quaint demeanor and large number of British residents, but for its resemblance to London, as Rose remembered, with the herds of cats that infested the city.
The feline forces were not always unwelcomed. Rodents arrived in great numbers when the town started to thrive and became a public health concern. Soon after, adult cats appeared in growing numbers and curtailed the mice and rats. “I put milk on the stoop,” Rose said, “to attract a few cats to chase the mice away.” Rose said that after the mice were no longer a source of food, the cats wreaked havoc on the poor native birds that she dearly loved.
It was suspicious that the cats seemed to have appeared from nowhere. An investigation identified the source for the abundant felines—traced to Colorado City, whose residents had complained for years that the feral cats had to go. The Colorado Springs cat population seemed to have quadrupled overnight. In fact, it was over the course of several nights that Colorado City schemers crept into the new Colorado Springs community with wagons loaded with the ill-tempered mousers. It did not take long before copious kittens carpeted the new town’s dirt streets.
“What were we to do?,” Rose Kingsley rhetorically asked the Out West newspaper reporter. The just response was to challenge the Colorado City culprits to confess their devious deeds and require them to round-up the burdensome toms. Though an honorable solution, it was quickly determined impractical and Colorado Springs residents succumbed to a less noble way out. Many men of the town were outfitted with protective overalls, thick fabric shirts, leather gloves, and flour sacks. At first, cats were easily caught and “bagged,” but the animals learned quickly and became far more difficult prey. Traps were fashioned from sheets and rope and defensive lines were formed to herd the menaced critters into “cat corrals” from which there was no escape.
“At first,” recalled Rose Kingsley, “it was whimsical to see these darling animals play and bring joy to our modest hamlet. . . . it reminded me a little of London.” The nickname for Colorado Springs, “Little London,” was unknowingly coined by Rose, not for the city’s quaint demeanor and large number of British residents, but for its resemblance to London, as Rose remembered, with the herds of cats that infested the city.
The feline forces were not always unwelcomed. Rodents arrived in great numbers when the town started to thrive and became a public health concern. Soon after, adult cats appeared in growing numbers and curtailed the mice and rats. “I put milk on the stoop,” Rose said, “to attract a few cats to chase the mice away.” Rose said that after the mice were no longer a source of food, the cats wreaked havoc on the poor native birds that she dearly loved.
It was suspicious that the cats seemed to have appeared from nowhere. An investigation identified the source for the abundant felines—traced to Colorado City, whose residents had complained for years that the feral cats had to go. The Colorado Springs cat population seemed to have quadrupled overnight. In fact, it was over the course of several nights that Colorado City schemers crept into the new Colorado Springs community with wagons loaded with the ill-tempered mousers. It did not take long before copious kittens carpeted the new town’s dirt streets.
“What were we to do?,” Rose Kingsley rhetorically asked the Out West newspaper reporter. The just response was to challenge the Colorado City culprits to confess their devious deeds and require them to round-up the burdensome toms. Though an honorable solution, it was quickly determined impractical and Colorado Springs residents succumbed to a less noble way out. Many men of the town were outfitted with protective overalls, thick fabric shirts, leather gloves, and flour sacks. At first, cats were easily caught and “bagged,” but the animals learned quickly and became far more difficult prey. Traps were fashioned from sheets and rope and defensive lines were formed to herd the menaced critters into “cat corrals” from which there was no escape.
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Hasty chicken wire cages contained the poor animals until something was decided about what to do with the cats. Some recommendations were less than humane and the ultimate result was found in the pages of the Colorado City playbook. The caged cats were loaded onto wagons and secretly delivered to the unsuspecting citizens of Denver. Colorado Springs would have been successful in their hush-hush purging of the pussycats, but all was revealed after an unknown participant let the cat out of the bag.
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