Tuesday morning, as I was sitting outside mi shack, Burt came walking across the yard from the direction of the grain shed. He was carrying an old wheat bag that was tied at the top with a bit of bailing twine.
"Hey Burt.", I called out. "What ya got in the bag mate?"
"Kittens.", he said, as he put the bag in the back of the Ute. "Grab ya' bloody gear mate and hurry up. We've still got a shit load of stumps to stack up in that boundary paddock."
I grabbed mi smokes and mi hat and headed for the Ute.
"Go fetch that chain from the machinery shed. We're gonna' need it today. "
Soon as we were loaded, we took off out into the Mali, for another days' hard work. After a short while, I said to Burt,
"Why d'ya bring a bag of kittens with us?"
"Git rid of the bastards. I've got more bloody cats in the grain shed than fuckin' rats!"
A lot of cockeys, in those days, would keep a couple of feral cats around their grain sheds to keep the rat and mice population down. Rodents can make a hell of a mess once they start gnawing on the seed-wheat bags. You can only imagine what happens when the cocky goes to load 'em up on a flat bed; wasted wheat all over the place. Some cockys even kept a carpet snake in the shed. They were not as efficient as cats but they did the job!
As we drove along, I wondered how the kittens would be able hunt for themselves once Burt dropped them off in the malley. When we arrived at the malley paddock, Burt stirred up one of the bigger fires that was still going, from the day before.
"Go and git me that bag of kittens, cobber.", said Burt as he put the finishing touches to the now, glowing embers.
I still hadn't realized what Burts intentions were as I put the wheat bag on the ground. He untied the bailing twine from around the sack, grabbed the bottom corners and tipped out the kittens. I was really surprised at seeing them as I expected them to be bigger. There were six of 'em, wriggling around on the ground making a soft meowing sound. I'd grown up on a farm. I'd seen lots of baby kittens. These ones looked about 3 days old, as their eyes had not opened yet.
"What ya gonna' do with 'em Burt?"
"Git rid of the bastards! What d'ya think."
Old Burt walked around the outside of the fire and then bent down and picked up a short, sturdy-looking stick. He picked up one of the kittens by the tail and gave it a 'wallop' on the head with the stick. Then he threw it into the fire on top of the hot coals.
"It's still alive Burt!" I said, as the kittens' legs moved around a bit.
"Bullshit! That's only it's fuckin' nervous twitching."
Bending over, he picked up another kitten and did the same thing again. In no time, all 6 kittens were on the hot coals, sizzling away. I was now in shock!
I said to Burt, "How could you do that mate? They were only babies!"
"Bloody nuisances! Too many of 'em."
"Ya know what Burt, I think you're a cruel bloke!"
"Don't be so bloody sentimental mate or I'll bash you on the fuckin' head and chuck ya' on the fire, ya' good-for-nothin' pommy bastard! What are ya' standing there staring at mate? Git ya fuckin' arse into gear. We've got a lot a' work to do today!"
