Just what to do then . . . But I had an idea. I had a mustard squeeze bottle full of turpentine and if I could ever get his south end pointed toward me his north end would sure howl in agony. But the sob is too smart . . . not once has he come around since I rigged up the ropes -- twice I caught my own cat and did she look surprised as the door slammed shut while she was eating. I think he's waiting for me to get careless -- which I already have. But anyway, there's nothing for him around here anymore except food -- I sure spoiled some of his good time by having my cats spayed.
From a long 1 Oct '67 letter E. L. Moore wrote to Bill Rau to help cheer him up while Mr. Rau was in hospital.