In the mid '60s, there was a 10- to 12-pound orange tabby cat at the farmhouse where my family lived and lives, for the past 50 years. This cat was raised from birth to be an inside cat and to co-exist with a large group of humans, mostly children, in a smaller farmhouse. I don't remember if there were other cats around at the time, but this one ruled the roost.

At the same time, it was a real member of the family, and had some unique behaviors. It was entirely passive when manhandled by the kids in the family, to the point that it could be molded into a shape, and it would hold that shape. I remember a little sister walking around with an orange tabby fur collar around her neck, the two pairs of legs drooping down on either side of her face.

The cat had a favorite hangout, which reflected its wild inheritance. The main entrance to the farmhouse had an enclosed porch, compliments of my father's building penchant, and the porch had nice wide rafters above the entryway. The cat retreated there after it had enough rough play and would fall asleep draped over the rafters, just about eight feet up.

When sleeping was finished, the cat would sometimes wait for a kid to pass underneath, and drop down to a pair of shoulders and then to the floor. We knew what to expect, but when a big city aunt coming to visit got a cat on her shoulders, there was a surprise that caused a laundry malfunction, and the need for immediate application of strong medicine.

About this time, the Wiggins farm, which is about two miles southeast of the subject farmhouse, had a large Airedale mix dog, which had an unbreakable habit of hunting cats and killing them. The dog came down our road one day, and turned in the driveway. Mistake.

I remember seeing an orange flash coming down from the rafters and hitting that dog. I'd never seen any cat move that fast. Up on the dogs back, all four paws extended into the dogs shoulders, teeth buried in it's neck just in front of the shoulders. Exactly the way jungle cats kill their prey.

The dog screamed, and accelerated up the driveway to the barn, u-turned and came back down to the house. As he passed, the cat bailed out onto the lawn, and the dog went back up the road, crying. We never saw him again.

The cat was stoked, and no one went near him until he calmed down. But we knew who ran the joint. Moral, again: Don't mess with red cats, even if you are a bear.

William Dugan is former supervisor for the town of Ledyard