The Cats of Carrick

There in the weekly paper stood the advertisement, bold as brass. "We shall accept a limited number of strong, healthy cats," it said, "at 5 shillings each at my home, Bailieborough, on Monday next between 12 and 1."

It was signed with the good Irish name McNally, but the spinsters in the border town of Carrickmacross were not to be hoodwinked. Up & down the border they sent the rumor flying: "'tis the British want our cats. They'll eat them, and they're that hard up for a rag to put on their backs, they'll even skin them." From Carrick to Ballyshannon and back to Castleblayney the old maids nodded and locked up their pets. "Men are even stealing cats to sell to the British," said one woman to a TIME correspondent last week. "Do you know," said another, "there are only ten cats left in Carrickmacross."

Straight into the heart of the mystery plunged the newshawk. He telephoned James McNally, the best-known pig and cattle dealer in the border counties. "Certainly," said James, making a clean breast of the business, "I ran the advertisement. The cats are for veterinary research schools in London. But I get only strays. Sure, I know most of the cats in the district, and as for their being only ten left, that's nonsense. Why," he added indignantly, "I met seven in the main street only this morning and every one looked as happy as larry."

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