The Fur West
by
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“Pa, I’m going to leave home. I’m going out on my own.”
“I always knew you would. You’re fixing on being a cat herder, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Pa, I am going to make a name for myself.” I puffed out my chest.
He looked at me. “I know you will. You’ll do Lydia and me proud. You’ll redeem my reputation. Won’t you, son?”
In my self-importance, I had forgotten his humiliation at the hands of Mary, his old friend Clem, and that Frenchman La Rare. I looked closely at Pa. Dear Lord, could a man truly age that quickly?
“I’ll do my best, Pa.” I turned to walk away.
“Hold on, Chris, hold on. You’ll be signing up tomorrow and I have a few words of advice for you.”
“Oh Father, that’s not really necessary.” I turned back to face him.
“I don’t mind, Chris. Here goes.”
I listened. He was my father.
He continued, “Always treat women with courtesy and respect.
“Stick with your trail friends.
“Don’t question your bosses and don’t complain.
“Don’t eat mushrooms.
“Keep your vertebrae in alignment.
“Stick to your task until it’s done and do it well.
“Keep your eyes open for good truffle land.
“You can’t shoot worth a lick. Carry big pistols so people will think you can.
“Be kind to all cats. One of them kept you alive when you were born.
“When you get paid at the end of the trail, don’t spend all your wages in a saloon. Be sure to invest in a properly diversified portfolio.
“Lutefisk is healthy food. Some don’t cotton to it because it offends the senses of: smell, sight, touch, and taste. Hmm, best stick to gooseflesh. You were raised on it.”
“Father, I hear mother calling me.” He was my father, but when would this end?
He continued, “Why Chris, she’s visiting at the McComb’s farm over a mile away. You’re imagining things. Where was I? Oh yes.
“Never play in a friendly game of poker.
“Make sure your cats always have enough to eat.
“Stay away from Norwegians.
“Keep your powder dry.”
“Father, I’ll be wearing six-shooters. We don’t carry powder pouches anymore.”
“That’s so, that’s so. Well, listen anyway to the wisdom of an old-timer.”
“There’s more?”
“Yes, there is.”
I sat down on a tree stump. I used to string a hammock from this tree. My goodness, I slept well here. Sure could have used a hammock just then.
“Chris, Chris, Chris! Remember you can make jerky out of anything.
“And last of all, don’t sign up for college correspondence courses. The mail will never catch up with you on the trail.”
I stood up and grasped his hand. “Well, Pa, time to get my gear together. You took me in and raised me as your son. I’ll always be right grateful to you. I’ll make you proud. I’ll be the greatest catpuncher ever.”
He gave me a $100 bill. How could he afford that after what the war did to the family’s fortune? My protest and my thanks choked in my throat. So, I gave him a long, hard hug and left silently.
I took a saddle from the barn and 60 pounds of Sprouts jerky from the pantry. I gathered my library: The Complete Works of Poe, a Swedish-English dictionary, My 200 Favorite Swear Words, by Haakon IV, King of Norway, The Cattleman’s Guide to Speculating in the Truffle Market, and Catapults and Other Underused Inventions.
Next stop was Bert the friendly gunsmith. I walked in his store just after a stranger. The stran
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About the Book
In the Fur West, Chris Gashud rises from cat-raised orphan to become the leader of the first cat-herding drive in the Old West. During the early years, the multitudinous cats ford the mighty Mississippi, cause towns to burn, and drive people insane with their loud mating.
In between ambushes by Norwegian and Mexican bandits, Chris falls in love with Marie, survivor of the massacre of French tennis-resort builders. Ten years later, a tough-and-lean herd of six-million cats takes on rat-infested San Francisco in a rousing climactic battle.
This hilarious novel abounds with all the best elements the modern discerning reader expects from cat-drive yarns: fur balls, sushi, ear plugs, catapults, literary festivals, tornadoes, catnip withdrawal, the Texas-Tea Posse, and Big Foot.
THE FUR WEST
“Reading The Fur West makes me glad that I grew up to be a cat-hating, dog loving son of a gun. Paul De Lancey has taken some serious liberties with the history of The Old West, and isn’t that the way it should be?”
– Gordon Kirkland, Author, Syndicated Humor Columnist & Entertainer
“Of all the Western novels that litter the landscape, only The Fur West truly evokes the majesty, heartbreak and triumph associated with driving thousands of cats across the hostile landscape of the Old West. Paul De Lancey’s opus is a literary and felisological triumph.”
– Mark A. Clements, award-winning author of The Land of Nod
“Step aside, McMurtry. Only Paul De Lancey could dream up such a hair-raising tale as The Fur West or so boldly challenge established American history.”
– Ken Kuhlken, author of Tom Hickey mysteries.
“Whenever I''m at a writing conference and I hear peals of late night laughter, I know that Paul De Lancey is reading one of his pieces. Paul''s original voice resonates with listeners and readers. Once you read him, be prepared to join the mirthful chorus.”
– Alan Russell, award-winning author of Multiple Wounds
About the Author
Paul De Lancey’s first novel, We’re French and You’re Not, won acclaim from award-winning novelists. He is also the author of hilarious articles and somewhat drier ones in Economics.
The humorist is a direct descendant of the great French Emperor Napoleon. Actually, that explains a lot of things. Mr. De Lancey makes his home, with his wonderful family, in Poway, California. He divides his time between being awake and asleep.
Paul, known to his friends as Paul, hopes to become a literary giant without having to die for the title.