The editor of the Albany Register having been disturbed by assemblage of cats under his window thus gives vent to his indignation:
But those cats, in our opinion, are in danger and we warn all who have any interest in them either present or in expectancy, to look after them. We have been constrained to watch for hours when we ought to have been asleep. We have heard the clock strike one, two, three at intervals in their performances and have been tempted to the use of terms not to be found in any religious work, or any of the standard sermons of the day. We have dropped brickbats among them, wasted more wood upon them than we are able to spare, have taken cold by exposure to the night air, becoming hoarse by yelling “scat.” We have exhausted our loose pieces of brick, the smallest sticks of our wood pile and our patience. In view of these acts we submit that there is nothing left for us but to move ourself, or to move those cats, and we shall not move. We have prepared a double barreled gun, a full supply of bird shot, with the necessary quantity of powder and percussion caps, and in our opinion somebody’s cats will go home moonlight night’s complaining of feeling unwell. If they do, we must be held harmless.
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