We used to get all the cats in the house when Mom was gone to the store and Dad was working. We had heard that, if you thrashed a cat with a broom, it would poopie money. After we enticed all the cats to come into the house, we would take the broom handles out of the windows - where they were holding them open - so the cats couldn't get out and we could use the broom handles for thrashing.
Boy, did we have a time chasing those cats! They would jump over the beds and go behind or under them; behind the wardrobe; the old pump organ or anywhere they could escape from us. With so many children chasing them, it was inevitable that we would catch them. Then, the thrashing would begin. They were most scared of the broom.
I don't know how many piles of poopie we had to search through, and clean up, but we never found any money. Once, Clint was bitten by a terrified cat, but the rest of us escaped with a few scratches. It looks like we would have learned our lesson the first time, but we just kept on trying every time we got a chance.
We always let the cats out before Mom got back, but the house was a mess. She knew we had been thrashing the cats again and we would all have to line up for a whipping. It didn't stop us, though. Evidently, it didn't do the cats any harm because the females always bore a new litter every spring and that gave us more to thrash. Those poor cats would hiss and arch their backs with their tails sticking straight up and claw at a broom every time they saw one. They really meant business, but we didn't know it.