BACK YARD COPS

A cat may look at a king, but even though thus privileged, it is, apparently no cat's prerogative to serenade a professor. The inhabitants of Gibson Terrace, troubled by such nocturnal concerts, told the Harvard Housing Commission, and the Commission told the Animal Rescue League. The Animal Rescue League referred the Commission to the Cambridge police, and the police, on the spur of the moment, couldn't think of anybody to whom they could pass the buck, so they had to admit that they were licked. The result is that our worthy guardians of law and order are at present racking their individual and collective cerebra in an attempt to evolve suitable tactics for the forthcoming cat campaign.

With true official taciturnity, the high command of the force has refused to divulge the slightest detail of the plan of attack to be followed. There is a rumor, however, from reliable sources, to the effect that a number of the most robust and courageous policemen are to be organized as a "bean blower squad." Whether this unit will take up an in trenched position that will command the Gibson Terrace sector, or whether it will depend on speed and mobility for defense, and patrol the region, is as yet a matter of conjecture. One thing, however, is certain; the cats of Cambridge are about to become as famous for their elusiveness as the cats of Cheshire for their grins.