Cats, not dogs, were man's best friend on the docks. (The Oregonian)

Scientists have tried to warn us.

Domestic cats in the U.S., The New York Times famously reported in 2013, kill billions of birds, chipmunks and other small mammals every year.

These "estimated kill rates," the newspaper wrote after digesting a report from the Smithsonian Conservation Biology Institute and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, "position the domestic cat as one of the single greatest human-linked threats to wildlife in the nation."

The scientific report alarmed cat lovers across the country, who worried it heralded the end of Americans' obsession with YouTube videos showing cats suavely checking themselves out in the mirror, flushing the toilet or pulling pranks on Fido. "This is all over my news feed on Facebook," wrote one feline fan. "I can't think of another topic in recent history that has garnered as much interest among my acquaintances."

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The solution pet experts offered to stop cats from laying waste to America's remaining wilds: keep them indoors.

But is this really the best answer for felines? Lives lived staring longingly out the window?

Back in the days when America made -- rather than just consumed -- things, this wasn't an issue. Cats worked for a living.

At least in port towns they did.

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The Oregonian

In 1917, when Portland had a bustling port that employed thousands of workers, Oregonian reporter Ben Hur Lampman profiled the Rose City's deputized waterfront cats. These cute furballs were beloved for their bloody proclivities.

"Between that avid old freebooter, the wharf-rat, and vast stores of grain and provisions, stand the tail-lashing, unterrified tabbies and tommies," Lampman wrote. "Without fame, save in the annals of the waterfront, cats have placed to their credit uncounted thousands of dollars in grain alone..."

This was not hyperbole, docks workers insisted.

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The Oregonian

"If it wasn't for cats, the wharf-rats would take the Portland waterfront," a port watchman told Lampman. "That's why they keep them, and gladly, on every dock in this harbor."

They were kept gladly, but not just for saving Oregon's grain sacks. Those wharf-rats could be unnerving. The vermin were "upwards of two pounds" each, the dock workers declared, and with "tushes like a terrier." And they had serious fight in them, especially when cornered. Burly dock workers loading wheat were likely to stop in their tracks at the sight of one of those beasts.

They'd put the cats to work then -- and watch in admiration. "The cats understood the game, every last blasted one of them, and knew just as well as us that the rats would be hiding in the last tier [bulkhead]," offered the watchman. "When the break came there was always some fancy rat-killing."

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The Oregonian

Lampman judged there to be about 100 cats "employed" at the docks at the time. They'd report to work around dawn every morning thanks to dozens of saucers of milk put out for them.

But even in 1917, cat appreciation had already peaked on Portland's waterfront. It seemed that, despite what scientists today say about cats' killing prowess, modern comforts were starting to make early 20th-century tabbies too easily satisfied.

"Good cats is scarce," said a port veteran. "Most any of them will tackle a rat and do him up, but they ain't like them [cats] we used to have years ago. ... Usually a cat has the habit of grabbing a rat and then going away to growl over it. But them cats [years ago] would grab a rat, crunch it, and spring for another."

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Portland dock workers in 1905 await the arrival of cargo. (Oregonian)

-- Douglas Perry