Poor old Arbuckle.

The most sure and most precautious chap that ever handled niggers.

He never went to sleep without spreadin' a box of tacks on the floor, and when it wasn't them it was crumpled newspapers.

I remember me well, bein' under the same roof at the time on Florida, when a big tomcat chased a cockroach into the papers.

And it was blim, blam, blim, six times an' twice over, with his two big horse-pistols, an' the house perforated like a cullender.
Likewise there was a dead tom-cat.