We pamper our dog and two cats. They eat better than I do some days.
It wasn’t quite that way on the farm where I grew up and where the cat population topped out at 17 at one point. They were working cats, never in the house. Their job was to control the pesky rodent tribes and they did it well.
Our best mouser was Bobbie who raced up and down like a demon on the three out of four legs she had been left with after a run in with the haymower. Come to think of it, a cat who sported all its parts including eyes and even ears and especially tails was a prize to behold.
In later years, my father seemed to go a bit soft on them and started hauling home huge bags of calf starter from the farm supply store for them. They never gave any milk and I never heard them moo but they seemed to thrive on the cross-species feed.
Vet services were also a little rough and ready in those days. One day Dad somehow gathered up all the cats (I don’t know how many but not likely 17 that day) inserted them into a burlap sack which he put in the trunk. He drove to the vet to get them their distemper shots. The vet came out to the trunk and needled each cat one by one right through the burlap sack. Seemed to work.
It did worry me though when it came time for my brothers and sisters and I to get our shots but we never had to experience the cats’ indignity. And I don’t know about my siblings, but I grew to kind of like the calf starter. Good with milk and brown sugar.
©2016 Jim Hagarty
