Town and Country

We live in the country. In the country, there are two kinds of cats. House cats, or as I think of them, town cats. Town cats, you actually acquire intentionally. Our town cat is Scrooge. We paid money for him. We, well ok, I wanted him. Went to a shelter. Sought him out. He is a magnificent, regal beast.

He will not eat people food. He looks at our food like it’s poison. He turns his nose up at it and clearly believes we are disgusting creatures who know no better than to eat that STUFF.

Then there are the “barn” cats. The country cats, we’ll call them. Country cats are not “acquired”. They just show up and never leave. They are not allowed in the house, because however cute they may be…I did NOT seek them out. Our country cats are named Pi ~ short for Piwacket, named by my father, and Uncle Puffy. Contrary to how it may look, Scrooge did not father Pi.

Scrooge is incapable of fathering anything. He was acquired, remember, acquired cats have regular vet visits and get neutered. I’m sure Scrooge also looks down his nose at Pi and Uncle Puffy for having balls, but thats neither here nor there. The point is, I must confess, Uncle Puffy and Pi do NOT get vet visits. They are not neutered. I feel strong armed into caring for them and refuse to treat them as though they were intentional. Despite the fact that I actually do acknowledge that they have value. I live in farm country, you see. The fact that I have never had a mouse in my home is a testament to their prowess. Because, TRUST ME, it is not a testament to Scrooge. Scrooge is old and far above silly pursuits like chasing mice. So, my gesture of appreciation to the country cats is this…rather than throw our leftovers away, I let the country cats have them.

I was thinking this morning as I cleaned out the fridge, our country cats are either very spoiled, or very abused. Depending on your viewpoint, I guess. I offered up made from scratch fettucine alfredo, some provolone cheese that had mold on the edge and taco meat. Pi is no dummy…he dug straight past the cheese and the taco meat and went for the alfredo, which I had indulgently warmed up for him.

Meanwhile, Marley tried to look like she wasn’t interested.

But, she and I both know if I had turned my back for even a second she would have chased the cat away and devoured every bite of the gooey cheesy deliciousness. Marley hates the country cats.

Bon Appetit, Pi.

I love you all!