Barn cats

Like lots of farms, we have cats. We’ve had cats as long as I can remember. We’ve never acquired a cat on purpose, but we always feed whatever cats show up.

They’re definitely useful. They live at the barn and eat mice. I assume they scare away other critters, too.

For the last year we’ve had a really friendly cat come around. (Either that or he’s two cats. I can’t tell them apart.) My boys named him (or them, they’re even worse at it than I am) Jack.

We feed him, they pet him, and my youngest really likes him, even when Jack’s accidentally knocking him over with affection.

Last week I took the boys out to eat and brought a burrito home for Kris. When we were getting out of the car, my son forgot to shut the car door. (I asked him if he did it, and he said yes. Sadly, he was dead wrong.) I was planning on going back out to get Kris’ burrito and the leftovers, but instead I started giving them a bath.

Kris walked in and looked sad. I said, “What’s wrong?” He said, “I came home to find the cat eating my burrito.”

That’s right. The cat had gone into the car, opened the bag, chewed open the tinfoil, and ate half his burrito.

Kris had put the pitiful remains on the counter. Kris said he couldn’t blame the cat – burritos are great. Jack hadn’t touched the boys’ leftovers though (he apparently prefers pork to chicken) so Kris ate theirs.

He moved to throw the half-eaten burrito in the trash. I said, “Wait – why don’t you give it to the cat?”

He said, “I sort of wanted to punish him.” But he got a bowl and set it outside.

Jack couldn’t even eat any of it – he was so full.

I’m pretty sure the mice ran rampant in the barn that night.