Atticus does not like messing with the cattle.
I’m not surprised, since he’s a cat, but he throws such a fit when we leave him behind that he acts like he’s going to commit kit-icide. Or, at the very least, homicide when we get back to the house–his super hero name is, after all, Ninja Kitty.
If it ever comes to that, I am certain it will be a slow and painful death, based on the way he uses his powers of evil on mice, lizards and all other now-tailess creatures that live near our house.
To demonstrate his dislike of all things bovine, he commenced to farting right after we began our trek to the back pasture.
This may have been due to nerves, but it is more likely that fact that Chap fed him Cheetos from Subway. The cat really loves Cheetos.
But hey, we all love Cheetos. Second only to bacon, it is the food of the Gods. There’s nothing better than the lingering effects of orange Doodle Dust and the salty sweet smell. But the sad fact is the puffy perfect little treats don’t smell nearly as yummy when the residuals are poofing outthe back end of a kitten, no matter how cute that kitten is. The only consolation is, that before he unloaded each Cheeto bomb, he would climb over on Chap’s lap and let’r rip. Is this a male bonding thing?
I worried about kitty’s reaction to the cattle, since his favorite prey at the house is the big dog next door (who is terrified of the little cat) and the big honking herd of white-tailed deer that meander around the back porch.
I could just see the big Angus bull flinging puss-boy’s orange and white kitty butt over the fence.
It was a moot point, however, as the mere sound of the bawling cattle sent him into fits of Cheeto farts, and caused him to streak under the bunk bed in the ranch house, yowling and growling until Chap lured him out and back into the truck with, what else? Cheetos . . .