January 2
Purple Hayes didn’t live in the drafty barn where bare light bulbs swung, but in a cozy farmhouse overlooking sunny pastures. Hayes considered himself Farmer Moon’s assistant, and marched daily alongside the dairyman’s rubber boots as the farmer made his rounds.
Every sunrise, sleepy Holsteins shuffled into the stainless steel milking parlor to be milked. Barn cats Brodie, Marigold, Raspberry and Pansy would be there—they knew every perching place on the warm overhead pipes that carried milk to the bulk tank room. Once the milking was done, Hayes and Farmer Moon would slog past the reedy duck pond down to the calf barn. In January, this pond was solid green ice, making the quacking mergansers wander through frozen cattails.
Midday was naptime in the farmhouse’s bay window, where Hayes had his own checkered pillow placed strategically between potted African violets. Such coddling might have been unhealthy if Hayes had not maintained a “strict” exercise regime. This included attacking the postman on the farmhouse’s front porch steps.
But being “In The Way” was Hayes’ specialty. He put up with kicks, swats, and exasperated human cursing because it all meant attention—-and Hayes relished attention. He dashed to greet any farmhouse visitor who then had to shove the oversized tomcat along like a cement bag in order to reach the sofa or kitchen chairs.
“Once they sit, then that’s it!” Hayes reveled in his lap appropriation skills which not even the most aggressive squirming or standing dump-offs could terminate. He stuck on like a barnacle.
Today had been particularly satisfying—Hayes had nearly killed the mailman on the ice-treacherous porch steps.
“Should’ve seen him!” he chortled exuberantly to Zoe, the striped, white-bibbed feline neighbor who lived across the street. “He bounced down the stairs and pitched a pile of letters smack into the slush!”
Zoe, a no-nonsense type, thumped her tail irritably against the red porch floorboards where she and Hayes were sitting.
“Quit puffing up! Are you bragging, or is that too many breakfasts?” she prodded his paunch with an extended claw.
“Ouch! As if you didn’t like crunching some chewies yourself.” Hayes turned injured eyes at her and licked his wide belly. “How about that weird plastic bag thing you’ve got going?”
She bristled. “At least I don’t go making a fool of myself around humans the way you do!”
The mention of humans reminded Hayes it was getting close to dinnertime. Looking down Debny Road, he saw Marigold and Brodie waiting outside the milking parlor for their food. Sunset clouds, streaked peach and rose, tinted Hayes’ coat the mauve color that had inspired his name. When chapped branches clattered against the eaves of Zoe’s two-story house, Hayes looked skyward, giving Zoe a chance to secretly admire his purple pelt.
“Zoey,” Hayes said suddenly, “have you heard the latest Carrier? Any news about Pansy?”
I’m grateful for your support in making Shenango Cat stories possible. Any donation is appreciated!
BELOW ARE SOME REWARDS I CAN OFFER FOR YOUR GENEROSITY.
$5.00 – Your pet will be featured on this site as an official resident of Shenango.
$10.00 – You will receive an ORIGINAL ART CARD signed by me. Proceed to the Contact section to send me your contact details.
Shenango Cats 