Kitties should not have to endure such elements. After slogging through swamps in the coastal plains of North Carolina, I approached the Piedmont Region thinking I would find warmer weather. So wrong. My fur has thickened nicely since I left my New York abode. Unfortunately a thick coat hides my ribs. Few strangers pity me, thinking I’m nothing but a fat cat. When I hit Florida I’m going to shed like a bad dust rag.
My last good meal was the chickens in the barn. I attempted to get some good East Carolina barbeque when I showed up at a so out-of-the-season but early Super Bowl pig pickin’ party. The smells of the pig roasting on a grill attracted several felines. None of us were invited and were kept at bay by an overly zealous Chihuahua. I was ready to take the mutt on until a brick was tossed my way. I scampered across the yard with a biscuit in mouth. My raiding skills are becoming keener, yet I keep getting leaner.
The mountains of Appalachia are between me and my old home in Tennessee. Mixed feeling about returning to the farm where I was born. I seriously doubt if Mom is around after all these years. Barn cats have tough lives. Too many barn cats must be disposed. The lucky ones end up at the shelters. The not so lucky end up as pig food. I was lucky. It will be nice to see the Tennessee relatives.
I got to thinking about Phoenix, my homie, and the Old Man back in New York. I’ve been on the road for a month. Seems like it has been years that I learned how to jump trains with the yard cats south of Albany. I’ve many more miles to go, with places to see and cats to visit. Been invited to Kansas to see a ball of string. It’s tempting to go see this wonder. Maybe get a couple of souvenirs to send back home to Phoenix. Hope she doesn’t forget me.
Tennessee, here I come.