I will once again dispense with my customary greeting, as I have yet another a matter of great import to bring to your attention.
There is a crisis at the Patch.
Through the long winter months, I have tended to the needs of the Patch. With service of the highest order comes the assumption that my very minimal needs for food and shelter will be met by the Feeder. Thus, I was understandably shocked to discover that my traditional place of repose on a cushion in the window of the heated pumphouse has been replaced by a massive potted Geranium maculatum. The conditions of farmstead cat employment stipulate that my primary duty is to locate the most comfortable surfaces and perform various horizontal sleeping actions thereupon. How can I fulfill my duties when my space has been overrun by vegetative matter?
Given this grotesque affront to my status at the Patch, I am sad to say that I must draw your attention to yet another embarrassing failing on your part. In the past, there were times that I was forced to bring my empty feed bowl to the attention of Feeders with incessant meowing, but this always resulted in the provision of food. Now, my cries seem to be falling on deaf ears, and I hear unhelpful comments like, “That’s all for now, Henry,” and “You have reached an unhealthy size, Henry.”
It falls to me, a cat of forthrightness, to call the feeding situation what it is – rationing. I did not think such inconsiderate treatment was possible at the Patch, and this has forced me to take drastic action.
Your farmstead has been unionized. As I lack a beak and a vent, the chickens approved a one-time exception to their membership rules, and I now serve as the Provisional Feline Enforcement Division of the Organized Layer Federation (PFED of the OLF).
Power to the Pullets. And Cats.
In retribution,
Henry
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