There's something about a cat on the farm. Something wild yet tame. Something sweet and cuddly yet fierce. But then you meet our cats. :P They're just big love bugs who want 100% of your attention all the time, but it has to be on their terms. They could be rolling around on the gravel begging for a belly rub, but as soon as you stoop to give them what they ask, they jump away and start rolling around again. Please explain this to me...
And then there's good 'ol Tony. He's probably old enough in cat years to be considered an elderly, discerning sage. He may look like an overweight geezer, but you lift him up and he's all fur - thick, silky fur. I say we should sheer the dude and spin it; Dad says that when Tony finally purrs his last, we stuff him. Yeah, this cat is the stuff of legends. Everyone in the area knows who Tony is. He's orange. He's big. He's cool. He's awesome. He's half blind in one eye yet gets around like he has better than 20/20 vision. He's even decided to help with milking. Up onto the stanchion jumps Mr. Swagger, and he sits. Sometimes he'll meow as if to say, 'Excuse me, you're supposed to give me attention.' Other times he'll just sit there and rub his head against my arm and purr. If he's lucky, he gets first dibs on the milk stripping bowl. It all depends on who's milking. ;)
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