I will dispense with my customary greeting, as I have 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. I have directed the Patch Translation Project, and even initiated friendly overtures with the tiresomely effusive No-Meg. My dedication to Patch residents has been repetitively documented.
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I was understandably shocked to discover that my traditional place of repose in the window of the heated pumphouse has been replaced by a massive potted Geranium maculatum.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 surface in the entire place and perform various horizontal sleeping actions thereupon. How can I fulfill my duties when my space has been overrun by vegetative matter?
Upon discovering such a rude replacement – without notice or consultation, I might add – I perused the surrounding environs for acceptable alternatives, and identified the seed trays on top of the heat mats in the pumphouse as an acceptable sleeping location. But I have now been locked out of the heated pumphouse. Locked out! Thus, the present crisis.
The two preceding events present a grotesque affront to my status at the Patch, so it is really rather embarrassing to note yet another failing on your part. It appears that my food bowl, formerly located inside the heated pumphouse, is now being placed outside…in the elements, on a cold metal rack. In the past, there were times that I was forced to bring the lowering level in my feed bowl to the attention of Feeders with incessant meowing, but this always resulted in my feed bowl contents being restored to the appropriate level. 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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