Sylvester

Over in the eastern field sets the barn. There, barrels of grain and bales of hay are stored safely from the muggy rain that permeates Mississippi's salty coast. Bedding is spread out for the goats and hens of the field to rest at night, and there are stalls for the herding dog, Missy and the barn cat, Sylvester. Missy is long past her years of herding. Now old and stubborn, she stays on a leash until the night comes, where she is put into her pen for the night. Sylvester, while not as old as Missy, has been around about as long. They have known each other for years, and have formed a strange bond that could only be described as fraternal. Sylvester was always a cutious cat, bringing back peculiar trinkets from his journies. about 5 months ago, the cat went out on a journey once again, but when the sun began to set, he did not return to eat from his bowl. For 2 weeks after he remained absent. He was assume dead, and I felt sorry for the critter. Whatever got him within the woods couldn't have been anything pleasant. Missy seemed quiter. She was usually quiet in her old age but it seemed her spirits were further burdened by the loss of her companion. The most peculiar thing happened one night as I went about the usual routine of feeding. I poured grain for the goats, feed for the dog, grabbed the eggs, and was about to go on my way, when i heard a faint patter across the tin shelf overhead. There sat the cat, meowing, requesting for my attention. I was astonished to see it alive. I called him down, and looked him over to see his condition. He appeared alright, except for a tuft of fur missing from his hind quarters on his right side. He seemed scruffy, but save that, he was fine. The first oddity I noticed about 2 days after.