Big Foot

When I leave for work it is dark. The porch light does not brighten the interior of the car. This morning I noticed the little gas door was open and of course you think the worse, then again, my brother burrowed the car and he might have put gas in it.
The fog is rolling in. I can hear the Dane girls rocking their big dog house as they step out. They are silent shadows in their pen. All three wag their tails, the white tips flashing. Cautious, I open the door and hear something stirring inside the car. Glancing, I see the window was left open about four inches. Just about then Big Foot, our seven-toed cat, jumped from the back seat, scrambled in to the front seat and did a burnout. In one leap he was out of the car.
Recovering, I sat in the car. How did he fit through there? There was a single paw print on the window to prove the feat.

You all can stop laughing now. I was scared out of my wits by Big Foot this morning.

our seven-toed cat.
our seven-toed cat.

Author: cynthia queen

Living on a small farm just three miles short of the West Virginia border I am kept extremely busy with writing, working part time, remodeling our rental mobile homes and running the farm. I lived most of my life on the New York border in the Tyoga County backwoods. Our family has known nothing but hardship and scraping by. I bought this farm with the intent of bringing my family to a better place. I'm hoping my writing will begin to supplement the income and make bringing the family here a reality.