It Was About Cats

A few years ago we were in Montreal for a short visit. We were staying at a bed and breakfast,  the Auberge de La Fontaine. It was a beautiful old building, quite charming really. There was sort of a breakfast room on the ground level where guests would gather in the mornings. The breakfast fare was croissants, muesli, a selection of cheeses and a variety of American dry cereals. I noticed that one fellow put water rather than milk on his corn flakes. He was a tall man, lanky, with a slight stoop. His head was topped with bristly red hair and there were bright blue eyes peering from under bushy brows. There was a slightly hooked nose over the thin lips with a perpetual slight smile. He ambled across the floor with the gait of a farmer or outdoorsman and sat at a small table in the corner.

My curiosity about his eating habits led me to join him at his table. Just why would someone put water on their cornflakes? He welcomed my intrusion and introduced himself as Al Pennington of Morganton, NC. He said his wife was a late sleeper and he would enjoy the company. I said that my wife and I were visiting the city on our second honeymoon and Al said he and his wife had won a trip to the Canadian city in a contest sponsored by their local dairy co-op. After a bit  of talk about the weather, the city and such, I finally got around to asking him why he put water on his corn flakes.  It was quite simple he said. I got us two more black coffees and he began his story.

“As you might have guessed, I was raised on a farm. It was a rather small farm in western North Carolina. My daddy was farmer who also worked in a cotton mill to make ends meet. There were four of us in the family and he hardly made more than minimum wage. We all had our chores to do on the farm too. One of my jobs was to milk the cow in the morning. However, when I was about ten

years old I got the notion that milkin’ was girl’s work. I complained to Momma but she told me to “hush up” and to get down to the barn and not to be late for breakfast. I think I might’ve poked my lip out a little bit as I headed for the barn.” He sort of chuckled. “ I put new hay in Betsey’s food trough and set to work milkin’. I complained to  the milk cow too but all I got was a tap on the head as she swished her tail.

After a few minutes I heard something in the corner of the stall. It was a big yellow cat. It wasn’t our cat though. I had passed Thomas sleeping on the back porch steps on my way to the barn. The big cat stretched and opened his mouth. I shot a stream of milk across the stable into his mouth. I continued milking and not liking it very much. I thought I heard the cat again. Across from me in the corner was the yellow tom plus a gray tabby and a calico. They looked hungry.”

He took a sip of coffee from his cup and continued his story. “I was getting kind of anxious when more cats showed up. Some were hissing. I squirted more milk their way. Betsy was giving up her milk a little slower and my milk bucket was only half full. I guess I had been giving too much milk to

the cats. There were about twenty-five cats in the stable now. Betsy was getting nervous. I had only gotten a couple of more squirts of milk into the bucket when the cow kicked over the bucket. By the time I got back to the house I had only about a cup of milk left. My mother was really upset. I tried to explain about the cats, but she wouldn’t listen. She said, ‘From now on, you eat your cornflakes with water.’  After a few years they didn’t taste quite right with milk. So...That’s why you see a dairy farmer from North Carolina eating cornflakes with water.”

It’s been a few years since that incident but every time there is no milk in the fridge for my cornflakes, I think about that farmer.