This cat wandered up to our place a couple years ago. I’m not sure he likes being an outside cat, but I’m not willing to take our relationship far enough to let him indoors. But he does have his “Throne” in the garage. He started using the backseat of my Gold Wing Motorcycle for his domicile. I now have him a bed that has been installed in place of just an old naugahyde seat. I’m not sure what is going to happen if I ever decide to use that motorcycle for it’s intended purpose again, like riding around the Hill Country. But I guess we’ll cross that bridge later.

Oliver serves several roles the place, but mostly he comes to my bedroom window and lays on the ledge and meows each morning until I get up to go feed him. He can’t see insise because I keep the shade down, but no matter how quitely I slip out of bed and make my way to the other end of the house he is always waiting as I open the door to go out to open his morning can of food. Not exactly my choice of breakfast, but he seems to love it.

But here’s where it gets strange. Back at Christmas we ordered a Greenberg Smoked Turkey from Tyler, Texas. We’ve been doing business with them since the days before credit cards payments were all that common. We would call up and tell them what we wanted size wise. On the appointed date the smoked turkey would arrive with a bill and we’d send them a check.

I consider it to be the best and easiest way to have turkey during the holidays. Always a prefectly smoked bird. This year we had a lot of leftover turkey so when we were was sick of eating it, I carefully cubed up the remainder and packaged it up for Oliver. I could just imagine what gratitude he would feel for me rather than just opening up a can of something that looks and smells worse than potted meat we’d eat back when I was a kid.

The several times I fed him the delicious smoked turkey, he simply looks at it and turned and walked away. I did everything possible to get him to eat it. I’ve poured bacon grease over it. I’ve mixed it in with his regular food. Nothing works. He isn’t a smoked turkey kind of guy.

This is a cat that eats small birds, feathers and all. He eats mice with hair and guts. He chews on lizards and snakes and leaves the carcasses on the back doorstep, but he won’t eat the very best smoked turkey that money can buy.

Oh well I’ll know next Christmas to buy a smaller Greenberg Turkey, so I won’t have any leftovers.