Bending the Rules

I was blessed with a childhood on a working farm and ranch. Wide open spaces, places to explore... discover... traverse and understand.

We had fields of corn, alfalfa, and soybeans... pastures teaming with cattle and pens filled with pigs. There were usually two dogs in rotation and loads of cats.  Most people refer to them as feral cats but I had a knack for taming them. A litter of kittens would be born in some remote location... out-building, barn, an old tractor tire... and by the time the mama cat would wean them and teach them to mouse they'd be a bit wild before they ventured around the humans, then hissing and dashing off.  I usually had them begging for a good scratching before long, and by that point the cats would all be hanging around the back steps of our house or sunning themselves on our huge lawn.

That drove my dad nuts, cats underfoot whenever he left the house! Better that though, than to violate his rule.  (He didn't have or enforce many rules but this one was firm...) No Animals in the House. 

With acres of land and plenty of barns and sheds, Dad said there was no reason to have animals in the house.  The house was for humans. Barns were for animals.  He assured us, even if it was cold that the dogs and cats had sense to lay with the cattle in the barn.  It's the natural way.

Of course, every kid wants to test the rules... and whenever I tried to smuggle a kitty inside for extra cuddling it only lasted until I heard his booming voice, "Get that cat out of the house! They don't belong inside!"

Now, I had the sort of childhood that instilled respect for my parents.  They never spanked and rarely punished us... but we also knew better than to test them.  While I was never spanked (except once when he was 'pretending/threatening' to spank me - which was more horseplay than anything else) ... still, I was certain that form of punishment wasn't off the table if I did something to warrant it!

Back to the respect... by the time I heard his booming command, I had taken enough satisfaction in the sneak that I had the cat back outside within two minutes.  Usually because the cat wasn't nearly as cooperative as I had hoped at the start of the endeavor!

Dad relented enough in cold weather to grudgingly tolerate cats in the attached garage when it was freezing... but then I earned the task of making sure any messes were swiftly cleaned up. Tight ship and all.

Even so, on bitter-cold nights, Dad would come in from chores - his coveralls filthy with mud and manure and wet from snow.  His first stop was the garage, warm enough to thaw out and slip out of his outerwear without bringing the stink and mess in the house.

As a little girl, I could hear the outside door slam and knew Dad was 'almost home'.  Usually, I would crack the door and have a little chat.  As I got older, I would work on homework at the kitchen table and I could overhear him cussing at the cats for making a mess, and listen to him hiss for them to get out!

With all those firm rules in place, I knew my dad was no-nonsense. This was his house, his rules - and the cats didn't rank high enough to pester him at the end of his work day. Some days I pitied the poor cats for their instincts to keep warm - ignorant that they would face his wrath!

Until one day, in my teenage years when I heard Dad come into the garage and other sounds indicating  that he was sitting on the steps to pull off his filthy boots.  I heard his voice lower than usual and went to the door to listen... imagine my shock to hear his sweet voice saying, "Ah yes, you're a nice kitty aren't you? Yes. Are you staying warm?"

SHOCKED! After all those years my impression of Dad did an about-face in a split second!

I'm not saying he was this stern, always-tough guy. He was just a dad who knew it was important to command and earn respect from his children.  He made sure his kids knew what he expected, but also that rules could bend.