Rock Star

Like a big-name celebrity, I have my entourage.  I go nowhere alone.  It's the next best thing to a parade.  The numbers drop when the cats are napping, but Bessie Anne is a constant.  Indoors or out, she is by my side.  It's useless trying to sneak a little privacy in the bathroom.  Closing the door is no good, what with the scratching and calling.  The cats consider the bathroom to be communal potty time whenever I go in there.  They go to their respective litter boxes and we all go together while Bess keeps watch in the doorway.  There is always the prospect of a treat in the kitchen, so there's no chance of being alone there.  Bessie Anne will wake from a deep sleep to wander in to see what's cookin'.  We all troop down the hall at night to go to sleep in what I used to think of as my bed.

It's no different in the goat pen.  In the morning, the girls cluster about until I'm finished in the barn and then we all go up the hill together.  I'd say I feel like the Pied Piper, but the girls push and shove to take the lead.  In the evening, they meet me at the gate and we trek down the well-worn path.

Yep, in my house, I'm a rock star.