Reasons why you shouldn't go barefoot into the barn, No.435.
I only had to nip out to the freezer to get something for my tea. I couldn't find either socks or slippers and there was no way I was going to put my bare feet in a pair of wellies that get more unpleasant with each passing day.
As I was about to open the freezer door, I felt something moist, squishy and a bit furry under my toes. Looking down, I felt at least some of my appetite drain away.
"Oh triffick, a headless rabbit."
Frida, now top cat on the "farm" since Trevor handed in his dinner pail, likes to leave something hanging around for a snack to fill the gaps between the four square meals she has a day. Still, mustn't grumble.
With the possible exception of Mrs Pig Farmer and Molly the sow, she's the hardest working member of the household and mice are a rare sight around the place while rabbits have to keep their heads down or face the consequences.
Which isn't bad for a little feral cat who turned up one night a couple of years ago, bedding down next to a totally unconcerned old Kim in the pig shed before deciding she was going to live in the barn.
She steers clear of the dogs - who wouldn't? - and rarely ventures into the house, finding it pretty much impossible to settle when she does. But she seems to like my company and, while most farmers/crofters have a dog that follows them around the fields, I have a cat.
There are times when I think I can't do anything right.