Tasty

This is based on a true event. My friend from out of state told me about it over the phone recently, but I couldn’t tell it exactly as she did. The conversation had to be made up of course, as I wasn’t there to record everything, although that might have been entertaining! Anyway, enjoy.

Lindsay looked up from her spot on the ground where she was pulling weeds. She saw Paul, a man that she knew primarily from the waves they exchanged whenever one passed the other’s house. He lived four houses down on the same dirt road. She shielded her face from the sun with her hand as she stood and asked him to repeat whatever he’d just said.

“I said I have goat milk. I can’t legally sell it, but do you reckon your cats would want it? I don’t like to just toss it out.”

“Oh, well, sure. My friend has given the cats goat milk before, and they lapped it right up.”

Paul turned back and walked a few steps to his truck and opened the door. He gave her a plastic gallon, partially filled with milk. “Here you go. No need to return the jug.”

“Thank you. I’ll give it to them now. I wanted a break anyway.”

Paul nodded and went again to his truck. He gave Lindsay a wave before he drove away.

Lindsay went to the barn and called the cats. She poured out some of the milk into one of the dishes. They circled around her feet in anticipation, mewing excitedly. They sniffed at the milk and drew back in surprise. They lowered their heads again as if to make sure, took a tiny taste, and then turned their heads away as if in disgust. With that, the cats sauntered off, tails high, flaunting their inherent arrogance. They were not interested, and they wanted Lindsay to know it.

A few days later, Lindsay was drying her hands at the sink when she looked out the window and saw Paul pull into her driveway. She answered the door reluctantly when he knocked; she didn’t want to tell him that the cats refused to drink the milk.

“Hi, there,” said Paul. “Want some more of that milk?”

“Paul, I’m so sorry. It’s the strangest thing. My cats didn’t drink your milk. In fact, they absolutely refused.”

“What’s that?” Paul’s face was a mix of confusion and a bit of anger or annoyance. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that milk. You said they drank goat milk before? Your friend gave you some before?”

“Yes, I don’t understand it.”

“Huh. So, my goat milk ain’t good enough.” Paul said.

“Well, cats can be picky,” said Lindsay apologetically.

“I wonder. Hmm. That is strange. Well, I suppose…” His voice trailed off and then he said, “Reckon I can just ask Carson up the road a ways. S’pose he has cats?”

Lindsey shrugged. “Probably. He’s got a barn. Most of us around here have cats whether we want them or not.”

Paul smiled at her comment and said, “S’pose you might be right about that. I don’t much like the cats that are hanging around my place. At least they’ll drink the goat milk. They ain’t picky. Problem is, I have too much of it.”

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you. My cats don’t know anything about gratitude. Typical cats, I guess,” Lindsay said, laughing at her own remark.

Paul gave his usual nod and went back to his truck. He backed out of the driveway and gave his customary wave to Lindsay.

As she closed the door and started thinking. Then she texted Janie.

Hey, random question

A few minutes later, Lindsay heard her phone ping. She looked down and saw Janie’s reply.

????

So, U gave our cats goat milk several times and they loved it. A neighbor gave us some and the cats refused it. Any idea???

This earned a smiley emoji followed by one word:

Marshmallows

This was such a baffling message that Lindsay decided to stop texting. She called Janie and said, “What in the world?”

Janie laughed and said, “Well, you see, I train my goats. And a goat doesn’t do something just because you tell it to. You have it to give some sort of incentive. And I have found that marshmallows work remarkably well.”

“Hold on,” said Lindsay. “You give your goats marshmallows? Are you serious right now?”

“I’m serious. They love marshmallows. And whatever a goat eats affects the milk, so…”

“So you gave my cats marshmallow milk?” laughed Lindsay.

“In a sense, yes.”

“Well, that explains why they didn’t want this other stuff! I’m fairly certain my neighbor doesn’t give his goats marshmallows. They probably just graze on sage and whatever they find. Anyway, thanks for clearing up this mystery.”

“Sure! Hey, I have to go,” said Janie. “Talk later?”

“Sounds good. Bye!”

Later that afternoon, Lindsay put some sugar cookies on a plate and covered them with foil. Then she drove to Paul’s house and told him what she’d learned.

“Well,” said Paul, a bit miffed after he had listened to the explanation. “I ain’t buying marshmallows for my goats. That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard, no offense to your friend. Thing is, now your cats are downright spoiled. They think goat milk is supposed to taste like that! Hmph. Marshmallows. Never would have guessed that.”

Lindsay didn’t know how to respond in a way that would make Paul feel any better. The whole thing was so silly. Finally, she answered, (though it felt almost ridiculous to say it), “I’m sorry my cats are spoiled.” It was the only thing that she could think of to say.

Paul looked down at the table and said, “Ah, well, it ain’t your fault. And it’s okay. Turns out, Carson’s cats like my goat milk. Carson's cats drank it right up. They’re just fine drinkin’ regular goat milk, not milk that’s been all sugared up with marshmallows. Carson’s cats ain’t spoiled.”

He finished his tirade, which had started quietly but had grown in volume and intensity as it went along. He looked up and met Lindsay’s eyes. There was the briefest moment of silence before suddenly something changed in Paul’s eyes, as if he’d realized just how absurd his rant had been. He gave an involuntary chuckle, and his hand flew to his mouth as if to cover his laugh. It was impossible for Lindsay to watch without also laughing. Within seconds, the sound of their laughter filled the room.