Gibbs is our oldest outdoor cat.
A rescue of sorts from another farm.
She has been a momma twice -- before she was fixed.
Poppy, her daughter, is the only kitten we kept from her litters.
Poppy is a chip off the old block -- and is taking despot lessons
from her momma in the event
Gibbs abdicates or is overthrown during a kitty coup.
Gibbs tolerates me, only because I hold the kibble bag.
As for the rest of the outdoor cats, she rules them with an iron fist, I mean paw.
That includes not only Poppy, but Howie and Tuki.
She and Jack were arch enemies before Jack decided to
be an indoor cat.
Jack figured out a way to escape Gibbs' tyranny
by playing upon my sympathies.
The rest must tolerate Gibbs' dictator-ish tendencies
until they either expatriate their way into the house, (not gonna happen,)
Being the leader is a lonely and thankless job.
But someone's got to keep the proletariat in line.
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