He will even turn his nose up at the deli turkey that I give him as a treat. Maybe he gets caviar or roast duck at some house down the road.

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Once in a while after these weekend excursions, he’ll just walk in the back door, go through the house and then head for the front door, where he meows to go out again. It is like he’s telling me, “OK, I came home just to show you that I’m alive and well. Now I’m gone again.”

The longest my cat has ever been gone is four days, and then I was sure that the coyotes had gotten him (they love cats the way humans love chocolate). But just when I had all but given up hope, there was his little nose pressed against the back-door glass.

I’ve given him up for lost several other times, but he has always returned. He’s just a wandering cat, and that’s OK with me. In fact, he kind of reminds me of me. We both are independent and enjoy life. The difference is that I don’t stay out all weekend.

That old cat does earn his keep when he is home. There’s not a mouse, mole or vole to be found around the house or the barn.

Unlike my last cat, who was also a carouser, he doesn’t bring dead animals to the doorstep, although I did almost step on some strange-looking intestines on the front porch a couple months back.

So, as long as he takes care of his work at home, I have no problem with his carousing. It’s a big world out there, and if he wants to explore it, well, that’s his business.