If you were expecting a Norman Rockwellesque image of a turkey being carved, forget it. In my family the turkey tradition was all about a bad cat in the kitchen sink. No matter how you tried to stop her, every year Tara managed to get at the turkey while it was thawing. And every year there was a nice gouge in the back of the turkey like some sort of wound. Yum, raw, cold turkey.
The dinner guests had no idea, and what they didn’t know, didn’t hurt them. Plus Tara was a great cat. She lived nearly 20 years. This was back in the days when coyotes were unheard of on Cape Cod. She loved being outside and patrolled the neighborhood. Most every morning, except in the coldest months, she left a treat for us on the walk. No mouse was ever found in the house, nothing messed with the garden and the squirrels knew their place. Tara earned that hunk of turkey. Happy Thanksgiving!
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