We had a real nasty outhouse, and it was right down beside the forest. (not too surprising, as the house was in a little clearing in a REALLY BIG forest.) In the fall. after things froze up, but no snow yet, my dad would pull on a pair of wool socks for a midnight trip to the outhouse. No boots---just the wool socks to keep the frost off his bare feet. No clothes---Hell we were miles from our nearest neighbour---who would see him??? We always had 2 or 3 cats, one that lived in the house and a couple of "outside cats" that lived in the stable with Uncle Charlies horses. ---Anyways---you gotta picture it---Dark, moonless night, The old man heads down to the outhouse in his bare arse and sock feet, and there in the middle of the path is one of the cats. No way old dad is going to step off the path to go around a cat---so he kicks it. SURPRISE!!! ITS NOT A CAT!!! Its a porcupine. You could have heard the hollering and cursing from 5 miles away. I remember mom and I getting out of bed and dad setting by the end of the woodstove in the kitchen, with the gas lantern on, while mom pulled out quills with the needle nosed pliers.