"Cake Cattle" by David Henson

As we enter the barn, I prepare myself to be hit by a stench, but I’m greeted by the aroma of a bakery. The interior shouts success. It’s spotless and bright like a cloning facility. Large screens scroll commodity prices and flash Cake Cattle — The Sweetest Investment in Agri-tech. Might make a good headline for my article. 

I remove my notepad and ballpoint pen from my shirt pocket as Wilkins leads me to the first stall where a brown steer munches at a trough. “Our best-seller,” he says.

“What do they eat?”

He scoops his hand through the feed and lets it trickle through his fingers. “This is the maintenance diet — a proprietary blend of grain, sugar, and flour.”

The animal looks normal but feels spongy when I press my finger into its side. 

As Wilkins cuts a small chunk from the neck, I wince, and the beast snorts. I hesitate when Wilkins hands me the morsel. Seems strange to be eating something that’s looking at me. I take a breath and put the sample in my mouth. 

“Rich and moist — good chocolate cake.” I scratch the steer’s forehead. “Sorry, buddy.”

I nod to a calf in the next stall. Its hide is a patchwork of cowhide and what appears to be frosting. “That one —” 

“Is about halfway through its transition.” 

“Walk me through the process, Mr. Wilkins. Not too technical though. Our readers have short attention spans.”

Wilkins explains how calves, at birth, start on nano-bot feed that modifies their genetic structure. 

… their genetic structure, I scribble. 

“By the time they’re yearlings,” Wilkins says, “beef flesh has become cake. And trust me, the market’s devouring it—our quarterly returns have never been better.”

…never been better. I look up and shake my head.

Wilkins leans close. “I don’t understand all the ins and outs, but it’s a great way to diversify my herd.” He snaps off a horn from the chocolate cake cow. The steer stamps its hoof. 

“That doesn’t hurt?” 

He takes a bite of the horn. “Marzipan. It’ll grow back. And they’re more profitable. Regular steers are a one-off, but cake cattle are productive for five years.” 

“Some people think it’s cruel to turn cattle into walking birthday treats.”

Wilkins shrugs as if he’s heard it all before. “No worse than being walking sirloins and roasts.” 

His words bite more than I think he intends. As bad as being … I write, then tuck my pad in my shirt pocket. 

“Now, let’s take a look at those pig pies,” Wilkins says. “You’re going to love the cherry.”

I tell him I’ve had my fill.

David Henson and his wife have lived in Brussels and Hong Kong and now reside in Illinois. His work has been selected for Best Microfictions 2025, nominated for four Pushcart Prizes, Best of the Net, and two Best Small Fictions. His writings have appeared in various journals including Roi Fainéant Press, Ghost Parachute, Bright Flash Literary Journal, Moonpark Review, Maudlin House, and Literally Stories. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com. His Twitter is @annalou8.