What happens when the family farm is taken over by rogue cats? Plenty, according to Douglasville, Georgia’s rural Renoir, L. Don’t be fooled by the bright sun, freshly painted red barn and smiling “cattle” – trouble is brewing below the Mason Dixon line. Look no further than the bloated, plastic udders fashioned by the catcow on the left. Another sure sign that we’re not in Kansas anymore – the heaping mounds of catshit piled equally at right, baking in the hot sun. L’s point is not entirely clear in “Family Farm”, but one thing is as clear as the parchment sky – I wouldn’t drink the milk.