|
Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
| |||
| |
|
by LeAnn R. Ralph Thanksgiving was three days away, and -- as is often the case in Wisconsin at this time of year -- the weather had taken an abrupt turn for the worse. But even though the afternoon high temperature was only 20 degrees, I had decided to visit my horses at the stable where I boarded them. My husband and I were living in the southern part of the state then. I'd been busy teaching English at a private boys' boarding school that fall so I'd had few opportunities to see my two geldings. Since many of the students had such a long distance to travel to get home for the holiday, however, we were given the entire week off from school. I'd only just arrived at the barn and was planning to let the horses in when I became aware of a plaintive yowling coming from the hay mow above. "Must be a kitten," I muttered. I knew the solid gray mother cat -- who was winding herself around my ankles at the moment -- had produced a late litter of kittens. But in spite of conducting many searches among the thousands of bales of hay, no one at the stable had yet been able to find them. As I stood in the cold, quiet barn, the kitten continued its eerie howling. And yet, the gray cat was such an exceptionally good mother that I was sure she would soon go to its rescue. She didn't. Fifteen minutes later after I'd let my horses in and they were eating a special treat of grain, I couldn't stand it anymore. I ascended the steps into the mow, and there, at the very top of the hay pile -- 70 or 80 feet high, right next to the rafters -- stood a tiny, calico kitten, crying pitifully. She looked only a few weeks old. "I'll be right there," I said, as I started to climb the hay. "I suppose you wandered away from the nest and now you can't find it again." It occurred to me, as I moved from bale to bale, that I didn't know where the nest was, either. It also occurred to me this kitten had never seen a human being and that when I got to the top, she would probably run and hide. She didn't. As I climbed higher, the kitten stopped howling, and when I reached the top, she ran to me. "There now," I said as I picked her up, surprised the kitten seemed so unafraid. "I don't know where your nest is, but I'll take you to your momma instead. Okay?" The kitten mewed, as if she was agreeing my idea sounded like a good plan. Because I needed both hands to climb down, I unzipped my insulated coveralls and tucked the kitten inside. Before I retraced my hazardous journey, I glanced around the mow, wondering if this was the only kitten in the litter. I didn't see or hear any others. Carefully lowering myself from bale to bale, I finally reached the mow floor, miraculously unscathed. Then I went down the steps into the barn. "Here you go," I said, as I set the little calico next to her mother. This particular barn was home to most of the cats on the place, about a dozen in all, so I was confident the kitten wouldn't feel one bit lonely. More than an hour later, after I had spent some time with my horses and then had visited with the stable owner in another barn, I was ready to leave. Curious to know what the kitten was doing now, I peeked into the barn where I'd left her. I didn't see any cats. Except the kitten. She was lying in the middle of the floor on the freezing cement, so cold the only movement she could make was a feeble attempt to meow. It looked to me like she was nearly dead. "Oh, no! You poor little thing," I said, scooping up the almost lifeless bit of calico fluff and tucking her inside my insulated coveralls. Thirty minutes later, the kitten still felt deathly cold to the touch, although she did seem a little more lively. By now, I knew that she was suffering from hypothermia. I decided, then, that I'd better take her home with me. Surely by tomorrow or the next day, she would be completely recovered from all but freezing to death, and then I could bring her back to the barn. As soon as we arrived home, I fixed a box and set it next to the heat vent in the bathroom. After I fed the tiny calico a warm milk and egg yolk mixture, she curled up in her box and promptly fell asleep. When my husband came home from work later that afternoon, I ushered him into the bathroom. "I have something to show you," I said, "but we can't keep it." I reached into the box and brought out the calico kitten, who yawned sleepily and then licked her incredibly pink nose. Randy's eyes began to twinkle. "She's adorable!" he exclaimed, taking the kitten from me and stroking the smooth, soft fur. "But you're right. We already have enough cats although I suppose it wouldn't hurt to keep her until after Thanksgiving." "Sure," I said, instantly abandoning the idea of returning her to the stable, "maybe someone will want a Christmas kitten." I knew for certain we couldn't keep the calico because, after all, we already had six house cats. For the next several weeks we avoided naming the newcomer, thinking it would be easier to give her away if she didn't have a name. No such luck. When the kitten had been at our house for four weeks we realized she was with us to stay. After consulting a book of names that listed all of the origins, we began calling her Billie, an Old English derivative of Wilhelmina that means "strong willed." It seemed an appropriate name, too, because we soon discovered there wasn't a cupboard door in the house Billie couldn't get open if she set her mind to it. As it turned out, Billie was not the only kitten in the litter. On Thanksgiving Day, the mother cat brought the rest of her children down to the barn where they soon learned to eat from the dish with the other cats. In all, there were three more kittens. All calico. And all wild. You couldn't get within 20 feet of Billie's sisters. I can't help but wonder why the gray cat we called Lady Chatterly (because she was so friendly and talkative in only the way that cats can be) refused to care for the kitten who had wandered away from the nest -- especially since she was such an excellent mother. And for that matter, why hadn't Billie been afraid of me when her sisters stayed so wild? As my husband once suggested, maybe it was Lady Chatterly's way of saying "Happy Thanksgiving." If so, it brings new meaning to the phrase "the gift that keeps on giving" because all these years later, Billie is still with us -- and she's STILL spending quite a bit of her time getting into cupboards. And yet, perhaps that's the point. Through all my years of Thanksgivings, the memories have become a blurred mixture consisting mostly of turkey, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. But the year I saved a tiny calico from freezing to death is a Thanksgiving I will never forget. LeAnn R. Ralph is the author of the farm books "Christmas in Dairyland (True Stories from a Wisconsin Farm)" (trade paperback; 2003), "Give Me a Home Where the Dairy Cows Roam" (trade paperback; 2004), and "Preserve Your Family History (A Step-by-Step Guide for Interviewing Family Members and Writing Oral Histories" (e-book; 2004) |
|
 Home Books Preserve Your Family History Sample Chapters Articles Free Recipes Biography More True Stories Newsletter LeAnn's Blog Links Photo Album Reviews & Comments |
|
Privacy Policy: Any information you provide to Rural Route 2 will be kept strictly confidential and will not be not given to any third parties. Telephone number is requested in case LeAnn needs to contact you about your order. E-mail address is requested so LeAnn can confirm your order. This Web Site and All Its Contents are Copyright © 2008 LeAnn R. Ralph. All Rights Reserved |
