In case you were revolted by my previous Motherhood post, maybe you’ll appreciate this one more. Unless, of course, you’re a cat-hater. Then I’m afraid the case is hopeless. But we have new kitties on our little homestead! The Kashka-Cat finally had her kittens, one week ago today, and they are little charmers.
Little Kashka would have had six babies, but this is her first litter and her motherhood awareness is underdeveloped. If my mom hadn’t been there to clean off a couple of kittens’ faces, all six would have suffocated. As it was, only two survived. But they are beautiful.
Other than the first day or so when Kashka was a bit nervous and protective of her precious babies, Kashka has allowed us to handle them a little bit and pet them and marvel at them. They sleep and nurse and squeak like crazy when we stroke their fur or when their mama sits on them. And their skinny little newborn kitten bodies are becoming chubby little kitten bodies – They eat well, just the two of them!
The little calico-looking one is more of a cuddler, always cuddling up against Kashka’s belly. The little black one, though, seems to like to cuddle against Kashka’s back. He’s very active, and one of his little eyes started to open today. They’ll be a handful when they’re no longer blind and helpless!
I could watch them forever.
The many wonders of Creation.
Combine the vinegar, salt, and water – According to Great-Aunt Margene, the solution doesn’t need to be boiled. However, I remember boiling it in the past, so I deviated from the recipe and boiled the brine. Wash cucumbers. Slice in spears, but leave attached at ends. Slicing them allows them to be properly steeped in the brine after 12-24 hours.
Pack cucumbers in pint or quart-sized jars, with garlic and dill (and whatever other ingredients you are using) layered with them. Pour the brine over the cucumbers, and seal jars. Let sit for 24 hours, or to taste.
I made one jar with the standard recipe, just garlic and dill, but the other two jars I dressed up a bit – One with crushed red pepper, the other with crushed red pepper and a few slices of hot banana pepper. It will be fun to see how those turn out. I made a little extra brine for a tiny jar for Grandma.
Dad brought this little guy home yesterday evening. He found him on our long driveway, nowhere near water, and with a pretty sizeable chunk of his shell broken. We don’t know where he came from or how he got there, or how his shell was broken, but some kind person had duct taped him up, and it looked like he was subsequently taped another time or two. Given how warped the chipped piece was, it looked like he’s grown some since the injury. Overall he seemed like a pretty healthy dude.
Trixie didn’t know what to make of Mr. Turtle – She growled and put her ears back and looked all funny at him, but went along happily with Dad to dump him in what little water is left in the stock pond. He’ll be happy there.
Oh, the creative uses for duct tape.
No one knows where she came from. She adopted my uncle and his family about seven years ago – She wandered in as a stray and stuck around when they started feeding her. But for weeks she wouldn’t allow them to come near her. One day, my uncle was flat on his back underneath one of the tractors, and the cat came and sat on his chest. From then on, she was their cat.
Sarah and I are house-sitting for my uncle while he and his family are fishing in Alaska. Kitty-Q, without fail, greets us on the porch in the evening when we come inside, and greets us on the porch in the morning when we come out. She meows at us, begging for attention, roughly shoving her bony little head under my chin or into my hands, to insist on affection.
A forest of Queen Anne’s Lace sparkled in the waking light, and a cat groomed herself on the porch of an old tumbledown storefront. A few people still live in the area of Old Rockerville, and a single restaurant is a favorite local stop. The past and present mingle in this place.
How many miners made and lost their fortunes in this place so long ago, yet not so long ago? What sort of men were they who spent their best years breaking their backs for a myth of easy riches, or breaking other men’s backs because the other men believed the myth? What professions did they leave to come mine placer gold at a rough and wild gold camp? How many drifted from one gold camp to another, and how many put their roots down and attempted to build up a life for themselves, and perhaps for a wife and children? Where were they born? And where did they die? 
Where are they now? Where will you be, 100 years from now? Who will remember you, and what will you be remembered for? What will the point of your life have been? Whom are you serving?
Song Dog Journal 