"Hello?"

"Hi. Is Farmbeau home?"

"No, gone to work. Can I take a message?"

"Is this Kate?"

"Mm hm. What can I do for you?"

"It's Renata, from the welding shop. Farmbeau was saying maybe you guys would take a bunch of kittens we have here, and their mother — a stray."

"How many?"

"Three kittens, and the mom's about to have another batch. We haven't been able to find homes, and we're going to have to do away with them." The clincher.

"We can't have that. Let me check with Farmbeau and make sure, and I'll get back to you."

She laughed. "He said he was going to ask you."

"Oh. Well, I'll give Pa a call and make sure there are no objections, and call you back."

A couple hours later Barney and I were on our way home with a small herd of cats in a cardboard box. They have been transferred to the loft. When I left Barney out there with them, the mother was peeking out, growling at the dog across the yard.

What she saw:

The loft is a winter storage area for all kinds of summer stuff — bikes, lawnmowers, and whatnot — but there is lots of straw so I hope they can make the transition from a heated shop to a cooler environment.

It's that or the drowning barrell. I'm sure they'd rather take their chances. Barney will keep them fed and watered as long as their mother doesn't decide to hide them somewhere.

My grandfather used to kill unwanted kittens, I am told, by throwing them against a barn door. Oog!