Yep. Crop circles were front page news in the local paper last week. I am too lazy to type out the full story for you. Suffice it to say that the farmer cannot explain them.

I was walking the other evening before sunset and saw the strangest light on the trees; had to try to get a picture of it.

And of course, the kind of photo you've begun to hate me for ... I can never get enough of this view ... but Everett saw snowflakes yesterday. It won't be long till everything is white.

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The moon was up last night when I drove out of the yard to take Everett to check on the cats at the new place.

At my suggestion, one day he built a bale house in the barn so the cats would have a warmer place to sleep. The next day he discovered six very young kittens in its doorway. Apparently their mother is a smart cat. The following day, however, when I went to the barn with him, there were only four kittens from the litter to be found. There was a small calico cat there that Everett thought was the mother, since two of the kittens are also calico, but she was not allowing them to suckle, and neither were the other cats that they were pestering. We thought this might be normal as the older cats were more concerned with the food he had just put out for them, and not a little impatient with the kits.

"We'll have to keep an eye on them," I said. "If the mother doesn't feed them, they'll go downhill fast."

The next day Everett reported that they were acting the same way, but still seemed full of piss and vinegar. He had introduced them to commercial cat food, which he softened with water, and at least one of them was interested in it. We assumed the mother was still around somewhere. But yesterday when we got there, it was a different story.

It was a cold day and I decided to wait for him in the van, with the heater on. After only moments he was back, swinging the passenger door wide open. "Mom! One kitten is dead and the other ones are too, almost."

I went to the barn to see for myself. The three still alive were very weak, unable to move, but calling out their distress as soon as they knew we were there. I scooped them up, scurried to the van, handed them to Everett so I could drive, and we brought them home. In two minutes we were squeezing warm milk from droppers into their tiny mouths. At first they were barely able to swallow, and they were cold. Scott was home and helped us, but was certain one of them was dying right in his hand and gave up on it, setting it down and picking up one with more life. I picked the unmoving kitten up and got milk into it, encouraging it, holding it close. Even when all three were fed and settled with my favourite fuzzy blue (thank you Shelly) hot water bottle in a high-sided cardboard box, this one seemed to have no energy at all.

We found a recipe for formula on the internet and made up a batch to get them through the night, then let them sleep for an hour before feeding them again. We could hardly believe how quickly the healthier two had recovered. One of them damn near clawed my fingers off in its eagerness to get the milk and I had to hold it very securely to keep myself from being hurt. Their box went beside my bed and I made Everett sleep down there with me to help if they had to be fed during the night.

They didn't. Before we went to sleep they were inhaling milk —with snorts and gurgles— from an overturned jar lid, and once the light was out we didn't hear another peep from them till 6 o'clock this morning. Today they all seem to be doing fine, although they smell like sour milk after stepping in it numerous times.

They're out on the closed-in deck this afternoon, snuggled up contentedly on a heating pad at its lowest setting. They need to be kept warm but I don't want them to get accustomed to the indoor temperature, or going back to the barn will be hard on them. It might be anyway.

Now Playing: zip nada zilch, Everett's playing on his PS2 and I'm going to bed to read

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