THE MEWLING
by
Dorman Nelson (copyright 1996 All Rights Reserved)
Winter was harsh, unkind, overwhelming, and downright
cold that year and much too early. It was September the ice
storm struck taking tree limbs, coating wires, the house, the
out-buildings--everything in layers of semi-blue sheets, halting
life for the moment. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
I stepped out early that September morning. Early for
a farmer is fourish. It was still. My breath seemed to solidify
and float slowly to the ground. I was the only living thing in a
world frozen in time. I strode to the barn. There were seven
foot icicles hanging from the roof edge. Way up there. I eyed
them warily as I had to break the ice off the door with the
fence tool I always carry in my overalls. Yep, sure enough, one
of those executioners came jetting down and embedded it's tip in
the ground, shattering into thousands of crystals.
I buttoned the top button of my flannel shirt, pulled
my knit hat over my ears then slipped and fell in the doorway.
Bad enough yer stiff and sore that early in the morning, without
adding physical damage as well! I got to one knee, scooped some
dirt off the floor and threw it around just outside the
threshold.
I inspected the stock through the window listening to
the rooster's crow. Well! Finally! That dang bird was probably
all snug bunched up with the rest of the chickens huddlin' to
stay warm. Wouldn't let them out today; they'd just blunt their
beaks and nails. Wouldn't find a bug nowhere anyhow. Funny how
your thoughts just get running in yer head on a winter day. I
shook my head.
As I reached for the pitchfork, I spied the tractor
over in the far end with the weeder still attached. Gosh!
M'pumpkins! I'll have to get the tractor started and go check
'em after I feed. I plugged the engine warmer to wake up the
oil, grabbed the pitchfork and started forking feed out the
bovine side door (as I called it). Hm, seemed like the alfalfa
was frozen, too, as I continued to throw to the cows. Was there
a little more crunch as they chewed?
We had a few more days of warmth and a few rain
showers before winter came in earnest. I had time to get the hay
stacked in the barn, fence fixed and all the water troughs
working correctly. Even hooked up the water warmer for the big
pie pan I called the windmill pump tank. The goldfish the
youngsters put in there will do all winter, keepin' from
freezin' their gills off and everybody could get a drink without
having to break ice every time. 'Course further out I'd have to
break ice in the streams and at the other windmills.
Halloween came and went. My pumpkins were a hit and we
had plenty of pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New
Year's day.
One night, in deep January, I heard kittens mewing.
Otherwise it was quiet. Dark, though early in the morning. About
2. No lights. I could see the embers in the fireplace still
glowing. The house was chilling down. I stepped out of bed and
went to the kitchen door. Mew, mew, mew, mew. Over and over. It
was faint, carried on the quiet night air. Sounded like there
were three or four of them.
I slipped on my boots and coat over my flannels,
grabbed my hat and went out the door. The cold hit me like
another door. It was eerie. I liked darkness at night so the
single switch for all of the farm lights could be used to turn
them off when we bedded down for the night. I didn't turn them
on. There was a full moon. A black night. Stars all over the
place. The snow glowing a silver blue. I listened. Mew, mew,
mew. I tried to locate the source. Where was it coming from?
Mew, mew, mew, mew. I started for the barn, that was
the logical place. I got halfway there crunching the frozen
snow, my boots throwing luminous powder each step. I stopped.
Mew, mew. There!
The outhouse was away out back from the house nestled
under some large elm trees. The sounds seemed to be coming from
there.
As I inched closer I could plainly hear the mewling
coming from there. I opened the door slowly and peeked in.
Nothing. Mew, mew, mew, mew. I looked down the hole. Four, cute,
furry faces were staring up at me. They were the same color as
the snow, with black noses and black-tipped ears.
I looked around for mama-cat. Nowhere. I reached down
and pulled one up. My heart was happy. They were so darn cute.
Life in the dead of winter. The girls would really love them. No
problem with care between those two and their mom. The picture
perfect faces kept opening up their mouths and mewing over and
over. Sharp little baby cat teeth, little whiskers, round wide
innocent ice blue eyes, iridescent fur. I was glad to be up and
alive. Life had so much to offer. I'd had a great one so far and
was looking forward to more of the same in the future.
I started to pet the one I had pulled from below. It
was still mewing as I petted it's head then reached to scoop the
rest of it into my hand.
What? I held it up in the moonlight. It was missing
it's hind legs! It was bleeding. Quickly I worried the others
out of the hole. All of them had been chewed and eaten on! I
looked around. I ran over to the stock tank and thrust them down
into the moonlit water. They glowed, still moving their mouths,
bubbles rising as my heart burst with hurt and sorrow for these
four innocent winter babies, still mewing in the water. Then
still. Eyes closed. I stayed there for a long time.
I got the ax and shovel, went out into the field with
my burden and tools. I chopped a hole into which I laid the four
together. They were peaceful now, the mewling was over.
I thought about if I had discovered them earlier, they
might have had a full life, bouncing around kitten-like, then
growing to do their cat things. Just like my kids. Just like me.
I covered them up.
I trudged back to the barn, put up the tools, went
back in the house. My children were snug in bed. I kissed them
both. I went and threw a log on the fire for some morning
warmth, slipped back in bed. I nestled with my wife who only
muttered, squeezed my hand and continued her peaceful dreams. I
stayed awake for a time of thinking about life and its loss.
I never told anyone about the mewling.
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