Too Young to Survive?

Eight o’clock on a beautiful June morning in southern Wisconsin. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. And I was on my way to the stable where I boarded my two horses. Little did I know that in just a few minutes I would become a “momma kitty.”

As I slid open the barn door I saw the calico cat. The previous evening she had been plump with kittens, but now she was suspiciously thin, so I knew she had given birth during the night.

“After I feed the horses, you’ll have to show me where you hid your babies,” I said to her, scooping dry cat food into the dish.

The calico settled down for a snack and I began measuring out grain. There were six horses pastured together with stalls in this barn. I was going to let my horses in, so I figured I might as well feed all of them.

As I walked to the other end of the barn so I could open the door, the calico sat on the floor near one of the stalls to watch the horses come in — just like she did most mornings.

One by one, the horses clip-clopped to their stalls. I followed behind, closing their doors. But before I could close one door, the horse inside lunged at another who was just passing by. The mare jumped sideways to avoid being bitten — and trampled the calico cat.

Almost before I could draw breath to scream, the calico cat was dead. I knelt beside her, stroking the soft fur. “Your kittens,” I whispered. “What am I going to do about your kittens? I don’t even know where they are.”

I had grown up on a dairy farm in west central Wisconsin with many barn cats. I knew cats liked to keep their kittens hidden until they’re old enough to move around. And I knew young kittens depended upon their mothers for survival until they were about eight weeks old.

I also knew the stable cats usually made nests for their kittens in the haymow above me. But because it was summer and new hay was being put in the mow every day, I didn’t know where to begin to look for those kittens. The thought of orphaned kittens waiting for a mother who would never return brought tears to my eyes. How could I ever find them? Unless. . .

Every morning for the past week when I let the horses inside, I had seen the calico cat coming out of an unused dog kennel near the end of the barn. Was it possible she’d made a nest in the dog house?

I went out to the kennel, peered into the dog house — and sure enough, there were the kittens. A black, a gray and a tabby, curled up together for warmth.

I got hold of the kittens. All three fit in the palm of my hand.

After putting the kittens in a box, I went to the stable office so I could call my veterinarian for advice. The year before I had adopted four two-week old kittens who had been orphaned at this same stable (which leads me to believe stables are exceptionally dangerous places for mother cats). But two-week old kittens were very different from the kittens I had just settled into a box. I wasn’t sure the newborns had even had a chance to nurse their mother. And they were so incredibly, impossibly tiny.

Because it was a weekend, my regular vet turned out not to be on call at the clinic. I really wanted to talk to him because he was so knowledgeable and helpful, but this was an emergency and I knew I couldn’t wait until Monday morning. The on-call vet I reached, however, was not at all helpful. “Don’t even bother,” he said. “They’ll never make it.”

When I hung up the phone, I had a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. Don’t bother? How could I not bother? I simply couldn’t accept just sitting back and doing nothing. If I did everything I could and the kittens died, that would be one thing. But just leaving them to starve to death, their little bodies growing weak and cold — especially after I had witnessed their mother’s death and felt, somehow, sort of responsible because I hadn’t gotten that door shut quickly enough — no, I just couldn’t do it. I knew if I didn’t try, I would have trouble sleeping at night for weeks to come. So, I searched the yellow pages for another vet clinic.

The next veterinarian I called was much more optimistic about the situation. “Bring them into the office,” he said. “We’ll weigh them and I’ll tell you what you need to do.”

The kittens only weighed three ounces each and at first, they consumed a half an eyedropper of canned milk replacer three times a day. The vet told me their mother would normally feed them every two hours but that I shouldn’t try feeding them that often. “They won’t be really hungry, and then you’ll get frustrated and they’ll get frustrated. Feed them three times a day,” he explained.

In a few days the kittens started to put on weight. At ten days old they opened their eyes. At four weeks old they began to use a litter box. Not a regular one, but an aluminum pie plate that was just their size. . .

All these years later (12 to be exact!), I’m happy to say the kittens grew up to be healthy, lively cats. Two of them, a 7-pound black female, Nightshade, and a 13-pound tabby male, Sebastian, became as much a part of the family as my other four cats. The gray kitten was adopted by a woman who desperately wanted another cat. Her faithful companion of many years had died recently and when she heard about the orphaned kittens I was raising, well — she just knew she had to adopt one of them. As far as I can tell, Nightshade and Sebastian are not suffering any problems from being orphaned as newborns. Except, perhaps, for the fact that Sebastian becomes uneasy when the kitty food dishes are empty. He’ll come to find me, “talking,” chirping and purring non-stop while running a few feet ahead to lead me to the dishes. All I have to do is put out a handful of dry food and he’s satisfied. Most of the time he’s not even hungry — just worried, I think, because the dishes are empty.

As for Nightshade, she has turned my six-foot-two-inch tall husband from a man who swore he didn’t like cats into a person who holds her, cuddles her and tells her she has “itty-bitty kitty fitties (feet)” — which he will deny vehemently if anyone mentions it to him. “I do NOT,” he says, drawing himself up to his full height, “talk to my cat that way.”

Although I now live 250 miles from the veterinarian who told me “not to bother” I have been tempted to send him pictures of Nightshade and Sebastian. They are living proof of what can happen when you ignore the advice of experts and follow your heart, adding just a little bit of “bother” and a whole lot of love.

*****************

© LeAnn R. Ralph 2004

About The Author

LeAnn R. Ralph is the author of the books: *Christmas in Dairyland (True Stories from a Wisconsin Farm)* (trade paperback) and *Preserve Your Family History (A Step-by-Step Guide for Writing Oral Histories)* (e-book; 66 pages). To read sample chapters and to sign up for the FREE! monthly newsletter, Rural Route 2 News & Updates, visit — ruralroute2.com” target=”_new ruralroute2.com

mailto:bigpines@ruralroute2.com bigpines@ruralroute2.com

Seven Tips To Telling Better Jokes (From a Comedian Who Really Knows!)

To be honest, I think that most presenters should avoid telling
jokes. But on the other hand, telling jokes around the
water cooler or on the porch while sippin’ lemonade is
a time-honored tradition. If it was good enough for
Gramps, why ain’t it good enough for us? But if you
are going to tell jokes, you should do it right.

1. Make sure you actually know the joke. Practice
it! Tell it to your kids, your spouse, and your dog.
Trust me, you want to tell the joke a few times
before you do it for real. Nothing will make you
look like a bigger idiot than telling a joke wrong.

2. Scan the internet for jokes to AVOID. Don’t
tell jokes that everybody has heard… if your
joke is all over the internet, then this is a great
joke to AVOID.

3. Shorter jokes are better. I know, I know. You think
you’re a great story teller. But trust me, your audience
will appreciate you for NOT adding all of the colorful
details and fluff. Just tell the joke. Shorten it if you can.

4. The punch line comes last. And I mean last!
Nothing should come after the punch-line. Consider
this joke done well.
Why Did the chicken cross the road? To get to the
other side.

Now, the same joke when the punch-line is not last.

This is much worse. (I know, that joke is pretty bad on
it’s own, but… you get the idea.)

Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other
side of the road which was on a long block because he
wanted to get to his chicken coop.

See? Punch-lines should be last. Period. NOTHING
comes after the punch. (Except for your silence and their laughter.)

5. Keep it clean. And I mean crystal clean. If you wouldn’t

tell it to the Queen of England (who probably doesn’t like
jokes much anyway) then leave it out. Seriously. If you
have any doubt whether you are “crossing the line,” then
don’t tell it. Think of it this way: if you tell a joke to 10 people
and 9 of them laugh, then you’ve still alienated a friend. Don’t do it.

6. If you are telling a joke as part of a presentation,
don’t take credit for the joke. You can do that before
the joke with something like, “Here’s one I read on
the internet.” Or after the joke with something like,
“That old joke was on the internet, but it reminds us
to…. (follow with a point.)” If you don’t let people know
that his joke is from the internet, you risk looking like a
fool. I guarantee that at least a couple of people in every

audience already know your joke, and if you want to earn

and keep THEIR respect you need to make sure you don’t (tacitly) claim that joke to be yours.

7. Don’t steal jokes from stand up comics. Unless they are

dead. Jokes are material, and it is how they earn a living.

If you tell it, copy it, email it…. whatever… you devalue the

joke for them. Besides, it’s bad karma.

Brad Montgomery CSP is hilarious motivational speaker and corporate comedian who reminds his audiences to take themselves less seriously in his laugh-out-loud keynote presentations. He is an also the author of three books and a humor-in-the-workplace consultant. Get a free audio recording at HumorJumpStart.com HumorJumpStart.com

When Does Man Become God?

Some scientists argue over creation and evolution and they argue did man create god or did god create man. And without that ongoing and predictable out of debate, lets discuss our scientific advancements. When does Man cross the line and become a god? Or a creator or modifier of life to such a degree that he has changed the entire current scenario? Take this interesting development. To make ethanol better, simply modify the corn more. Call it Super Corn after this has been done. And regarding mosquitoes, modify them too, and then you have no malaria

parthe.net/_cwg0802/0000006c.htm

or West Nile Virus at all? Genetically modified Mesquites to hang out next to genetically modified corn and eaten by genetically modified bats who are hardly bothered by the genetically modified people whose mitochondria DNA is modified so they do not need oxygen as much therefore the problems of pollution are not important and no one gets malaria?

gene.ch/gentech/2001/Dec/msg00097.html and

gene.ch/gentech/2001/Dec/msg00096.html .

Interesting the possibilities? But playing god means you need to have all your ducks in order and understand the nature of things, then you can slowly fix the problems of out put. For instance much of the ethanol manufacturing process can be changed by modifying the corn to use less water and produce less CO2. Everyone wins and the bugs will just have to learn to eat something else, or allow them to eat the parts of the corn which make the most CO2 in the manufacturing process meaning they will not eat as much other crops and therefore less pesticides are used which are poison and will not take the toll on the water supply, unwanted mold and algae growths, soil or peoples livers.

And while you are at it you could make people smaller and more efficient especially if we are predicting the Earth’s population to surpass 60 Billion by 2075 a date when most of us will still be alive judging by advances in medicine and life expectancies. We know for sure without a catastrophic event our children will for sure still be around to see this. So there will be a different mind set then and also different values and for the species to continue and still feed everyone it maybe necessary for such modification to be considered even if it is decided against. Just some thoughts to ponder.

“Lance Winslow” – Online WorldThinkTank.net/wttbbs/ Think Tank forum board. If you have innovative thoughts and unique perspectives, come think with Lance in the Online Think Tank and solve the problems of the World; WorldThinkTank.net www.WorldThinkTank.net/