It's been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon .........

 

…. was the way Garrison Keillor began each Lake Wobegon segment in his, “A Prairie Home Companion” radio show. Everyone knows everyone in Lake Wobegon and all the rules. Lutherans drive Fords bought from Bunsen Motors, Catholics purchase their Chevys from Krebsbach Chevrolet, everyone has lunch at the Sidetrack Tap and the Statue of the Unknown Norwegian (so called because he left before the sculptor got round to asking him his name) is the high point of Main Street.

Since lock down began, I could have started most of my blogs with the same phrase. “It’s been a quiet week in Loudham ….” On the whole, this has been true. The same things have happened in roughly the same order. Planting, watering, weeding, painting, re-potting, bread making, cooking, home schooling, feeding the chickens, mowing, maintaining the empire of compost bins, saying hello to delivery people, chatting to friends and neighbours at a safe distance etc.

Dear readers, be assured that what you read here every week is no exaggeration. I don’t make things up to entertain you and, it turns out, this is because I don’t have to. Recent excitements have included being joined by an enormous stag beetle as I drifted off to sleep (it was nesting in my hair), being bitten by a tortoise and losing tiny amounts of blood due to picking 13lb of gooseberries from a particularly thorny bush.

Last Thursday, however, something really unexpected and out of the usual run of things occurred. Friends and acquaintances know that I am not a cat person. I am scared of them, hate the thought of their claws being stuck into me and leap up into the air if one comes into the room. The children asked if they could have a kitten, once, years ago and have never asked again. Chickens, yes. Quails, absolutely fine. Cats, nope!

Opening our garage door, I was confronted by a tiny bundle of grey fur with huge blue eyes. My husband scooped it up and we gazed at it in wonder. Just at the moment, the three children cycled on to the drive after a long bike ride. What parents can resist three pairs of pleading eyes and three voices crying, “Can we keep it? Please, please, please?”

Not us, it turns out. We released the kitten who immediately ran to the back of the garage. We spent the rest of the day googling cat-related stuff and applying for advice to our feline-loving friends Jenny and Danni. Armed with two litter boxes and various cat accessories, Operation Kitten began. Parented by two feral farm cats, the little fur ball was not being very well looked after. It took my husband and daughter four long hours to extract her from the very corner of the garage.

That was a week ago. It has not been a quiet week in Loudham. We’ve discovered that tiny kittens need to have their bottoms gently rubbed with a wet flannel to encourage them to do a number two. This my daughter has happily done. We’ve found that Misty loves shoes and feet, and I’ve had to stay calm as she gently nibbles my toes. I’ve picked her up, cuddled and stroked her. I’m still a bit scared of her claws.

Friends have expressed disbelief at the news. “You? With a cat? You’re kidding!” I’ve surprised myself.

Just seven days ago, if you’d asked me if I would ever have a cat in the house, I’d have given you a firm negative. Things change so quickly, hearts expand to welcome in a new family member and even an old girl set in her ways like me is learning to love a cute, cuddly little kitten.

Will next week be a quiet week in Loudham? I doubt it. I’ll keep you posted.