was good to see the little house in use again.
She returned to her own garden thoughtfully. Why did the girl use the word 'comforting' about Thrush Green? From what pain did she seek relief? From what torment was she flying? Who could tell?
4 A Shock for Dotty
HALF a mile away, Dotty Harmer was in trouble. She had gone down the garden to feed her hens, when she saw something move behind the garden shed.
An open-ended extension had been built on to house Dotty's winter store of logs. An energetic nephew, staying for a week of his vacation, had obligingly set some flag-stones at the entrance, so that his aunt could step from the path to the logs without getting her feet wet.
'Very nice, dear,' she had commented. 'And I can chop up the logs there. And marrow bones. So useful to have what my dear father used to call "an area of hard standing". It will be most useful, dear boy.'
Its use at the moment, when Dotty stood transfixed, henfood in hand, was unorthodox. For, lying in the sun, was a mother cat suckling five well-grown babies.
Charming though the sight was, Dotty's jaw dropped. How on earth could she cope with six cats - nay, six more cats! Already she owned two, a mother and daughter which she had prudently had spayed. What would they have to say about this brazen intruder and her progeny?
Dotty peered through her steel-rimmed spectacles at the family. They were a motley crew, to be sure, but how engagingly pretty! The mother was black with white paws, and one of the kittens had the same colouring. There was a fine little tabby, and three tortoiseshell kittens.
Dotty's heart sank again. Ten to one the tortoiseshells would be female. How long before their first litters arrived? Something must be done before the place was over-run with wild cats.
She took a resolute step forward, and the kittens shot into the stack of logs and vanished. One young quivering triangular tail showed for an instant in a gap, and then was gone. The mother cat crouched defensively, facing Dotty, strategically placed between this enemy and her babies. She was pathetically thin and dusty, and Dotty's tender heart went out to this gallant battered small fighter.
'Good puss! Nice little puss!' said Dotty, advancing gently.
The cat retreated slightly, and spat defiance.
Dotty put down the hen food and returned to the house for a dish of milk. Through the kitchen window she witnessed a remarkable sight. The mother cat gave a curious chirruping sound, and the five babies tumbled from the logs, towards the steaming hen food. Within seconds six heads were in the pot, as the cats ate ravenously.
Dotty stood aghast. That cats, so fastidious as a rule, should fling themselves upon cooked peelings, meat scraps and bacon rinds, all bound together with bran, showed to what excess of hunger the poor things were driven.
She watched them lick the pot clean, their eyes half-closed with bliss, and then sit down to wash themselves.
'Well, that's the last of the chicken's mash,' said Dotty aloud, and philosophically reached for the bag of corn instead. Bearing this and the brimming dish of milk she went once more down the garden path. As before, the kittens vanished, but the mother cat stood her ground. Dotty fed the hens, put down the milk, and retreated to the house, there to work out the best way to cope with an embarrassment of cats.
It was a problem which was to puzzle her, and the rest of Thrush Green, for weeks to come.
One still, hot morning, in the week following Dotty's discovery, Albert Piggott was digging a grave. For this melancholy task Albert's glum expression seemed particularly suited; but although the occasion was a sad one, it was not the circumstances of his labours that troubled Albert that morning, but the worsening conditions of his own matrimonial affairs.
He was the first to admit that he was cunningly hooked at the outset. There were a few aspects of married life which, in all fairness, he would agree were an improvement on
She returned to her own garden thoughtfully. Why did the girl use the word 'comforting' about Thrush Green? From what pain did she seek relief? From what torment was she flying? Who could tell?
4 A Shock for Dotty
HALF a mile away, Dotty Harmer was in trouble. She had gone down the garden to feed her hens, when she saw something move behind the garden shed.
An open-ended extension had been built on to house Dotty's winter store of logs. An energetic nephew, staying for a week of his vacation, had obligingly set some flag-stones at the entrance, so that his aunt could step from the path to the logs without getting her feet wet.
'Very nice, dear,' she had commented. 'And I can chop up the logs there. And marrow bones. So useful to have what my dear father used to call "an area of hard standing". It will be most useful, dear boy.'
Its use at the moment, when Dotty stood transfixed, henfood in hand, was unorthodox. For, lying in the sun, was a mother cat suckling five well-grown babies.
Charming though the sight was, Dotty's jaw dropped. How on earth could she cope with six cats - nay, six more cats! Already she owned two, a mother and daughter which she had prudently had spayed. What would they have to say about this brazen intruder and her progeny?
Dotty peered through her steel-rimmed spectacles at the family. They were a motley crew, to be sure, but how engagingly pretty! The mother was black with white paws, and one of the kittens had the same colouring. There was a fine little tabby, and three tortoiseshell kittens.
Dotty's heart sank again. Ten to one the tortoiseshells would be female. How long before their first litters arrived? Something must be done before the place was over-run with wild cats.
She took a resolute step forward, and the kittens shot into the stack of logs and vanished. One young quivering triangular tail showed for an instant in a gap, and then was gone. The mother cat crouched defensively, facing Dotty, strategically placed between this enemy and her babies. She was pathetically thin and dusty, and Dotty's tender heart went out to this gallant battered small fighter.
'Good puss! Nice little puss!' said Dotty, advancing gently.
The cat retreated slightly, and spat defiance.
Dotty put down the hen food and returned to the house for a dish of milk. Through the kitchen window she witnessed a remarkable sight. The mother cat gave a curious chirruping sound, and the five babies tumbled from the logs, towards the steaming hen food. Within seconds six heads were in the pot, as the cats ate ravenously.
Dotty stood aghast. That cats, so fastidious as a rule, should fling themselves upon cooked peelings, meat scraps and bacon rinds, all bound together with bran, showed to what excess of hunger the poor things were driven.
She watched them lick the pot clean, their eyes half-closed with bliss, and then sit down to wash themselves.
'Well, that's the last of the chicken's mash,' said Dotty aloud, and philosophically reached for the bag of corn instead. Bearing this and the brimming dish of milk she went once more down the garden path. As before, the kittens vanished, but the mother cat stood her ground. Dotty fed the hens, put down the milk, and retreated to the house, there to work out the best way to cope with an embarrassment of cats.
It was a problem which was to puzzle her, and the rest of Thrush Green, for weeks to come.
One still, hot morning, in the week following Dotty's discovery, Albert Piggott was digging a grave. For this melancholy task Albert's glum expression seemed particularly suited; but although the occasion was a sad one, it was not the circumstances of his labours that troubled Albert that morning, but the worsening conditions of his own matrimonial affairs.
He was the first to admit that he was cunningly hooked at the outset. There were a few aspects of married life which, in all fairness, he would agree were an improvement on
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