This entry concerns a calico barn cat who, out of sheer desperation, chose to have her kittens in the back of my truck. “Happy” resided in the loft of the old barn at the Forest Service staff housing facility/former ranger station, five miles north of Bridgeport. Happy didn’t belong to anyone so far as I could tell but wasn’t feral. (A nice kitty, she was no longer around when I returned the following spring; hopefully, someone adopted her.) ◦◦◦◦◦ Two days before, I’d been stung on the back of my hand by a yellowjacket. I didn’t have anything like an anaphylactic reaction but my entire right hand swelled up and itched like the devil; enough to put me out of commission for three or four days. ◦◦◦◦◦ I recorded this incident with a cool detachment, as mere curiosity—probably because it had little to do with ranger-world. I’m a bit surprised, reading it all these years later, that I didn’t even try to describe my actual reaction: wonderment. I recall a fleeting exaltation; as if I’d just actively participated in, and not just briefly witnessed, a minor miracle. (Next morning, I hustled up a cardboard box and a bunch of rags and put this improvised cat-nest up in the barn loft. After transferring the kittens, Happy seemed fine with their new accomodations.)
7 Sep (Thu) A day wasted futzing around town. Would’ve taken sick leave but the horses needed to be moved to Wheeler—something I could do one-handed. Martin and Brian and I blew most of the day making two leisurely trips with the stock truck and two-horse trailer. In the afternoon we did the safety checks on the trucks and washed them just to kill time. Martin seems to be going through some sort of existential crisis, I think related to lack-o’-woman. After work, he came over to the barn (where I’ve been staying while stuck in town) and we had us a long palaver sitting on my tailgate. A very pregnant Happy-Cat came over while we were talking and jumped up on the tailgate with us, acting all friendly, and explored my camper. Not like her at all. She’s usually pretty aloof but, when it suits her, can be quite friendly. (She’ll allow herself to be petted but never picked up.) It was full dark by the time Martin took off. I was famished at this point so drove to the Cedar Inn for solo pizza. By the time I got back to the barn it was beddy-by time. I crawled into the camper and proceeded to spread out my sleeping bag, which is generally left crammed into a big wad up against the back wall. Well, I grabbed the foot of the bag and pulled it toward me and there was Happy-Cat. She’d stowed away when I was talking with Martin and somehow burrowed into the thing and popped out kittens while I was eating pizza. It was pretty dim in there but I could see by the lights of the DR’s [District Ranger] house across the way. My bag was covered with blood and slime and kitty-afterbirth. A bunch of little wet rats, brand new. Two of them were dead; these, I unceremoniously tossed into the willows by the coral before folding the bag back over the family. Happy was totally absorbed in licking her newborns dry when I left them. Deal with it in the morning. Crashed in Lorenzo’s trailer.
→ 8 hours wasted → 3 trucks washed (pointless) → 4 new kittens
©2025 Tim Forsell 27 May 2025
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