It Never Ends

"A man may work from dusk to dawn, but woman's work is never done."  If you doubt this, ask Celeste.  All these babies must be transported, one at a time, back and forth up and down the hall.  I don't know why she does this, and I'm not sure she does, either.  It's a self-appointed task and she takes it seriously.  One of these days, or nights, she will carry them all back to the bedroom, crooning or crying all the way.

A night bird, not an owl, has taken to hunting the property recently.  This bird has a particularly irritating call, similar to a squeaky rocking chair, and it makes this sound continuously.  After a while of listening to it, it begins to grate like fingernails on a chalkboard.  It's outside the bedroom window now.  I do not understand how the nighttime hunters ever catch anything when they constantly announce their presence.  Most self-respecting squirrels are underground anyhow.

A cat, either a neighbor's or a feral, has been hanging out in the big pen in the morning.  The girls are sure it is a lion and snort and stamp and cluster together.  There's no convincing them that the kitty is no danger.  Their instincts tell them different.  I'm just glad that Bessie's eyesight is so poor now.  She lets Celeste and Ralph snuggle up and rub all over her, but strange cats are not to be tolerated.

The night bird is squawking and Celeste is bringing a baby to the bedroom.  It never ends.