Why, Celeste?

Sometimes Celeste does it in the daytime, but mostly at night after lights out, and I don't know why.  She wanders up and down the hall with one or another of the smallest soft toys like the bald hamster in her mouth, plaintively meowing the whole time.  Celeste has not had nor will ever have kittens, but it's as if she considers them babies.  At first I thought she was perhaps mourning over them, but now I wonder if she's singing to them as she carefully puts the little one in a safe place.  Ralph pounces on the toys, throws them in the air, and claws with his hind feet as if to disembowel the creature.  That is not Celeste's way.  Is some mothering instinct going on?  As I do so often with the animals, I wonder why.

It rained off and on most of yesterday.  I took advantage of a dry spell to bring more wood to the porch.  This isn't a particularly cold storm, but the dampness seeps into the house.  Thanks to Clay, there is a nice mix of oak and cedar to keep Stove happy.  I got a pretty good start on the glassware once Stove got going.  There are dozens of wine glasses to be washed.  Camille asked why so many when we are not a wine-drinking family (usually only at Thanksgiving).  There is no good answer.  It probably goes back to my theory that if one is good, more is better.  Steve built a long sideboard in the dining room, and that doesn't count all the glasses in the liquor armoire.  (I'm not going to mention the six or so complete sets of dishes in the other cupboard.  Steve used to call me the Imelda Marcos of dishes.)

The brunt of the storm hit after dark and the girls were tucked away in the barn.  The bedroom is on the south end of the house and, as I've said before, it's like being on the prow of a ship with the wind howling and rain banging on the windows.  I am so very glad I got the covers up on the barn in time.

It is still dark this morning and Celeste is coming down the hall with her mouth full...again.  Why, Celeste?