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The summer when I was twelve, our family lived on a farm in the heart of New York City. The farming time we borrowed is sandwiched between two periods of time in the city: we spent a school year on the side of a turn-of-the-century house with antique furniture, and the short winter that is coming will find us—— Parents and four children-in a small but spare apartment.

But for now, along a narrow rural road named after the farmer, wild flowers, grass and light summer clothes are rippling in the warm breeze. We sat on the steps of the porch and chatted with the grandmother’s owner. The soft sunlight slowly roasted the earth until the wind brought the mellow smell of corn and hay. There is a barn full of straw bales for climbing, a cornfield across the street, and a quiet woods in the distance. A swing horse named Susie is mowing the grass in the field-she has been in the field for decades, and she has retired. There is also a tortoiseshell cat that ultimately determines how I feel about the farm.

I can immediately see that Casey Cat is special because she will follow me. I will touch her, then get up and leave, she will walk on my heels. I commented on the shadow of the kitten to the lady who owns the farm, and she agreed that it was Casey’s business. We soon discovered another characteristic that made Casey unique-she was pregnant. In a few weeks, there will be kittens, and the trick is to know that this little female cat will decide where to put them so that we can at least look at them. We don’t want to miss the kitten era of Casey’s children.

At the same time, we are spending the summer the way we should have been-we played in the haystacks, wandered in the sun-drenched yard, and read our library books. My brother went on a mysterious hike in the fields and woods. He has this convincing way of crows, which increases the appeal of his activities, but he is not in a hurry to include his younger siblings. One day, he took home a raccoon he had hunted, and then he was busy with a long-term project, opened its skin, and told us that he was going through a process of preserving it. None of this will happen in the old-fashioned residential area we just moved out of.

In the late afternoon, we came to watch LeVar Burton's "Reading Rainbow" hosted by LeVar Burton on a small TV that provides PBS and several other channels. Although the farmhouse on our side is empty most of the time, the widow’s son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren still live there when they don’t go abroad. The family—mum, dad, and two blonde girls who look like parents—smiled kindly from the portraits displayed on the wall.

At night, I would climb a narrow staircase to a small bedroom, the bedroom window overlooking the front yard. There, my sister and I read the books of Beverly Cleary that we dug up in the library, those obscure stories about twins, teenagers, and weddings, because we have read all of her mines. Mona series.

In this holiday environment, Casey has not been forgotten. I still touch her and talk to her, and marvel at her following skills. She is getting rounder and rounder, and I know that any day now, we will be lucky enough to see small furry animals, and then kittens that will hit anything that moves. Then, unexpected things happen-this kind of event forces you to reset your expectations for life.

One day I found out that Casey was no longer pregnant. Where are the children? I don't think I will spend too much energy to find her hiding place, because I know this creepy, meowing offspring is not ready to be handled by humans. Soon after Casey regained her previous smoothness, I found her galloping under the bushes. She behaves strangely and sneakily. I followed her-made a terrible discovery. Suppose I later made a second unpleasant discovery that the kitten did not survive, and I suspect that Casey—the handsome little tortoiseshell—is a cat in the case.

Now comes the urgent question. How can cat pregnancy go wrong? What would make a cat behave in this way? If Google was invented, I would definitely enter some strange keywords. But it is not available, I need an expert. So I looked up the local veterinarian on the yellow pages, dialed the number, and forwarded my question to the professional on the other end of the phone—maybe the receptionist? They said that their office could not tell me anything unless we brought the cat in for inspection. We do not intend to do this. There was no comfort in that quarter.

Suddenly, I was about to leave that farm. Its sweet smell, vast space and sunlight are now threatening. The old stairs and attic rooms no longer appeal to me. I'm considering the possibility of unpleasantness-rabies, maybe. My brother once talked to us about rabies because he is fascinated by raccoons. Whatever it was, the warm country summer that was supposed to end with a new kitten playing made me confused, even disturbing, and a disturbing plot twist occurred in that ill-fated trash. Now I look forward to uprooting again, returning to school, and leaving this quiet land for the four seasons.

Really, here are the most fascinating stories.

Years ago, when our children were very young, we went to school at home, and the homeschooling group went to a printing factory for field trips. We have a handwritten illustrated booklet of family stories-when our elder son was trapped under the bed to "feed the hippopotamus" a carrot, our younger son wrote the amazing words, "Time Dad keeps grandma locked in "In the attic", "Time when my mother taught Indian PhD engineers how to read", childhood stories of grandparents, etc. This book does not even fit the story of "The first time Grandpa swears and escapes". (It is related to a cow.)

Mrs. B still tried to get the children to write their stories, but received little response. Our writing is almost not as good as yours, but we like to take them out from time to time.

I am very happy that you can meet Casey and spend such a summer.

Summer is definitely a farmhouse! I'm glad you had such an experience, but the cat part is a bit creepy. I grew up on a farm and we have two or three mother cats, and they give birth on a regular basis. I don't believe that I have ever experienced the death of a kitten, but... I definitely did not regard my mother as a suspect. Once we were hit by a car on the road and killed a female cat. The other female cat put away all the babies and fed two batches!

We also have a ridiculous cow, which claims to have every calf born. Because these are cows, the calf only stayed with the mother for about two days, and then her normal milk would come in. We put the calf in our small corral and fed it with a bottle. For the first few days without a baby, my mother stood at the door of the small bullpen, pitifully mooing for her baby; but the real mother always accompanied Gyp, Gyp is a person from Guernsey, she feels that every head The Mavericks should be hers too. So we will have two sad "mothers" longing for babies behind the closed barn door.

Summer is definitely a farmhouse! I'm glad you had such an experience, but the cat part is a bit creepy. I grew up on a farm and we have two or three mother cats, and they give birth on a regular basis. I don't believe that I have ever experienced the death of a kitten, but... I definitely did not regard my mother as a suspect. Once we were hit by a car on the road and killed a female cat. The other female cat put away all the babies and fed two batches!

We also have a ridiculous cow, which claims to have every calf born. Because these are cows, the calf only stayed with the mother for about two days, and then her normal milk would come in. We put the calf in our small corral and fed it with a bottle. For the first few days without a baby, my mother stood at the door of the small bullpen, pitifully mooing for her baby; but the real mother always accompanied Gyp, Gyp is a person from Guernsey, she feels that every head The Mavericks should be hers too. So we will have two sad "mothers" longing for babies behind the closed barn door.

I like your story about the farm! 

Summer is definitely a farmhouse! I'm glad you had such an experience, but the cat part is a bit creepy. I grew up on a farm and we have two or three mother cats, and they give birth on a regular basis. I don't believe that I have ever experienced the death of a kitten, but... I definitely did not regard my mother as a suspect. Once we were hit by a car on the road and killed a female cat. The other female cat put away all the babies and fed two batches!

We also have a ridiculous cow, which claims to have every calf born. Because these are cows, the calf only stayed with the mother for about two days, and then her normal milk would come in. We put the calf in our small corral and fed it with a bottle. For the first few days without a baby, my mother stood at the door of the small bullpen, pitifully mooing for her baby; but the real mother always accompanied Gyp, Gyp is a person from Guernsey, she feels that every head The Mavericks should be hers too. So we will have two sad "mothers" longing for babies behind the closed barn door.

I have met such a person. men and women. 

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