I arrived home yesterday morning in the pouring down rain, hands tangled and pinched in loads of grocery bags I was carrying from the car as quickly as I could, to find "Black Walnut" standing in front of the mudroom door, mewing incessantly. She was soaked from the rain and obviously distressed.

Black Walnut is our cat who is about the size of a walnut. She's tiny. It seems she's never grown much bigger than her teenaged-kitten size, but lately she's gotten quite broad and hippy, if you know what I mean. I hate to admit that I didn't get her spayed in time and she "got married" before I had the chance to get her in to the veterinarian.

We knew her time was close as she was getting as wide as she was long, waddling around the farm and eating enough food for an army of cats.

So when I saw her waiting for me at the mudroom door yesterday morning, I knew something was up. And when she turned and I got a glance at her hind end (sparing you the details here) I really knew something was up (or down. or out, maybe).

The girls and I quickly scooped her up from the rain and made her a nest of towels inside a laundry basket on the mudroom. And stood back like a bunch of nervous old ladies, cringing and fussing with her every cry and contraction.

By late afternoon, dear little Black Walnut gave birth to five kittens and I now have a pretty good idea which lurking tom she "married".

The girls were amazed, glued to the action, soothing her and telling her what a good mama cat she is. And now I hear new words in their vocabulary like "after birth" and "nursers" which makes me laugh.