There are kittens at the Station now, five cute little bundles of fur only a few weeks old. Their mother, a gorgeous gray and white farm cat with brilliant green eyes, has taken excellent care of them. A co-worker (M) and I found them about three weeks ago in a corner of an old barn on the farm side of the road. They were smaller than the palm of my hand back then, too small to even mew; the film on their newly opened blue eyes was still visible. We fell in love with them, and vowed to make sure all of them were taken care of. The mother -- Momma Kitty, as we call her -- didn't mind. She's extremely friendly, and comes running toward us whenever she hears us approaching. For about a week, M and I thought we had lost all of the kittens. Our boss's dog had apparently chased them out of their cozy corner. All the breaks that week were dedicated to searching for them. After a seemingly fruitless hunt, we finally followed the mother to two piles of posts separated by about a foot. She had hidden her kittens in a brilliant place, one nearly completely inaccessible to anyone not a cat. M and I returned again and again, and eventually the kittens came out from the little cavern created by posts lying perpendicular to one another. We were delighted to see how healthy they were. As I said, Momma Kitty takes excellent care of them. The kittens are not only healthy; they are downright chubby! They're just starting to venture out from the center now. One of them even looked like it wanted to climb toward me. It was certainly giving me a curious look. It's brothers and sisters were nearby, climbing across the little rocks, swiping at each other's tails, rolling around wrestling. They pile on top of one another, or decide to use their mother as a hill to conquer. I don't think I've seen anything more adorable in all my life.

I'll miss the Station. I'll miss the Ozarks in the fall.