At the Eisenstat's Farm

Bea wasn't too sure about the goat kids, how they wanted to nuzzle, untie shoelaces, and taste buttons. There's our friend Mike Eisenstat, my mom, Bea, and a kid.
My mom and I provided lots of giddy, girly laughter, which just got more shrill when I found that a large butterscotch cat had jumped into the Subaru and trapped herself. She leapt into the closed windows, first to the left, then to the right, until I lifted the hatch and she tore down the dirt driveway like a bat out of hell.
When we went to see the clutch of hens, I kept feeling a phantom goat tugging at the cuff of my jeans. Who knows what psychological damage the cat incurred.

I really could write volumes, but I've already written the story of Toboggan Farm, and you can read it this Sunday in the O-R. Just click on the white geranium at right.