Daddy swung a bucket strap over a Holstein cow’s back and leaned down to hook it below. Being a well-seasoned milking cow, the old black and white bovine never flinched. I stood behind her in the barn’s center aisle chattering non-stop as I watched, enjoying the smells, the sounds, and the way the cows acted. My father good-humoredly smiled, nodded, and looked pleased as if he enjoyed a talkative six-year-old’s company while he worked.

Mom called me Daddy’s shadow because I followed him everywhere on the farm. Starting school limited the time I could spend with him, but school supplied more topics to talk about as he worked. This typical summer evening took place in 1957.

Stepping out from between the cow to be milked and its neighbor, Daddy picked up the Surge milk bucket on the limed walkway next to me and hung it on the strap under the cow. Connecting the vacuum tube to a vacuum valve installed on the stanchion, he then leaned over to introduce the inflation cups to the cow’s teats from where they dangled on the lid of the vacuum bucket. He did this slowly, one by one as to not startle the cow. The teats quickly slipped into the cups by suction.

Stepping out from between the cows again, Daddy pulled a washcloth from a bucket of water and stepped between two cows across the aisle and began to wash mud off the next cow’s teats and udder. Just as he was finishing, the milker on the cow across the aisle began to make loud squealing sounds. The cow brought up her hind right leg, as though she didn’t like the tickle caused by the loss of suction. But she didn’t kick as some of the cows would. Moving quickly, Daddy stepped next to her, removed the inflation cups, and checked to see if she was finished milking.

While putting a bucket strap on the next cow across the aisle, Daddy told me, “Mama Cat had her babies a few days ago. She looked very thin this morning when she came down from the haymow to eat from the food dish.”

I jumped up and down and shouted, “Oh boy! Do you know where she hid them?” Used to my sometimes loud, rowdy presence, the nearby cows didn’t startle. Mama Cat was the only cat my family knew that didn’t mind her nests being found so we could play with her babies. All the other cats would find new hiding places for their babies.

Daddy instructed, “Go up into the haymow and look behind the hay chute enclosure. I saw her come out from there the other day.” His answer silenced me. I loved being in the lower part of the barn with Daddy and my brothers, but the haymow was spooky. The few times I’d been up there alone, I’d heard mysterious sounds of scrabbling, squeaking, and soft moans.

The thought of finding a nest filled with Mama Cat’s babies was an incentive to be brave. I slowly walked up the stairway to the mow. An orange and white cat sat on the fourth step washing its face. A mostly black cat on a higher step was hungrily staring down at the row of milk cans lined up at the foot of the stairs. Daddy had just emptied one of the vacuum buckets into the strainer on top of one of the cans. The creamy milk was slowly passing through its filter into the can.

Having reached the haymow, my ears felt like they were stretching as they strained to hear. The mow was quiet, but not silent. From the barn below I could hear the conversational mooing of the cows, the clang of the metal bar of a bucket strap hitting a stanchion and the ever-present chore-time chug-chug of the Surge vacuum pump. A breeze coming through a sliding door playfully whispered as it rearranged some of the chaff on the loading floor. Soft, unexplainable creaks sounded as if the building was comfortably shifting and settling down for the evening.

Then I heard the sound of very small kittens mewling for their mother. Walking timidly toward the hay chute enclosure, I spotted Mama Cat peeking out at me. Her nest was nearby and not very hard to find. Dropping down onto a pile of hay next to the nest, I counted. There were one, two, three, four babies! Mama Cat stepped into her nest and stretched out. The babies blindly crawled around searching to latch onto nipples.

Mama Cat purred and looked up at me benevolently. I gently petted her and the babies who were now contentedly suckling and kneading their mother’s belly. The fresh hay smelled sweet. I sleepily wondered why I had always felt so scared to be in the haymow alone. Suddenly a loud screech filled the air. I jumped to my feet and ran screaming down the stairway to Daddy.

“That was just two cats fighting in the haymow.” Daddy comforted me with a laugh.

My heart continued to pound hard and fast. I didn’t want to go back to the haymow again tonight. But tomorrow morning I’d go because I’d have my big sisters with me.