Bag Of Kittens

“Harold, what are you doing, for God’s sake?” Margaret gasped for air when she saw the open bag of chicks right beside her husband. He put them on the stairs leading to the front door.

“Where did you buy this? The market closed several days ago…”

“I just took these poor little chicks from a parcel meant for Coleslaw, that bastard has enough of them anyway!”

Harold Tomley was the most bitter, angry, and impatient farmer in all of Doncaster. His wife, Margaret, could usually make him come to his senses, but today was not the case.

“I’ll build a chicken coop, and we’ll start a farm here! Imagine all the eggs we could sell, I’ll be able to buy a horse. Taking a stroll with my new and glorious mount would make Coleslaw red as a tomato.”

“Stealing is a sin! How could you?” Margaret ran upstairs and slammed the door so hard it almost fell off its hinges.

“I don’t know who’s going to fix that, you daft cow!” Harold yelled after his wife, fist up in the air. He was finally left to his own devices, and the next step of his plan was unfolding - building a chicken coop. Tomley wasn’t a poultry farmer, and, quite frankly, none of his farming had ever been enough to be sustainable. Jumping from plan to plan, from bargain to the next, his lack of skills and of results was beginning to show.

The chicken coop was made from old wood lying around the garden, soaked by the rain flooding northern England. Rusty nail edges showed where the wood connected, and the wild hammer blows deformed the heads. Small chicks could not benefit from a leaking roof, but Harold was not concerned with such things, he wanted for them to lay eggs as fast as possible.

For the family, the force that set everything straight in the household was always Margaret. She would often leave her husband to finish a piece of work and when he wasn’t watching, most of his mistakes were fixed and often improved. Harold would notice how things were better than he left them, but his wife never received anything more than a critique. She never complained and always said that doing good is rewarded, regardless of when it is done.

“We need to get milk and crushed grain, because these little chicks have to grow. I have a horse to buy!” Harold said, finishing his meal at the dinner table.

Margaret looked at the newly hatched poultry farmer, her arms crossed and frown visible even to the neighbors.

“I want you to return all of them to their rightful owner. He might even thank you somehow. I know that God is watching us at this very moment, and we should…”

“If I wanted to hear about God all the time, I’d have gone to church instead! Did you know how Father Martin got his new pear tree? That idiot, Robert the Miller, gave it to him because he blessed his farm. Can you believe it?! A whole pear tree for a prayer!”

Harold was fuming with rage. How could such things be given for free? In his eyes, a prayer was merely a trick, just like pulling the wool over someone’s eyes. Margaret saw how he changed the moment God was mentioned. When they met, her husband was more receptive of religion and such teachings, but after their previous farm burned down, Harold felt abandoned by everyone, except his wife.

“I get it… You won’t return the chicks. Still, remember this - now you have to do something good, even if it might cost you. Do it without expecting anything in return. That’s the only way to repent for your sins… or at least try to.”

“We’ll see how it goes. I’m off to get food, we can’t let our little sunshines starve!”

Cold rain washed over the streets for several days. People were burning whatever they had to keep warm. Everyone was sitting quietly at home, waiting for the downpour to end, doing whatever they could in barns, silos, and workshops. Harold wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t plan that the chicken coop wasn’t big enough to shield him from the rain. Leaks from the roof, soaked straw inside, cold weather, and missing insulation was making the chicks sick.

Surprisingly for Margaret, her husband became fond of the small animals. He would frequently tell about their new names, how one reminded him of himself and fought with the others for food, or how one particular chick was always the last to eat and he fed it. Soon, some of his beloved pullets started dying. At first, the chicken farmer cursed the weather and all forces that brought this upon the coop. When the rain finally stopped, the already small population continued its steady decline. Chicks started disappearing, and Harold had no idea why.

Sitting at the stairs just beside the hinges he fixed several weeks ago, he could feel the pent-up emotions from loosing his peeps. “Margaret! Give me the money under the floorboards!” He yelled from outside.

“What is it now? You know we’re keeping it for a rainy day! You can’t just take it like that!”

Entering the house, Harold felt his eyes watering, and the strength of his voice faltered.

“Our rainy days are over… From now on, the Tomleys will be the best pig farmers in all of Doncaster! I learned enough from the chicks, but since they cannot survive, I’ll buy piglets instead.”

The tears in his eyes told Margaret everything she needed to know. Harold was deeply affected by the death in his coop. This was unusual, her husband was not a man to show emotions or weakness.

“Tell me, my dear! Is this because I stole them? Are they dying because of me?” For a brief moment, the otherwise cynical and bitter chicken farmer let go of all his inner turmoil. The hug of his wife served as a confession.

“I will do something good, believe me when I say it!” Harold and Margaret sat together on the stairs, side by side.

“Don’t worry about that,” said his wife. “The opportunity will present itself when you least expect it. Now, if you want, you can go and buy a single small piglet. We will find a way to raise it here. I’ll go and get some herbs to mix with the milk and grain for the chicks.”

Weather was nice for the sellers at the market this time. The thoughts of rain were long gone, now sunlight was shining directly over the town square. Loud talking, yelling, and numerous offers filled the air as each farmer was trying to sell his best produce. Some stalls were carefully made and decorated, weathered oak and pine crates were full with fresh fruit and vegetables. Harold felt invigorated from the chatter and laughter around the sellers, but his mind was occupied with only one thought right now.

“What can I do to save those god damned chicks? I have to admit, they got under my skin, just like Margaret did back in the day,” he said to himself. The east corner of the town square hosted the stall of Robert the Miller. Today it was empty. Some of the locals peered at the other side, and soon a crowd gathered around it.

“Kittens! Kittens for sale!”Behind the wooden counter was a little boy with oversized work clothes. His thick linen shirt was not appropriate for such occasions. Blackened with sooth and dust, just as his shirt, the boy had a leather cap with a pick and hammer sewn into it.

“Why would I buy kittens? They cannot help with anything around the house!” One rugged looking man was yelling at the crowd from his opposing stall.

“If you want something to help you, I have the perfect small terriers to catch all pesky vermin!”

Harold watched closely as the crowd shifted. People started looking at the small dogs, bargaining for their price with the seller. The small boy climbed onto the stall and continued to promote his kittens.

“Kittens! The best kittens are here!”

“What a hard-working young man we have!” Harold approached the boy and tipped his hat.

“Ha! Tomley buying kittens? I knew you’d buy up the leavings!” The terrier owner yelled through the crowd.

“The only thing filthier than your dogs is your big mouth! Don’t bother me again, or I’ll come and shut it before you know!”

Under the wooden counter was the bag of kittens. Four orange kittens, waiting for their new owner. One of them peeked out of the bag and looked directly at Harold.

“Why are you selling these kittens young lad? They are not the best stock around here,” said Harold.

“My dad is sick, and we need money to help him. I got his clothes and found something to sell!” The boy proudly showed his garments and continued, ”The kittens were in a bush near Black Bull Inn. I couldn’t find their mother, so I took them!” Harold felt his heart twitch, something told him this is the opportunity Margaret mentioned earlier. One of the kittens got out of the bag and circled around the stall. It latched onto the chicken farmer’s trousers, and a huge grin appeared on his face.

“Come here, you little rascal!” Harold took the kitten in his hands. “Young man, how many of these prowlers do you have?”

“Four! Do you want to buy them mister?” The little boy said, eyes wide, as he jumped down from the stall. He picked up the bag of kittens and tried to bring it to the farmer.

“I’ll take the little bandits with me, just leave ‘em to the side.”

The crowd was busy with the terriers on the other side, but the trade between the farmer and the child was more than an exchange of goods. Harold felt he was paying his dues. The little kittens would not serve any purpose to him, but deep down he was willing to do anything to save his chicks.

“That bag looks heavy! This might be the biggest piglet I’ve seen!” Margaret shouted from the front porch as her husband approached in the distance. She ran to the gate and stood there with her hands clasped together.

“Patience, Margaret! You’re in for a surprise.” Harold closed the main gate and went to the house. His wife followed him, eager to see what’s inside.

“Kittens! I thought you wanted to be a pig farmer.”

“On Robert the Miller’s stall was a small child selling kittens. He was wearing his father’s clothes, and they were all black and dusty,” Harold said while the kittens escaped the bag.

“Poor kid,” Margaret said.

“I saw a hammer and pick sewn on the cap, the boy comes from a miner family. My heart tingled when he said that his father is sick. I felt as if it’s time to do a good thing, just as you told me.” Harold looked at his wife.

“How are the chicks?”

“I just mixed a few herbs into their feed. Let’s hope that makes them healthy,” Margaret pointed at the greens she’d found in the garden and continued. “Dried and ground thyme should help them.”

“I bought the kittens to do good,” Harold continued. “There was no bargain to make, just buying them to help the boy. I’ll put the money back under the floorboards. We have enough left.”

The same kitten that tried to climb Harold appeared and started rubbing its head against his leg.

“Well… I’m glad you felt that way. No good deed goes unrewarded. We have kittens to feed. Let’s find them something to munch!” Margaret gave her husband a kiss on the forehead and went into the house.

Several weeks passed, and some of the chicks were no longer little. The Tomleys worked together as one - Harold repaired the coops as much as he could, while his wife took care of all the animals on their property. Still, some of the smaller chicks were missing. Their coop appeared ravaged, and the wood was chewed. He knew something was off, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. For a first-time poultry farmer, everything was new to him.

“The pottage smells wonderful! Did you do something different this time?” Harold was delighted with the upcoming meal and began to wonder how it had turned out so good. His wife was still outside near the hearth. She stirred the pot and moved it away from the fire.

“Actually, before putting the grains, I…”

A violent hiss split the air, feathers burst from the coop. Panic rose from the chickens and they started jumping around. One large cat emerged, holding a dead mouse.

“Harold, look what the cat dragged in!” Margaret yelled as she ran to her husband.

He saw the rodent, and everything in his head became clear.

Soon, the damage done to the coop began to fade. As time went on, the Tomleys found more and more dead rats. The coop thrived, and the chickens started to hatch eggs. With the money from selling the eggs, the chicken farmer was able to build a bigger coop and buy even more chicks.

“Margaret, do you want to come with me to the market? We need to buy more kittens for the new coop,” Harold said, smiling ear to ear. His wife stood still for a second and started laughing.

“Yes, of course! I’ll be watching you closely this time. Who knows, you might buy a pig!”