The chicks are six days old now, and they have all sprouted hilariously ineffective tail feathers. Harriet was first with the butt fluff, but Dolly is giving her a run for her money, tail-feather-wise.
Ethel* and Martha are last in line. They’re so ridiculously fluffy right now that I’ll be sad to see their big girl feathers grow in.
Also popular: looking out the window.
Many people have asked how the cats are doing. The cats find the chicks intellectually interesting, but they’re happy to just sit and watch.
I’ve talked before about the cat thermometer, the phenomenon by which I can judge the cabin’s temperature by glancing at the cats. Here’s a demonstration of the cat thermometer in action, from an evening when the wood stove got a little out of hand.
* I swapped that name in for Abigail, which was insufficiently “old lady.” I marked a dot on Ethel’s head with a Sharpie (it’s non-toxic), so that I can tell them apart.