I Am NOT Your Mother

By Rachel Dib

So, I did something stupid.

A barn cat’s number one rule is simple: catch the rats, leave the chickens alone. It’s not a hard rule to follow. Chickens are mean. The ones with the larger combs threaten to kill me just for walking by—rude considering I protect their nests from rats. But despite their ungraciousness, I’ve always kept that number one rule—until today.

Though, technically, I didn’t tamper with the chickens. I merely saw some unattended eggs, and I… sat on them. I’m unsure why I was drawn to their vulnerability. It wasn’t my problem if some hen lost track of her eggs. But I couldn’t help myself. I saw them, and I sat on them, and then they started twitching.

It was a weird sensation. One moment, three warm little stones were tucked under my belly, and the next I felt a wiggle. Since the movement didn’t happen again, I ignored the incident and fell asleep. After all, it was a cool but sunny September morning—perfect for napping. Anyway, I awoke to lots of wiggling accompanied by muffled peeping. When I stood, three scrawny, orange and yellow fluff balls peered up at me with shiny black orbs for eyes.

The largest of the trio cocked her head. “Mama?”

“Definitely not.” I sauntered away, but the little weaklings tottered after me.

“Mama! Mama!”

“Nope.”

I quickened my pace, but so did the chicks. Sort of. They weren’t the most coordinated creatures. They kept tripping over their feet, screaming “Mama.” Since I couldn’t have them shrieking such falsehoods for the whole barnyard to hear, I turned—and tried to reason with them.

“Look. I’m not your mama. I’m sure your mother is here somewhere.” I glanced around but didn’t spot any hens. I stared back down at the chicks with my sternest expression. “But I am not her.”

The three gazed up at me. For a split second, I thought they’d understood. Then one scampered to my leg and pressed her head against it. “Mama.” The other two quickly followed suit.

“I just said I’m not your mama.” I wrenched away my paw, causing the little fuzz balls to fall on their backsides. I extended my claws. “See. Have you ever seen a chicken with these?”

“Mama!”

I yowled in frustration.

The chicks scrambled backward, stumbling over each other in their confusion.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m a big scary cat.” I hissed, and they scattered.

While I felt a twinge of regret for frightening them, I’m a ratter, not a caretaker. I hadn’t spent the last couple years swatting away the local tomcats’ advances only to get saddled with chicks. Plus, it was healthier for them to grow up amongst their own kind. So, I strode away without a backward glance.

I supposed I should’ve known something was amiss when I noticed the pigs snickering between mouthfuls of slop. And when Francis the goat muttered about regurgitating worms instead of hairballs. But I chose to remain blissfully unaware of my circumstances until I strolled by Norm’s yard.

The Clydesdale took one look at me and asked, “Is there something you need to talk about, Corpsy?”

“Mama!” came a peep.

I closed my eyes. “I might’ve made a mistake.”

Norm chuffed. “Might have?”

“Mockery isn’t helpful.”

“Good. I wasn’t trying to help.”

I flattened my ears. “Look, unless you have some advice on how to rectify my situation, clop off.”

“Don’t get your whiskers in a twist.” Norm bent his head over the gate to better view the chicks. “Hello, little ones. I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake. Corpsy isn’t your mother. She’s a cat. You three are little birds. So, you need to find someone who looks like you.” He paused. “Only bigger. And not so yellow and fluffy.”

The chicks clustered around my back leg. “Mama.”

Norm tossed his mane. “Well, that didn’t work. I guess you’ll have to find the chickens. See who’s lost some babies.”

“Are you insane? They’ll peck me to death before I have a chance to plead my case!”

“Maybe, maybe not. Either way you won’t have to worry about the chicks anymore.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Only advice I’ve got.” He started to plod away but then added, “Find Cluckidoo, the brown and white speckled hen. She knows all the chicken gossip.”

“How about you ask her for me,” I called after him.

He pitched a high-whinnied laugh in response.

“Jerk.” I scowled and glanced down at the chicks.

“Mama.”

“Hopefully not for much longer,” I muttered and headed toward the chicken coop.

Cluckidoo wasn’t hard to spot. Her freckled body stood out starkly against the brown, black, and red of the other hens. The trick was attracting her attention without drawing the ire of the flock.

I spied on her for a solid hour—time spent as a chick jungle gym—before she finally meandered behind the barn by herself.

I snuck over. “Psst.”

Cluckidoo pecked at a leaf.

“Psst!”

“Mama!”

Cluckidoo lifted her head. “Who’s there?”

Releasing a breath, I stepped into the open. Cluckidoo opened her beak, but before she could squawk in alarm, I shooed the chicks out in front of me. I sat, and they scurried back to bury their faces in my fur.

Cluckidoo eyed the chicks narrowly. “How did you—”

“I found some eggs this morning, sat on them, voila.”

“I see.” She fluffed her feathers. “That’s unfortunate.”

“But fixable, right?”

“It would be. Except…”

A knot formed in my stomach. “Except what?”

“Those chicks are Rhode Island Reds. Only two of us hens come from that lineage.”

“Okay. And?”

“You say they hatched this morning?” When I nodded, she released a disgruntled cluck. “Then your chicks belonged to Cluckerina.”

“Great. Give them back to her.”

Cluckidoo averted her gaze. “A fox broke into the henhouse last night.”

“Oh.” I glanced at the chicks. Huddled together, they’d fallen asleep. “What does that mean for them?”

Cluckidoo bobbed her head. “Welcome to motherhood.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rachel Dib is a stay-at-home mom of three small children. After marrying a soldier, she left her home state of South Carolina to live in random places across the United States. Her short fiction appears in anthologies published by Havok Publishing, Ye Olde Dragon Books, Iron Faerie Publishing, Brigids Gate Press, and The Last Line literary journal. She also was awarded Havok’s “Most Prolific Author” for 2022 and 2023.

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