[TN-Bird] Three cat night

It was a three cat night in Malone Hollow. When I was at PetsMart 
getting meal worms for the bluebirds yesterday I bought two lambswool 
cat sleeping mats which were a great hit and source of not a little 
jealousy as Reece and Monster moved onto the one on the bed whenever its 
occupant got up for a nibble. Sister's has high sides and I put it into 
her favorite sleeping box atop the filing cabinet, where only black ears 
against the white lambswool peeked out the rest of the day.
At dark I put the last of the wood into the fire and carried the box 
outside to fill it with nothing but red oak. This was a night for the 
serious stuff.
After 11 I filled the box with red oak and went shivering to bed, after 
plugging in the heat tape on the water pipes and setting for hot and 
cold taps to a rapid drip. I slid the cat bed wiith Reece in it close to 
me and pulled up the cover. No owls were calling this night.
At 3:30 I awoke shivering, got up, pushed the red hot embers around and 
inserted three more red oak logs, opening the damper for several minutes 
until the flames roared, toasting my front side but the back was 
freezing, so I went back to bed, lying on my back and hugging the spare 
pillow to my chest for extra insulation. Monster crawled halfway out of 
his bed and stretched out over my hip, Reece curled up at my feet and 
Sister, who never sleeps on the bed with these rough-housing males, 
appeared on my chest, stomping the pillow smooth - and so we slept in 
perfect comfort. It was 64 degrees in the kitchen near the space heater 
when I refired the wood stove. I awoke an hour-and-a-half late at 7 as 
it was getting light, the cats were leaving me and lined up on the 
floor, wondering why their breakfast wasn't ready.
I could barely see out the window, but the red arrow on the thermometer 
was way over to the left and the windows were ice-sheeted. However, the 
red oak did its job, as the kitchen temperature actually raised to 67 
during the coldest part of the night, and I added three more logs.
The water was still dripping at the tap - amazing, I normally have 
frozen pipes where they run next to the hole in the foundation that I 
call a pet/possum door anytime it gets below 20 and I forget to set the 
drip fast enough. I made breakfast, fed cats, checked e-mail and by then 
I could read 5 degrees on the themometer.
Normally I fill the feeder wearing thin lounging PJs I bought in the 
Night Market in Chiangmai, Thailand,  for $1.50. Lately I've taken to 
wearing Wellingtons in the snow with gloves and an Army BDU top, but 
today I opted for leather jacket, hat , wellies and insulated gloves to 
fill the feeders.. It was the first time my legs really felt cold in the 
PJs, too many winters spent in Northern Illinois where it is unmanly to 
wear longies for kids, and not unless it's at least 20 below for adults. 
Of course, like any self-respecting Norwegian, I never think of zipping 
up a jacket when it's above zero, and becoming a rednecked Norwegian 
bachelor farmer doesn't change that.
The sun is just coming over the horizon as I write this at 8:20a and the 
first chickadees and titmice are arriving at the feeders in a rush. I 
threw an extra measure of black oil sunflower on the ground next to the 
tangle of honeysuckle on the fence. The rising sun outlines the feeders 
and the feather edgings of the arriving birds in shimmers of 
backlighting, and peering out through the open three inches of the 
iced-over window, my presence in the kitchen does not alarm them.
By 8:25 the first downy has arrived and is hanging upside down on the 
suet block, a goldfinch is hanging on the tube feeder and the first 
cardinal and White-throated Sparrow are feeding on the ground. Daybreak 
is here. How about some more coffee over here? "yes sir, " I says to 
meself.
I know hummingbirds and Carolina Wrens go into torpor, but I suspect 
just about all birds do in really cold weather, and that would explain 
why they are so late in stirring until the sun's rays warm them.
Humans get all the breaks - nice warm houses, plenty of nice furry cats 
to keep us warm, a new, but fast diminishing stack of red oak in front, 
snug and dry under three forest green tarps - I was told the bright blue 
ones were too rednecky, even for me.
Ending with a question? Has anybody thought of protecting the Southern 
pine bark beetles from the cold? I seem to recall that they cannot 
survive when it gets below 10 degrees. Can one of you tree experts 
speculate whether last night, and the forecast for tonight might spell 
an end to the further advancement northward of our friends from Georgia 
(I'm writing this from a woodpecker's point of view, of course). Should 
we blanket our pine trees to ensure their survival?
Cabin fever leads to strange thoughts.
James Brooks
Malone Hollow
Jonesborough, TN

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