On Youth and Rhubarb

There are days when I watch our old cat, playing with a ball, leaping across the kitchen in tall goofy arcs, hind feet kicking up like a kitten's, her blotchy ears perked forward.

She is intent, girlish, forgetting herself, noisy and heavy-footed now, but slipping handily into the early flinging energy of her bygone youth.

If I sit down, she will soon join me, because she is a social creature with a full agenda.

Pushing on me, shedding, kneading, drooling copiously, she has been boss cat around our house for many years. Recently, however~ with the invasion of an insolent, high energy puppy to the menagerie, she felt deposed and weakened.

She began, initially, to roost on the roof near the chimney, treed, essentially, by a fleet-footed, flop-eared mutt with neither scruples nor dignity nor sense.

We coaxed her down. The pup loved it.

Affronted, angry, she suddenly stopped appearing for dinner, and we knew that a line had been crossed, a real and frightening transgression had been committed.

Position and rank being one of the most sensitive issues among civilized creatures, the dog, with its built in pursuit mechanism, was terrorizing her in our absence and edging her out of her home and toward tragedy. Not for meanness, clearly for sport: the cat ran so the dog chased it maniacly. This was unheard of in our family.

She is back now, from a three week walkabout where she kept such a low profile that we thought we might have lost her to the coyotes or cold nights or depression. It was heart-wrenching to think she had left us feeling sad and usurped. We missed her insistent personality and scratching up her thick happy purr.

We called and called and put out treats which were joyfully consumed by the strays. We asked the neighbors. We incarcerated the pup.

Then, apparently, she made a decision. She reappeared one quiet morning, braving the empty porch, light as a feather, shaky, subdued, but full of deep purring and hugs.

I squeezed her and kissed her wayward head and scolded her for worrying us and fretted over her and then gave her, in private, a whole can of catfood.

Then, when I had her attention, I have her my dutch-uncle speech about the need for grit and fortitude, for standing up for your rights. I reminded her that puppyhood does pass. The upstart would settle down eventually. She was still Number One Cat and very dear to us, the only part-pedigree in the household, our chosen friend.

There seemed to be no cross-species interference with this message; I felt she received it and it was a profound moment between us.

For the next few days she was the star of the household. Children who claimed other pets as theirs fawned over her, petted her, cooing welcomes in her ears until their clothes were drenched and normal relationships returned.

So we have a full circle, with changes.

We carry her outside now and deposit her safely onto a high post. We let her in an upstairs window, and we have taught the dreadful pup, sotto basso, "NO CATS."

Therefore we are again wakened early on Saturday mornings by a persistent, drippy, Siamese/calico face in our faces. She jumps on our laps again, over and over, full of confidence,in her campaign for love and a place of her own at the table.

With somewhat less emotional overtones, the renewal of the old rhubarb plant, the senior citizen of the family garden, has also come to pass.

Rhubarb, abundant and versatile, grows easily in acclimate that tends to limit horticultural expectations to a comparatively narrow band.

Resplendent in May, young and gloating with its astonishing leaves, it invites a pause, a word or two of praise before the gift of harvest is given.

Remembering to pull the stalks briskly from the base and to trim the leaves directly into the compost, the joyous cook heads for the kitchen laden with ruby stems, to experiment before breakfast, to really surprise them, with Rhubarb Yorkshire. So elegant and homey. So easy.

Place in a l-qt. souffle or deep baking dish with fairly straight sides:

1/4 C. butter or margarine

Set it into an oven preheated to 425. When the butter is melted and bubbly, add the batter, which is made in the blender by whirling together until smooth:

2 large eggs

3/4 C. all-purpose flour

1/4 tsp. salt

Add and whirl again:

3/4 C. milk

In a separate bowl, mix:

1/2 pound rhubarb, cut into 1/2" pieces

1 Tbsp. grated fresh ginger

FIND OUT WHERE THESE 2 INGREDIENTS GO

1/3 C. butter or margarine

About 1 C. firmly packed brown sugar

Whipping cream, freshly grated nutmeg

Chopped walnuts

Pour into the buttered dish. Drop the rhubarb into the center of the batter and bake until the edges of the crust are dark brown, about 25 minutes.

Be careful not to peek until the pudding is set--this is inclined to fall from drafts.

When the pudding is nearly done, melt the final 1/3 C. butter in a good sized, heavy bottomed saucepan; stir in the brown sugar and cook, stirring, until the sugar is dissolved and the mixture is thick and gooey. Stir in 1/4 C. cream.

Spoon hot pudding into bowls, offer hot sweet sauce, cream, grated nutmeg, nuts to individual servings.

This is delicious. It prompts overwhelming displays of love and affection. So be ready.