I woke up Sunday around 5 in the morning from a dream about cats. Tink, I dreamt, was hurt and complaining, in a very small-cat voice. I stumbled downstairs and found Tink sleeping on the chair, perfectly fine. I went back to bed.
Sunday evening, around dusk, I was washing dishes in the kitchen with the windows open and heard the same complaint. I looked outside.
Kittens in the garden. Two tiny kittens.
I put some litter and some food and water in the pantry, and they’re happy now. I surveyed the neighbors — everybody saw them, nobody wants them — and I did a careful look around the house for an injured and/or hiding mom. I’m not going to let them back outside because of hawks, because of traffic, and because of some bad neighborhood kids. But I’ll take them to the no-kill shelter in Beacon when it opens on Thursday.
Until then, my two (allegedly) grown cats are terrified of two tiny kittens who stumble and totter and mewl.
Cats can be dorks sometimes.
Absolutely.
In fact, as of tonight until tomorrow afternoon when they go to the shelter, there is a new kitten-rule in effect here:
Litterbox poop is not a toy.
Ever.
Fellow writing teacher: enjoying your blog. Meanwhile, you’ve been tagged.
Mike,
I like cats, too.
I’m trying to find your prof. email address (to see if you want to write a response essay for JAC), but I can’t find it. If interested, please email me asap. Thanks. Julie J.
Thanks for the note, Julie. I’ve emailed you.
And thanks, H — I’ve added you to the blogroll, and look forward to reading more from you.