April Strays

The first of April approaches unstoppably. Buds on the trees are no longer hesitant, pollen is beginning to cloak everything in a green haze, evenings with magic light offer themselves up for the asking, no strings attached. And I am overrun with stray cats.

There is evidence of them everywhere - muddy little paw prints on the hood of my car and the washing machine in the garage, latticework haphazardly worked out of place for easy access and quick exits, the sounds of feline conflict shattering the peaceful dark mornings. They stroll across the lawn as if they own it, lay in wait for squirrels on the back fence, ambush unsuspecting robins and sparrows, make mush of flower gardens and grow fat with the weight of kittens to come. They are defiant but shy, indifferent but jealous, flirtatious but bold. They dodge traffic with ease and outrun dogs and children with no effort at all, as if they have a special immunity to danger. Two doors down, my non-cat loving neighbor puts out traps and tainted food, calls the newspaper to complain, arms herself with a broom and a coat of self righteousness and flies into a wicked rage at the sight of any cat, collar or not. She is offset by the family up the street who put out food and water on a regular basis, drawing more and more strays into the neighborhood, steadily increasing the cat population with well intentioned but misdirected kindness.

This is kitten season, when shelters will fill up in a heartbeat with unwanted litters and we will reap the rewards of overpopulation with fatal injections or carbon monoxide chambers or simple neglect - so preventable - and we will do this because we admire our cats and think they deserve the freedom of unlimited breeding. Cats will be cats, we say, they shouldn't be confined, so we wash our hands of responsibility for them. After all, we say, you can always get a new one. They're especially plentiful this time of year.

Some of us are kinder to our dirty laundry.