High Summer

Just as I pull into the driveway, a small, fluffy, gray and white blur races across the driveway and disappears through the latticework and under the house. His mother follows, giving me a resentful glare and a warning snarl as she passes. My house, I remind her, Don't push your luck. From out of nowhere, three more fluffballs - one all gray, one all black, and a different gray and white come scurrying and skittering - they all slip soundlessly through the latticework and disappear. It would seem I am involuntarily harboring the entire family and for just a second, being far too tender hearted for my own good, I actually consider feeding them, then in an unexpected and rare flash of common sense, I realize what a disaster that would be. I harden my heart - I did not ask for and do not welcome these precious trespassers - if I knew who owned the mother cat, I would trap her and the whole litter and deposit them on the offending owner's doorstep. There is no punishment too severe for people who abandon animals, no retribution too harsh. Shoot'em first and ask questions later is always the best course.

It's almost high summer and I'm consoled by the fact that by the time the weather turns ugly again, they will be grown, feral, and self sufficient and I won't have to worry about them. It doesn't help much now though and I fret and worry to no end that they won't survive their kittenhood, even though experience tells me that this time next year, half of them will be tending to their own new litters and the entire process will start over. It's a dismal thought but I suppose there's always the hope that they will choose someone else's house next time.

A few days later as I turn in, I see mother cat and all four kittens lazing in the late afternoon sunshine, tumbling about and playfully chasing their tails. All five run when I approach, the mother cat seeing that all the little ones are safely under the house and out of harm's way before she casually follows. Again, she gives me a resentful glare and again I remind her, My house, and when she hisses, My driveway too, I tell her mildly, Watch your language.

I fear this little family of intruders may be with me for some time. Half of me wants to evict them, the other half wants to set out food and water - no matter what I do, I won't be happy with myself.