Meow – No Kittens This Spring?
Wed., June 26, 01:06 PM
It looks as if there won’t be kittens this year. The number of cats waiting for breakfast has continually dwindled. There are five or so gray tabbies and one calico.
The calico is Floppy, one of last year’s babies. There is one affectionate tabby – Dos-a, I guess – but most of them seem to be newcomers. Only one is instantly recognizable, “Fraidy,” whose tail has been lopped off. She has very frightened eyes, but she has come to accept an occasional pat from me.
What happened to all the others? Is it too hopeful that some of them might have been adopted? Shayna and WYSI, so pretty. Smoky, so sweet-natured. Not Smoky was older than the others, and he had been coughing. If he died, I was just glad that it wasn’t on my steps.
But we’re talking about a lot of cats, far too many to have been adopted. (For example, there were four black ones.) They might have been scared off by the neighbor’s dogs. Someone might have called the Animal Control people, at a time when they were neither overworked nor understaffed. (Yeah, right!) And then I scared off a red fox a couple of times – Mother Nature’s own animal control.
Spring approached, and Floppy began looking kind of chunky. There was no doubt that she was carrying a litter, but she never brought any kittens back to us. She disappeared for a few days and returned looking noticeably thinner, but she didn’t look as if she was nursing. Above all, she was absolutely too skittish for anyone to get near her.
One rainy morning several soggy adult kitties crowded around the garage door, and two tiny kittens – obviously too young to know any better – rushed inside. They hid behind a shovel, and no mama came scolding them. When the rain stopped, I chased them out and went up to watch from the porch. A gray tabby (one of the strangers) came out the woods, sniffed at the babies, then licked them and led them away. So we figured they weren’t Floppy’s.
There were two babies – one black and white and one gray tabby. Occasionally they ventured out from under the steps. They were too little for adult food, yet we never saw them nursing. Floppy cuddled one sometimes. And when Hey Boy got out of the house, timid little Floppy ran at him, hissing and spitting. But she’s not the mother, because that gray tabby nursed them afterward.
Next day I heard loud, plaintive meows. Floppy was sitting by the hole under the steps, calling and calling. No one came. I haven't seen the babies in a couple of days.
I think that, having lost her own kittens – probably to the family of foxes – she thinks these are hers. She’s not very bright, after all. I feel so sorry for her.
