Yesterday I managed to trap 3 of the (I think) 4 kittens born to my little workplace stray cat. I should be really happy about that, right? I even have a place for them to go that ISN'T my garage, for a change. But all I can do is be pissed about the one who still eludes me. Damn you, tabby! Picture the fist-shaking-to-the-skies that goes along with that.
The little mama herself continues to be my friend, even as she watches me carry off her babies one by one, and additionally, there are two other participants at what is apparently being touted in the 'hood as the all-you-can-eat cat buffet in our parking lot. One is a true stray I've seen around for a while--probably a sibling to Lil' Mama; the other is clearly just an opportunist.
Have you priced cat food lately? I can't afford to feed this many more mouths. My plan, as soon as I incarcerate the final baby, is to have Lil' Mama spayed, and hopefully find her a home. Then the buffet will be closed. Closed, I tell you!
And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to pick some more burrs off my clothes. The babies are being hidden on one side of an unmowed field--I've been picking burrs off the cat all week, and now it's my turn.
Who needs a boyfriend when your life is this rich and full?