So, I guess you're all on tenterhooks to know what's happening with the kittens, aren't you? You must be. I would be. I think. Unless I was having more of a 'dog' day. Or was busy doing lesson prep or something.
Anyway, I can confirm that yes, I do have kitten news for you, but you're going to have to wait to get it! First, today's story, set in the competitive world of kitty real estate and construction, must be endured!
Our tale begins, as you know, with one small bundle of wisteria cuttings. Great old admirable eco home. Sustainable. Free. All that jazz. Funny thing is, leaves are not as simple a construction material as first appearance suggests. Quite apart from their prickly-when-dry nature, scoot around on them too much with your pushing, shoving and clawing to get at mum's belly, and they soon get swept out from under you. Exposing cold, unforgiving concrete.
Teatowel or no teatowel, within a day or two, House One was 'ideal home' no more. Time to move on.
Now, it's worth remembering at this juncture that, in fashioning House One, Agatha had done the best she could with rather limited means. Cosy safe spots don't tend to be reserved for snotty stray runts round these parts. There are people building in back yards, teretorial toms, howling hounds, scowling senhoras, careering cars... you get the picture. Quiet as it may seem, it's actually a fairly inhospitable landscape for new cats, this neighbourhood. If we weren't careful, Agatha was going to move the whole family to a far less secure spot, so we decided human intervention was most definitely the order of the day. The front 'garden' was looking quite a disgrace, anyway. It had long since needed attention. Why not convert it into a nursery?
A camoflagued cardboard box, with soft towel lining, straw all around and a pretty red sunshade (streetcombed in Madrid - I swear, it's amazing the stuff people chuck out) sat staring her in the face. How could she resist? Thankfully, the litter got moved into House Two the very next night.
And yet, before long, we could see it becoming harder and harder for her to contain the little explorers within its small walls. Another assessment of the housing market was in order.
House Three, we'll get to in a minute.
House Four was another Hobo-assembled offering. It needed to be bigger this time, so I had scaled it up. And got a bit carried away in the process.
That doorway-cum-entrance hall is WAY too exposed - how is a cat supposed to keep an eye on comings and goings? No chance! I almost heard her snub. I had carelessly lost sight of my client's needs. She didn't even give it a second glance. I was heart-broken. Vaguely consoled, however, when our finicky siamese continued to shun House Three:
the expensive but characterless, mass produced, plastic alternative that our lovely local cat woman had insisted I take on the second day. It was going spare, she said. And she obviously didn't think much of my DIY efforts, the first of which I had proudly unveiled only seconds before.
So, where could the cats happily move to, do you think?
Before we get our answer, a customary twist in the tale!
I've been on (and on, and on) at you about voting in the poll to give NoName Fluffball a moniker, I know, but I hereby officially back off and leave you be. The poll's closed, it's true, but in any case, recent events force me to be more forgiving of those who don't want to get too close. Because I can well understand the sentiment. Getting involved sets you up for loss, doesn't it? Getting involved means emotional upheaval when, for example, a routine Sunday evening kitten check... might reveal... something like...
... an empty House Two.
Or worse (what actually happened)... one sole kitten, mewing on her own.
Oh, the panic! The desperation! The sheer powerlessness!
We knew that, much to Agatha's annoyance, Ginger had been on excursions outside the nest before. At those times, a reckie on our part would reveal one cat and two kittens in the box, with mewing coming from a little way off. Having things this way round - Ginger and her mewing still contained within the box but noone else visible - had us dumbfounded. Had she pushed her mum one step too far? Put the litter at risk with her recklessness? Had she been abandoned?
Our hearts in our throats, we quickly ran through the possibilities. House One was long since forgotten, and a scan of Houses Three and Four returned no joy. It was dusk and getting darker by the second. The mews were sounding more and more forlorn. Think, Hobo! What can we do? What should we do?!
Thankfully, it came quite soon.
A rustle. A growl. A hiss. We had interrupted the family mid-move, and Agatha, keen to collect her last charge, was getting agitated at our proximity. Phew. A happy ending. Almost.
The whole clan has been safely installed in Abode Five (we can't call it a House for reasons which will become clear) for five days or so now. They seem happy enough. Mum keeps eating, three bundles keep tumbling around. The big difference being, they now do it out of sight, and very, very well contained. They currently reside just about HERE.
Never mind the huge rosebush stem. Pickly is obviously de rigueur.
Until the rains come, then...!
;)
