So instead of spending all evening painting, we spent all evening dragging a big tree that fell over in the storm to the back forty, next to the burn pile. Well. I myself dragged six or seven (big! heavy!) branches back to the burn pile, then spent lots of time standing around watching Fred work. And playing with Momma and Daddy Kitty and their kittens, who appear to have taken up residence in our garage.
Seeing as how possession is 9/10ths of the law I think that means they belong to us and we could take them in to be fixed, right?
Yeah, Fred didn’t see it that way, either. He’s still going to talk to the cats’ owners.
The cats and kittens would come out, play on the fallen tree, then run away when Fred came back with the tractor to drag some more of it to the back forty. When he was done, Fred said “I sure am glad I didn’t kill any cats while I was doing this. I was afraid I was going to!”
Momma and Daddy had been keeping a close eye on the kittens, though, and made sure to chase them away from the tree if there was any danger. They’re good parents, those two.
At one point Fred was using the chainsaw to cut a limb, and Momma Kitty went running by with something in her mouth. I looked closer as she ran by and realized she had a seriously mangled dead squirrel. She ran into the garage and wandered out again a few minutes later.
“Um. Whatcha do with that squirrel, Momma?” I asked. She blinked at me and strolled away. Later, I found the squirrel hidden under the stairs in the garage. Like Momma was saving it in case there was a hungry time in the future and no cat food in the bowls.
Seriously. If Momma Kitty’s using the stairs under my garage as storage, doesn’t that mean she considers it her home?
“Nope, I didn’t do it. Really! It was… um… the squirrel! The squirrel did it! Which is why Momma had to kill him.”
I guess they’re not completely weaned. And doesn’t Momma look thrilled about it! Poor Momma. Those kittens are practically as big as she is!
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I haven’t managed to get a picture of it yet, but Maddy’s new favorite game is one she plays by herself. She’ll lay on her back, kick herself in the face with her back foot, and whine like someone’s picking on her.
I think she’s hit the “dumb teenager” stage of her life.
“Foot! Leave me alone! Or I will kick your butt!”
“Pillow! Leave me alone! Or I will kick your butt!”
Quite clearly it is a rough and difficult life for Maddy. Please, won’t someone save her from the daily torture and strife?
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Previously
2005: If he was a dog, he’d be a bulldog.