Regular readers may recall a mention I made at the very end of the April Passing post about a stray cat that I had seen heading into our barn with what looked suspiciously like a kitten in her mouth. But because the upper barn floor is a death-trap in barely disguised disguise, I did not venture far in to its darkened depths to explore the mystery further. And Simon has been, well, just a tad busy lately. So we just sort of forgot all about it, and since we neither saw nor heard any further signs of burgeoning felinity in the barn, I simply came to believe that I must have been (uncharacteristically) mistaken.
Well, it turns out I wasn’t.
Today as I was returning from my daily spitting match socialising lesson with Mad Lenny, I heard the unmistakable miaow of the stray black and ginger cat that frequents our barn and gets regularly chased to kingdom come by our bouncy, chasey dogs. And then I caught the sound of a second little cat-like noise, like a harmonising little echo. And when I looked up, because the upper barn floor is a death trap in barely disguised disguise, I was able to see through one of the myriad massive gaping chasms, the big eyes of the black and ginger stray with another little pair of eyes right next to her.
I quietly put down the empty Lenny food bucket, and crept through the doorway and up the stairs for a closer look. And what an oh-my-god sight met my horrified-yet-delighted eyes. There was Black and Ginger with three… no four sizeable kittens, variously suckling and jumping all over her. Two looked just like her, and two looked just like the Big Daddy Tabby that sits on our garden table every evening smiling his Cheshire Cat grin through the window at our bouncy, chasy dogs, who are driven to the verge of insanity by their inability to run through solid walls and closed doors to wipe that self-satisfied smile off his smug-cat face.
The kittens are surprisingly large and mobile. How could they have been in here all this time without us hearing or seeing them before? I went to fetch Simon who cut short his phone conversation with his daughter in Canada, to follow me back into the barn with his camera. He tried to get some pictures, but only managed one before all the kittens took fright and skittered off to disappear into the shadows behind the various hay bales.
After a little while, Black and Ginger roused herself and wandered further into the depths of the barn, calling to her children. They duly appeared again one by one, and after she had checked they were all ok, she leapt up on to a high beam to watch us from a distance, as her quick-moving offspring sprang off into invisibility once again.
So. What now? Along with the overflowing septic tank, the kitten discovery has become a Thing That We Won’t Think About, just for the moment. When I mentioned that I might blog about the kittens, Simon said, “Hmmm… I suppose we ought to talk about what to do about them, at some point.” And I said, “Yep… I suppose we should.”
But we didn’t. And we haven’t.
We will, I suppose. At some point.
But not yet. Not today.
Because today is Sunday and a beautiful, sunny Sunday at that. And we will continue with our Day of Rest, and think only easy and nice thoughts, and enjoy This Lovely Moment a little longer.
Until mañana.
Until Monday comes crashing through our flimsy Door of Evasion, brandishing its heavy Mallet of Responsibility, and driving away the sweet smell of relaxation with the unmistakeable odour of the Protestant Work Ethic.
