I've been trying to pay extra attention this week to things that I might share with you. I've been carrying around a notebook and a pen to jot down those fleeting thoughts that would otherwise be forgotten. I even went so far as to charge the battery in my camera. The thing is, when something does happen, when the unexpected knocks on your door and says, "Whaassuuuupp???", you're never ready. At least I'm not. And then I'm scrambling for a pen or a crayon or a piece of broken chalk in my desperate search for a writing implement. Bills get knocked off the kitchen table in the mad dash to locate the elusive, but charged camera. The thing sinks to the bottom of my purse in the same manner that I imagine rare bottles of wine sink through the murky depths of the deep dark sea after falling from doomed ships.
This morning Michael was opening the blinds in the living room and said very calmly and evenly, "You have to come here now." He said it in such a way that I knew there was no time to waste. Beagle was sitting calmly in the chair nearest the window but seemed fine. I reached Michael and knew that I was supposed to see something out the window.
There it was. A cat. So unremarkable. This is what he wanted me to see?
"Oh, yeah. Beagle's being really good. She's not barking."
"Did you see it? The pile?" he asked.
I stepped closer to the window and looked again.
"Oh my god, oh my godohmygodohmygod!"
There was a sleeping mound of kittenjoy below the window in front of my car. There was a mama cat with a baby. There were kitten feet sticking out from behind trees. They seemed to be everywhere. It was like some underground cat lab had blown up and kittens had rained down upon us. Lovely, lovely little kittens.
I counted six babies plus the mama. They're too wild to catch but hungry enough to clean out a bowl of kibble in a few short minutes. The goal, of course, is to round them up and get them to our new no-kill shelter.
Shhh...Michael does not know this yet.