An unrelated picture, to get today's sign done, since I'll be very busy later:

It might be a direct translation; I'm not certain, but the 2 characters in the upper right corner are the same as the starts of several lines in an Arabic handout I have for a personal hygiene checklist.



You may remember that there were 3 cow cats living behind our house, in a set of yards that is completely enclosed by the junior high and the brick rowhouses on all 4 sides of the city block. There was Jumpy, the tomcat, whose spots were striped; he used to have an older gentleman who took care of him but who disappeared from the block maybe as many as 10 years ago. Then there was a female whose spots were black. Then a couple of years ago, the female had two kittens... oops, Jumpy's not fixed. One of the kittens disappeared, and the other grew up to look like a smaller version of her mother.

On September 12, we found a note through our mail slot on lined stationery:

Dear Sir,
My name is [Japanese woman's name], living in [deleted]. I have been giving food to the 3 cats in the back yard. Also, I have my 3 cats with me. But, I have not seen one of them from 11th (Thursday).
This morning I saw a cat from my fire escape veranda, laying in your back yard. I am afraid it is died. If so, I want to take him to the animal doctor to cremation in ash.
I went to your house this morning, but, it was no answer, looks like absence. I am afraid dead body will rot, so, please call me my tel No. [deleted]. If I am absence, please leave message. I soon visit you to take the cat. I am sorry to bother you. Thank you.

Oy. With a note like that, I couldn't be angry at her anymore for throwing down the food from her fire escape. Andrew confirmed that Jumpy was dead in the yard, and the woman came over while I was out, and he gave her a contractor bag to take Jumpy away in. Two days later, she left a pot of orange and yellow mums on our doorstep with a thank-you note for our kindness.

Andrew was sad about it, and I felt sorry for the woman, but I was glad that now there would be no chance of further litters with only the mother and daughter out there. The cats carry feline eye herpes and god knows whatall. Moreover, my backyard is full of insects that bite my ankles and make my legs itch, aggravated because there are so many dogs in the other yards that the cats spend a lot more time in my yard than they used to. (If the insects are this bad again next summer, I'm getting the exterminator.)

Then on the morning of September 22, I got a call at work from Andrew, who was still at home, who said that when he went out back to water the plants, the daughter was under our barbecue table and looked to have at least one kitten with her.

When I got home from work in the afternoon, I went out and found the daughter with what looked like a child/grandchild of Jumpy (actually it looked like a tiny clone of Jumpy). Damn.



I was wondering how the frig we could get it out of there, once it was weaned, before it learned to fear humans as its mother and grandmother did. Then, as I was taking pictures, the momcat got up and ran about 10 feet away, hissing at me, BUT LEAVING THE KITTEN UNATTENDED instead of taking it with her.



I called the vets' office to let them know I was coming, grabbed an tattered old shirt, and went back outside to the BBQ table. The momcat again ran away without the kitten. I scooped up the kitten and took it to the vet; Dr Z was there -- she has been the primary vet for my animals for about 5 years, and is the only doctor in the world that I don't mind calling me by my first name when I only ever call her by her last name. She said that it was in good shape, but I would have to hand feed the little bugger every two hours and stimulate it to poop and pee. I said I would be willing to do it if I knew that it would live, but I would hate to go through all of that and then have it die horribly a few months down the road the way Rusty did, from the FIP that Harry and Pinky carry. I said I would rather just pay to have it euthanized. It would be sad, but I was not going to allow the inbred feral cat colony to continue if I could help it, and I was not going to get attached to the kitten and then have it suffer and die. She said, but what if she could find someone else to foster it until it was old enough to go up for adoption? Of course, I said.

She found Kevin, the very cute blond vet tech, who said he would do it. I offered to pay him for the milk, but he said he would have no problem expropriating that. It was sad to hear the kitten's mother crying in our backyard for a night or two, but eventually she stopped, and really, it's for the best. With all the dogs out there now, the kitten didn't have as good a chance at a long life as its beatup older relatives had.

Last week, I stopped in to get some medicine for Pinky, and Kevin greeted me. He had found a foster mother for the cat, someone who has fostered animals before, and she had brought the kitten in the day before for constipation treatment. He said it was doing just fine, and he whipped out his digital camera to show me the pictures. It's looking very well. He said the foster mom was getting attached to it and was thinking of keeping it; if she does, its name will be Siren, based on its wailing.

I'm glad I don't have the death of a cat on my conscience, even if I had good reasons, and Andrew is happy that Jumpy lives on.