59 Days

At 8:20 AM EST today, I will begin my 60th year on this planet.

Okay, before a sister corrects me… yes, I’m only “turning” 59, but it actually celebrates the completion of another full year. To celebrate, I’m giving myself 59 days of taking better care of me. They might not be consecutive, which would royally defeat the purpose, so I’m thinking every time one of MY days gets blown off, I should start the count all over again.

The 59 days is a journey of sorts… I’ll blog about that later… right now, it’s late and I have babes on the porch. The feral cat that I call “Quarter Cat” has been bringing her 4 kittens over here to eat at night. They’re almost as skittish as she is… I can sit quietly and watch them, but they will bolt off the porch at my slightest movement. Quarter Cat avoids humans. After months of eating here, she still watches me from a distance. Even when her kittens are on the porch, she will stay out in the shadows if I’m there. Or, hide under the old wicker “cat chair” that KiKi claimed as her own, close enough to hiss a warning when I go to walk into the house.

Considering the uncanny resemblance to Max, I think he’s the daddy.

That surprised me because I didn’t think he was old enough… seeing how they look to be at least a month old, Max couldn’t have been more than 3 or 4 months old himself around the time of conception. We talked about getting him fixed, the vet (as in military veteran, not a pet doc) asked me not to, so I put it off for a bit.

I like watching how they interact as a family unit. Max guards the kittens while they are on the porch at night. I’ve seen him walking the perimeter, staring off into the shadows.

MORNING: Here’s a photo snapped Wednesday morning while peeking out the window… Max and Quarter Cat are the two near my neighbor’s skillet (she tried to lure the babes to her house with a pan of food, got hissed at, and left it on my porch.) And, that’s KiKi Gath Ddu, the neighborhood Queen of Cats, sleeping on concrete while another cat’s kittens are curled up in her chair.

Trump could take lessons… that’s KiKi’s chair, she rules from that chair, but even a cat knows you don’t let babes sleep on concrete.

I call KiKi the Queen of Cats because she is the Alpha Female on this block. She controls which strays are allowed in my yard. I tried to adopt her last year, but she flat out refused to be domesticated. She’s an outdoor cat, wants life on her terms, and pretty much told me how it is… even when temps dropped below zero, she flat out refused to come in. So, I started feeding her on the porch, setting out enough for her and her feral friends, and my neighbor set her up with an outdoor shelter. Yes, she turned my porch into some kind of midnight diner for cats who totally avoid humans. I suspected Quarter Cat was one of the few she allowed to eat here, but never saw her on the porch until she started bringing her kittens.

That same neighbor who left her skillet on my porch wants to neuter all the cats. She’s going to have to TNR their ass as KiKi is the only one who will let a human close enough to pet her and she’s already fixed.

Well, suppose I should start this day… or go back to bed. Thanks for reading!

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