Neptune and Uranus

Last winter an ugly old feral cat whom I see skulking around the park hissing at people sometimes had kittens underneath the single-wide next door. It has a round access hole about three inches in diameter just above ground level that the cable teevee guys made for some reason or another then never used. So the cats have moved in.

Two of the surviving kittens, whom I've named Neptune and Uranus, are still living there. That's not them in the picture; it's just what they look like, and I can't tell them apart except by their behavior. Neptune is bolder and will come out of the hole when he knows I'm about to feed them and watch me. Uranus is a chicken and won't come out except to eat, or when he's confident no one's around.

I already figured out they're the same gender. If they weren't one of them would have turned up pregnant already. This morning I thought I saw two little nuggets between Neptune's thighbones as he retreated back into the hole. Now my plan is complete. Bwaaa ha ha hah!

I'm leaving for San Francisco and Seattle in a couple days, and I bought a big bag of cat food at Trader Joe's for the old lady up the street who offered to feed them while I'm gone. But when I come back I'll have to figure out a way to catch them and take them down to the vet in Desert Hot Springs for shots and neutering. It's not that I want two orange kotchkas. But I'll not stand by and watch these animals either a) starve, or b) spread their seed so that the place is overrun with orange cats.

The thing is, when I come back I won't be here long because I'm moving to San Francisco. I'll be a good citizen and force them to pay their debt to society so they can be civilized, but some other sucker will have to take care of them. Maybe. If I can find somebody.

Grrrrr. I hate this. Why is it that everything that's alive wants to live?