My neighbor (we’ll call her “Darleen”) is really into free love. Not only does she have a bastard child of her own, as well as three younger children by a guy that she was “probably” married to, but now her bastard child has produced, at 20ish, a bastard child of her own. They’re not sure if the father is the guy from Texas or the guy from Canada, but they named the baby after his wealthy grandfather in any case. Smart move.
Darleen lives with “Bubba” (not his real name) and together they parent Darleen’s clutch of free range white trash pequeninos. Darleen also raises, and shares with the neighborhood, a varied and never ending array of animal friends. For a while she raised free range pit bulls, then free range rabbits. Currently she has a Jack Russell Terrier/Chihuahua mix named Pork Chop, a border collie type dog named Guiness (did I mention that Darleen and Bubba are recovering alcoholics?), and a whistling bird that they keep in a cage on the back patio of their house. And cats. Lots and lots of cats.
The cats probably started out as domestic cats, but they're feral now. Regular as clockwork the mommas produce litters of kittens. (Sweet mystery of life!) The boy kittens grow up and impregnate their mothers and sisters and more cats appear. They have inbred so much that some of them are deformed and retarded. There are no spay and neuter clinics or shots or wormings for these cats. No Fancy Feast meals or kitty kat birthday parties. No one pays any particular attention to the cats except the youngest daughter, Eleana, who is a little dim in the attic, except when it comes to animals. In fact, Eleana may be part feral cat herself. I have no doubt that she, at least, loves the cats.
The cats love to use our front yard as a bathroom, and our backyard as part of their transportation network. They also love to be on top of my truck for the view and under it for the shade and protection from the rain. They leave little muddy paw tracks on the hood and down the windshield of my truck. I just love to see it.
This morning, Sarah saw one of the latest crop of kittens jump up on the wheel of the truck, and it seemed to disappear into the engine compartment. So this morning, because I love my truck, and I love not paying to have the engine rebuilt and steam cleaned, I found myself lifting the hood on the truck before I started the engine. Just to make sure there was no little bundle of cat love up in the belts.
Feel the love.
1 comment:
Maybe you should stop checking under the hood. I mean, I'd really hate to hurt any cats, but one day perhaps Bubba and Darleen will crawl under there to sleep it off. One turn of the key and -- presto! -- problem solved.
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