Happy happy joy joy

Relief, joy, wonder. Mama returned to the scene of the crime yesterday after five days’ absence. Sitting on the sidewalk with her pal, my former trappee Diego, she stared at me as if to say, what were you so anxious about? Did you not know I’d come back? I was so tremblingly glad to see her I thought I might lunge at her for a hug, which would have sent her scrambling for another week’s walkabout. So I refrained, but I gave her some good tuna (at least better than the usual cheap swill I can afford) in gratitude that she returned. She ate quietly and leisurely, and went on her way. She was also back this morning.

And then today: a Smokey sighting! Despite a lack of appearances, I have continued to put out food for her every morning, which is mostly eaten by this pretty tortoise shell girl in the photo (trapped and neutered by the Odwalla folks) and Diego, who seems to cover a lot of ground in the interest in stuffing his sweet face. I am so amazed and moved by Smokey – how she is able to navigate the area, with only a bit of sight. I keep thinking it would so nice to trap her and move her to a sanctuary, but she clearly is not suffering unduly, and with sightings only every several weeks, it’s not a recipe for an easy catch.

And in my garage, new baby steps (kitten steps?) by Frankie and Mischa. After ten days in captivity, they are coming around so sweetly. They still get anxious when they see me, but there is no longer any hissing unless I surprise them. Every day I go down to the garage every few hours to get my “kitten fix,” and scoop them up into my arms for a few blissful minutes – a little longer each time. (I always put them down if they start to struggle – I don’t want them to equate being held with stress.) They are soft as bunnies and don’t object to my kissing the tops of their wee heads. Frankie remains the butchier of the two; Mischa is a little shy boy, much easier to hold. This photo hilariously tells it all – with Mischa hiding behind his sister. His expression: don’t kill me! Her’s: don’t f— with me.  😉

This morning’s biggest development was that Frankie meowed! Maybe for the first time in her life, a little bird-like chirp erupted when I first arrived with their breakfast that seemed to shock her a bit. (As I mentioned previously, feral cats almost never meow until they become completely adapted to the world of humans. You make noise in the wild, you become something’s dinner.)

I am anxious to get them checked out by a vet (there is some FIV in that feral tribe, tho never yet among kittens) so I can start the search for the perfect home(s). I’ve left a message for the coastal mobile vet, and hope she can come early next week. Then it’s off to the spay/neuter, and then to some lucky adopter(s) once they’ve recovered. And already my heart breaks, thinking of that parting. Again, I am too “soft” and open-hearted for this work, really and truly. But even though my heart’s been broken about a dozen times in the last almost three years, it’s when I coax those first purrs out of a feral cat that I know it’s worth it – that I know I’m doing the right work.

Here’s hoping for those purrs sooner than later.