Two six-week old kitties born under my deck,
are gamboling on top of it now.
I open the door, they run under to hide
in fear of dire danger from me.
Do they not understand that my hand fills their bowl
and its I who keeps water pan full?
Do they think that I fatten them up for the kill
or have other vile evil in mind?
Their mother had been one of a quartet
whose own mother had found the same home.
I had tamed her enough to take her to the vet
so the four would be her last litter.
Not a month had gone by before she took her brood
to teach them the thrill of the hunt.
A week from that time one small kitty came home,
I could only guess what she’d been through.
I fed her and loved her but could not get near,
now she is the mother of two.
I cannot tell whether they’re boys or girls
or by luck of the draw one of each.
If I don’t catch their mother or these kittens, I know
there are dozens of cats in my future.
Written May 27, 2013