Cataphobia

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