The island is full of kittens (and chickens - that’s a story for another time), and there are some well known serious cat people here - it is a small island after all. The woman everyone unfortunately refers to as the “cat lady” is making a calendar of the island cats, along with each cat’s life story. Since the cats are feral, I wonder how she’s going to figure out each story? The kitten pied piper feeds a group of cats down by the harbor. Each week the group of cats is larger and larger, and the eerie meowling could be straight out of a Hitchcock movie. To feed the island fascination with cats, there is a cat cam devoted to the famous six-toed Hemingway cats. I imagine the cat lady wants cat cams set up all over the island, to give all conch cats a chance at stardom.
We have been contributing to island cat delinquency by feeding the cats that live around our place. You know, to keep the rats away. At least, this is why our neighbor claims she feeds them. I don’t know what our excuse is.
It started with the cat we call Sicky - we’ve named them all sad little names that are more descriptions than anything else: Inky, Fuzzy (who the neighbor calls Charlie), Crockey, and Jazzy. Sicky was hit by a car and is fed by the entire neighborhood. He’s perfected the most pathetic meow; it would be cruelty to let him continue to wreck his little voice box. He’s fine and well fed.
Our cats had kittens. Like the extra toes of the Hemingway cats, these kittens are bread with pleading eyes that no one can resist. I have somehow become the voice of reason on why we cannot adopt all of them, and I am resentful about that (but very happy to know that I won’t have to clean the litter of 4 cats).