If I didn’t travel so much, perhaps I would have invited home the stray and her two tiny surviving offspring.
I spotted the mom perhaps two months ago at the Brown café I frequent. A calico, she was painfully thin and suffered from diarrhea.
From the employees and parking attendants who have come to know me because I am at the coffee place so often, I learned that she had given birth. But the kitties were nowhere to be seen in the cluttered staff room in which she had taken up residence. Nor was she always around.
I named her — what else? — Brownie, began purchasing food for her and enlisted the Brown staff to look after her during my absences. But I was worried that the waif, who was nursing until a couple of weeks ago, would soon become pregnant again.
Thus began a saga that pretty much ended before dawn Sunday morning Continue reading