The heavy rains we’ve had for the past two days have flooded out the culvert behind the Tumbleweed, displacing the litter of feral kittens that were living back there. The little ones, who might be all of five weeks old, spent last night and most of today huddled up inside a broken terra cotta flowerpot just under my bedroom window, mewing and carrying on as if their hearts were about to break.

Joey wanted to bring them in so they’d dry off and quit crying, but they just dart away if you try to touch them, so I called Bill yesterday afternoon and asked if he had any ideas. He came by this morning before church with a live trap, and by mid-afternoon, Joey and I had caught all four of the kittens.

We bathed them with baby shampoo, treated them with an herbal concoction I mixed up out of water and essential oils, and used a flea comb to remove all the parasites from their fur before wrapping them up in old towels and installing them in a corner of the lobby.

They’re afraid of us, but they have no compunction about climbing all over Harvey, swatting him in the face if he tries to stand up, and curling up on top of him to take a nap. I can’t believe he’s putting up with them, but he seems to think this is a perfectly normal thing for a dog to do.

Joey is trying to tame them. I have told him in no uncertain terms that they will NOT be permanent residents and that this is just a temporary arrangement until the water evaporates out of the culvert. I’ll let you guess how much attention he’s paying to that.

Grant is no help. He’s already put Joey up to naming them. After discussing the matter with him on the phone this evening, Joey informed me that the kittens would henceforth be known as …

Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.

I told Grant I am holding him personally responsible for any vet bills Crosby’s bad habits might run up….

— Sierra


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