Here Puddy, Puddy… (Or, how the cats took over and made themselves at home)

“Here, puddy, puddy, puddy…”

Each afternoon as I arrive home, the same phrase echoes across our small front porch. Months later, the response was still the same. Five feral kittens dashed off every which way in their attempt to avoid the evil human that dared to step onto ‘their’ porch.

The kittens weren’t planned or wanted. We had enough cats.

“No more cats,” was my mantra.

It didn’t work. Feral Mama didn’t pay any attention to what I said. I even threatened to put up a ‘No Vacancy’ sign. That didn’t deter her.

Being in an older mobile home gave her a nice, safe, cozy spot underneath to birth and raise her next litter. It was a warmer place in the winter, and cooler in the summer.

Being on a half-acre lot gave Mama Feral lots of space to stretch, bask in the sunshine, and roam.

Most likely the biggest temptation, contradicting our No Vacancy sign, was the a dish on the front porch always filled with tasty, kitty kibble.

Our home was her home. At least until she got those kittens raised.

She was a good Mama. Very attentive to her babies. Hissing if we dared get too close. Protective. Nurturing. Being every bit the…