In my tack room, in a makeshift litter box in a medium size dog crate, is a very angry Siamese kitten. The Kwik Trip Kitten is safe from the dangers of the streets of Monticello, though she isn’t buying it yet.
On this, the tenth day of my cat catching adventure, George and I stopped to check the trap on our way home. While we walked across the parking lot, she walked up the sidewalk for a little early dinner, and a young couple watched from their car, parked in front of the trap.
We all froze momentarily, each calculating the others’ motives and the odds of success for advance versus retreat. Then we all converged on the sidewalk as the Siamese, apparently more adept at doing math in her head than the rest of us, scrapped her dinner plans and headed for the sewer grate. It was a slow motion version of the climactic bust scene at the end of any cop show drama, except that we didn’t get our man. Or our kitten.
But maybe she’s developed an insatiable appetite for Supreme Supper, because within 30 minutes of our arrival home, I got a call from the night shift – the kitten was in the trap. So my one and only Black Friday purchase was a bag of natural clay cat litter – and I was lucky enough to get one of the last 3 bags on the pallet.
Until now I haven’t thought too much about what happens after we catch this kitty. I guess it depends on whether she decides to trust or not to trust. Or how long I can stand the smell of canned cat food in my tack room.
She’s seal-point in color, rather than the blue-point I thought I saw in the dark parking lot 10 days ago, and a tiny bit bigger than I thought in the original 3 second sighting, but very pretty. Even when she’s mad.
From Four Sticks Farm 