After half a day of feeling quite elated at my successful trapping of Bauble, and further delight at the swift and successful spaying thereof, I received back the cat in question and took her to my apartment to recover. But I learned a piece of news that rather disturbed my equanimity. The revelation itself was quite mundane, but the conversation could have run something like this…
“A swift and successful spay, eh, Doctor?”
“Indeed. Everything went well.”
“Bauble is in all respects healthy?”
“Oh yes. There’s nothing to worry about, though…”
When there is a short pause from such an interlocutor, there is usually a longer one from myself. So I partook of this opportunity. But since the conversation thereupon flagged, I prompted it.
“Bauble is nursing.”
Being such a fan of the English language, I decided that I should take advantage of it and determine precisely what was meant.
“By ‘nursing’, you mean that Bauble has recently been assisting in the care of the sick and injured in a hospital or clinic.”
“No, I do not.”
“By ‘nursing’, you mean, perhaps, that she was aiding the medical authorities in the comfort of covid-19 victims.”
“By ‘nursing’, you mean, then, that she was helping to raise young English boys and girls, to an age at which they would be passed to the tutelage of a governess.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“By ‘nursing’, you mean that Bauble has been spending her time in a bar, something from a Eugene O’Neill play, a glass of beer or whisky in front of her, her consumption thereof being unusually prolonged.”
“Bauble has recently given birth to kittens. They are probably at least a month old now.”
Just after this, I beat the doctor severely with a rolled up poster that proclaimed ‘you’ll be happy that you spayed your cat.’
Well, perhaps the truth is a bit different. But not the part about Bauble nursing. I figure that the kittens will be meandering about very soon. The good news is that the group that is helping facilitate the trapped cats’ sterilisation always agrees to take in very young kittens, for adoption elsewhere. Well, that would be good news, except that they, along with every other rescue-group in the province has been inundated with kittens this year, and won’t, in fact, be accepting any of Bauble’s kittens. Depending on how many of these little newcomers there are, I may be changing the title of my blog to something like “I Have Ten Cats”…
But this morning, I saw Bauble waiting for the food we provide for her and her fellows. She moved well and looked good. She actually had some words for me, though I won’t repeat them. She may have had some even worse words if she knew that I would be soon attempting to capture her children, the little brood I like to call Bauble’s Revenge...