Cat, cat, kitten, kitten and dog.

How can five tiny beings consume so much of life?

For years, I had only two cats and no dog.  My Siamese, Mesey,

ruled the roost and the backyard.  She was a pest of loud meowing proportions (those of you who are proud slaves of Siamese know exactly of what I speak).

Her sweet little backyard roommate, Bitsy, was silent all those fifteen years. ( These are some really old ladies we’re talking about.)  Bitsy did as Mesey bid — usually — sometimes there were rebellions concerning food rationing.

My tiny, five pound Min Pin joined the flock nine years ago (more food issues).

Seven months of the year, the weather is mild enough in north Texas to leave doors and windows of the house flung wide open at night. Through the screen above my bed, rich night smells of honeysuckle and earth drift in on soft humid breezes.  Cicadas and locusts croon out a lulling melody of the night.

Never happy with silence, Mesey took great pleasure in stealing the stage and belting out a serenade to me from the window sill each open-window-night for a decade and a half.

When Mesey’s body finally succumbed to old age, her spirit took up residence in Bitsy’s rickety old feline frame.  “Debi, how can that be, and how would you know anyway?”, you ask.  I DO know: Bitsy changed the instant Mesey breathed her last.  That shy, sweet little lady now sports an ornery, pushy side that can only be Mesey come back to haunt me.

In the pre-Mesey and -Bitsy days, mice roamed the house.  The sound of sprung traps was a daily occurrence.   With that memory in mind, I decided it would be in my best interest to adopt another cat in anticipation of Bitsy’s demise.  So, my daughter – Rach – and I brought two twin calico sisters into the fold.  They are now almost three months old.

My little girl, Lola, knows no fear.  She’ll climb, fight and explore (purring-devise never taking a break) until she falls over in a sound sleep.  Rachel’s little girl, Towanda (the feisty runt of the litter) makes believe she is as tough as her sister, but she’s not.  She showed her timid side last Thursday.

I spent that morning doing my yard chores: mowing, edging, trimming, sweeping.  The air was early-fall crisp and full of sunshine.  From the side-yard I heard pitiful meows off and on for a couple hours.  Lola was busy shinnying up and down the pear tree, so I assumed the two girls were playing chase or hide-n-seek.  Well… Lola was trying to rescue Towanda!  Little Tow had climbed 17-18 feet up the Cottonwood tree and was too scared to come down.

That is waaaaay up there.  Let’s zoom-in on the little shit:

I left her for a couple hours; surely when she got hungry, she would descend on her own – HA!

My misplaced ISFP-empathy kicked in.  I climbed the side fence, scooted across the tin roof of the tool shed, pulled myself up on the east gable, crossed the length of the roof to the west gable, leaned across four foot of open air eighteen foot off the ground to prop myself against the trunk of the Cottonwood and grabbed that damn kitten by the nape of the neck as soon as she timidly crept within arm’s length!