This is the only photo I can take of the whole family. Photo: Alejandro Ernesto.
They came without prior notice. When I woke up, they were there, like the dinosaurs in the story. There were five of them, a mother and four young children, who nursed non-stop. The picture is peaceful, almost idyllic. Babies are up to one month old. The family is dirty and thin. Everyone, including Mom, had one eye closed like they had conjunctivitis.
Before the feline invasion, a black kitten fell from the sky – more like something from the eaves – meowing sadly. We gave him the milk, we looked at each other, and even though we both loved cats, we agreed that he couldn’t stay. We left him in a park on the other side of the compound, thinking his mother would save him.
Two days later a group of punch cats showed up and they were set up on the patio of our house, which was no longer private. We gave them water, food and an empty beer crate with a blanket to give them a home. They can’t complain about life, we set up an “all inclusive” cat in the center of Jerusalem.
But one kitten kept meowing somewhere, and none of the four kittens it was with were one of them. We opened CSI and found it. He was on the roof and his mother went to feed him every now and then, but she left him there and he kept crying. Eventually we managed to capture him and reunite him with his family.
And just like that, we had six cats co-existing with us for days. Not bad. It’s so nice to walk out on the patio on a cool morning and see them running and jumping around. Sometimes I grab my camera and take pictures of them. It’s a moment of relaxation, almost therapeutic. Of course, that cat never got close to us, and all but one couple were very surly and wild.
But instinct is more important than comfort. Despite the abundance of food, cats go hunting, as cats have been doing since the dawn of the world. She returned to the patio with a dead bird or chicken, which she and her dwarves ate immediately. The result was a messy yard full of feathers, blood and bones that had to be cleaned up frequently.
One day, the kittens began to disappear one by one. We found the mother leading them back to a nearby rooftop. After two or three days he took them away; but not all: he left us with a bit of whiteness, which had slipped into the house and into the heart.
This little squatter knows how to make himself loved. In a matter of days, he has expanded his kingdom from the patio to the house, where he runs, jumps, grabs, and bites anything he finds on his way until he gets tired and approaches for love and caress, or he falls fall down. sleep at night. Nap in the wicker basket he took over.
Some visiting friend’s daughter named it “Little Hat” but it’s been renamed a thousand times and can’t remember. I prefer to call her a pirate because her eyes are half-closed, and because she’s like a good blocker, coming in to steal our space and stuff. But Sarah prefers Luna. The name is still controversial.
Currently Pirata-Luna-Sombrerito is still sleeping on the patio, and we don’t want her to completely ignore her origins as a suburban cat. We will be traveling in a few days and some good friends will take care of her until we get back. Will it still be here when we come back? Will he go with himself? I don’t know, we’re in holy land, the Lord has it here. He will close this unfinished chronicle.