Don't put chile on the cat

He meant the kitten. He didn't want me to put chile on the kitten. Why I would, I don't know. He's busy this minute slathering Habanero sauce all over a big pile of potato chips...since I have a "beingpettingconstantly" kitten in my lap I can see why he worries.

This one would be the 11th? Or would he be the 9th? We've been steadily getting the streetcats here neutered. Getting them neutered has meant feeding them enough that we could catch them. Which of course means feeding them when they are hungry, which is all the damn time. Now we have this beautiful crowd of slightly overfed streetcats lazing around the property.

This kitten is the last (we think) surviving kitten of the recently spayed Mama-Cat. He was born directly after Hurricane Ivan, 6 weeks ago. Her other adult offspring are here regularly, waiting for meals, submitting to some abbreviated and somewhat forced affection from us humans. Most, but for this baby, are too old for adoption (and too fearful of humans) so we keep feeding them.

So we face into the future. Into the day (tomorrow?) when we will force this baby off on some stranger. Perhaps he'll go to someone who won't treat him well? Someone who won't neuter him? Someone who won't love him? Shit. He flops in my lap. Babiness. Sleeping without regard for his surroundings. Then he wakes and looks at me with those sweet little blue eyes. Sweet little white kitten, angelic. His belly is bigger than his head.