We’ve know the sweet Callie Coe for ten weeks now.
She likes to sit, all prim and proper, on the red rug I brought home from England belonging to my parents,
slap dab in the centre of life, missing nothing.
When we leave the patio door open her favorite place to lie is on the threshold, neither in nor out, watching the dogs pass, occasionally stalking a lizard, every once in a while touching noses with a brawny Tom, who was the start of all her problems!
She catches the gallnippers that fly in through the unscreened window and gives us a distinctive double chirped mew when she finds us in her wanderings through the flat, signs of her appreciation for the food and shelter we offer.
Recently we’ve noticed a distinct rounding of her belly, a slower gait, a more sleepy and contented cat.
She’s stopped drinking wine with us on Sundays too…a dead give away!
She is very definitely preggers.
A week ago I laid my hand on her tummy and she stretched out and rolled over completely on her back exposing her white undercarriage, startling against the red wool,
I closed my eyes and felt a soft thud on my palm, then another on one of my fingers, she reached her front leg up to my face, flexing and pointing her velvety paw in ecstasy and I felt another flutter near the base of my thumb.
My suspicions were confirmed, the little cat, still a kitten herself, was with kitten(s).
Gestation is about 66 days, we’ve known her 70. She must be close to term.
She’s been wandering into closets looking, I now suspect, for a safe place to have her young. Her expectant state qualifies her to be called a Queen, not just a plain old, pretty Calico cat, a Queen soon to become a Mum.
And since I promised to provide for her in whatever way I could, be it finding somewhere to live temporarily until our return or giving her away to a good home, Hubs set his sights on the Animal Shelter, where our family has given thousands of volunteer hours over the years, and drove off to borrow a cat carrier to fulfill our responsibility.
Left alone I cried over her purring body curled comfortably in my lap and gave her some treats.
Hubs returned all too soon and placed her gently, unprotesting, in the small space and noticed at my tear stained face,
“Well, what should we do?” he asked, a hint of hesitation in his voice.
“She’s only a cat, I’ll be all right,” I said in gulps, “she’ll be better off in the long run and her kittens will be snapped up when they’re weaned.” I wiped my cheeks and made a feeble attempt at levity, “Besides, traveling is no life for a cat.”
Later he said,
“I told them we call her Callie.”
“Everyone names a Calico cat Callie…” and they all laughed.
I told Daughts what we had done and immediately her voice was on the brink of tears,
“I cried too,” I said, “it was sad.”
“It is very sad.”
“What would we do with her, and where would she have her babies and how would we manage with 4 or 5 or 6 time wasters scampering around being adorable?” I asked.
We sighed.
The shelter told Hubs she may still be nursing in 8 weeks when we get back and we could go and reclaim her…
But we won’t be settled again until August and by then she’ll be someone else’s Sweet Callie Coe,
Well hello there! My name is Vivienne McNeny.
I am an empty nester exploring life as a Boomer…you could say I'm happily Boomering along!
As a homeschooling Mum I have finally quit the job of role model and mentor to my four children. I do what I want to do, eat when I feel like it, enjoy life with my blue eyed cowboy and clean my house once a month or so whether it needs it or not!
In true English form I write about the emergence of my true identity now that I can no longer hide behind my children as their Mum.
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