I wanted cats. The cats keep coming.  I took in Mr. Darcy in from a lady overrun with cats, and he’s a good fit. He’s made the place his own. Comes and goes as he pleases.

The people who live in my downstairs house allowed their cat to have kittens, in spite of offers from others to get her spayed. In a town overrun with feral cats, it’s no surprise they can’t find homes for them. Seven kittens now scamper around the rocks and sit outside my door. Naturally, I feed them. One, who I’m calling Tolstoy, has become a regular visitor, no doubt because I give him special treats. Gray tiger cats. Calico cats. In their favor, they’re already learning to kill rodents. Lola, the mother, a good mouser.

Last week I looked outside and two Siamese kittens sat on the woodpile. A few days later, like a ghost, a white cat appeared. Maybe part Siamese. Last night four of them gathered around the food bowl when I went upstairs. Pretty wild, these ones. Run when I come near, although the youngest comes closer by the day.

All together 13 cats now live at the house, unless more showed up during the night or unless one was eaten by a predator. I can’t bring myself to take them to the pound where they’ll live in a cage for a few days and then be put to sleep. When they’re old enough I’ll trap them and get them fixed. I’d rather let them trust their fates to the elements than send them to a certain death.

I’ve heard that there’s a link between cruelty to animals and cruelty to humans and I believe it’s true. When we’re hardened to life, any life, even the most lowly forms, it closes our heart to human life as well. Maybe just a little, but our hearts can shut a little at time, such small closures that we might not even notice.

But the beauty of the human heart is that it can open in just the same way.