Sometimes we angels can only watch as those we left behind make foolish decisions that complicate their lives. Furthering our misery is knowing how different the outcome would be if we were still mortal.
This week Pocket contacted me and asked that I be the angel for the cats that were living under the house. She told me that she had warned them that the animal control officer was arriving so they didn't get trapped. Now the kitties were in the breeze, and she was worried.
I know Pocket has a big heart, but I wish they had not whittled away at so much of her brain to make room. If I were still on the mortal side, I would have gone under the house and flushed those kitties weeks ago. We are ratters for heaven's sakes. It's in our blood. But, for all Pocket's barking, she does not want to bite, but to get hugs from everything she sees. I told her if you hug a kitty, you get claws in the back.
As for River Song, she is more interested in developing schemes to get the cats out then getting dirty in the crawl space. That girl has forgotten she is a dog.
I promised Pocket when I went to the Bridge that I would never refuse one of her prayer requests. I hadn't imagined I would be shepherding five kitties and their mom through our village at night looking for a new home.
"The key to finding a safe place is locating one with a new car in the driveway signaling that the person living there has money to support you, evidence that the owner loves animals, perhaps a birdbath or feeder, and that they have an unsecured bottom," I told them as we searched for their new home.
“We had that!" The mama cat said, "then the humans put down traps. What a betrayal."
"You shouldn't have picked a house where they already had dogs!" I said emphatically.
"Dogs? I thought it was a ferret with a thyroid problem and a stuffed squirrel."
I stifled a laugh. "We have to find somewhere nice for the kitties," I said. 'Hopefully, the human living there will find the little ones adorable, bring them inside and adopt them."
"My babes are not becoming domesticated," the mom said. "My father was a feral. His father before him was feral. His father before him was feral. That is four years of my family being feral. That's an eternity. Live free or die is our motto."
"Did you ever wonder why life expectancy in your family is about three years?" I asked. "I know Pocket thought she did the right thing when she warned you about the traps, but the kitties would be better off in the shelter than on the street."
"You mean in the system?" the mama said. "No, thanks. we'd rather take our chances out on the street." I couldn't say I blamed her. Those shelters are terrible places. Some animals are never the same after they come out. But it's better than getting ripped apart by a crazed coyote.
We found a lovely house with a beautiful lawn. There were statues of little dogs outside signaling that the owner once had pets. There was a nice hole in the skirt and a 2018 Fiat in the driveway. I told them they found their new home.
"We'll try it,'" mama said, "but if the amenities under this house aren't as good as the other house we are going back." I couldn't blame them. My parents are kind people with big hearts. The cats would probably be safer under their house than anywhere else. And I think my parents are out of the "working with the authorities" business.
The house was 50 yards from mine. I'm sure they'll be visiting my parents soon enough. And seeing how my sisters the ferret and the toy squirrel are treated maybe, they'll learn that being inside the house is the best of all.
I checked out my parents' house before I l left. All was well. I know I'll be back soon. My family needs all the angel help they can get.