This morning I got up and heard a strange noise in the garden. I went out into the balcony and saw some cats at the other end, two adults and two kittens. On the wall was a black and white male cat trying to hump a black and white kitten, holding it by the scruff of the neck. He wasn’t doing too well, though. On the ground nearby was a grey and white cat with a grey and white kitten. The small black and white one was quietly complaining and desperately trying to get away. Sometimes the grey one — which I realised was the mother — was trying half-heartedly to intervene.
I know this is all part of nature, but I felt too sorry for the little one, and went down to scare them away. This kitten simply struck me as too young to go through this. Plus, the way the grey adult was dealing with the black adult suggested to me that he was the father.
When I approached them, the male cat stopped and let go of the little one. He turned and faced me expectantly.
It was Pobrecito.
Pobrecito, my ass. This guy’s got a family already, and a wife who lets him do whatever he wants.
And I felt sorry for the little bastard.
A friend of mine who does work with Friends of the Cat told me about a blind cat she’d seen once that survived better than most other cats. Its survival instincts seemed sharper. I suppose they would have to be.