Attic Catters Catch Another

The old couple outside Lebanon called tonight. They have a trap now and had caught another cat. But it wasn't one of the two they knew were left. Those two are the Siamese female and a tiny black kitten, the last bottle babe.

This was a tabby tux, like so many others, and barely out of kittenhood, but enough so to call a teen. They had poured over the collage of photos I gave them, one of each cat, and no matches, and studied the ears for tips. No ear tip.

That's when they called me.

It's a little boy, and possibly Possums' brother. That was the biggest kitten of the 8 Poppa Inc. took in from there. His brothers supposedly were killed by the couple's small dogs. This kitten looks too big to be Possums' brother, but I could be wrong. They didn't know he was out there. Somewhere, I'll get him fixed.

The old woman is pumped up to catch the rest. I told her about the farmer's wife, after the last cat in her colony. I had her repeat until she believed it "I am a cat trapper and I always get my cat." I was joking when I told her that.

As I got in my car to leave, the 70 something year old woman came back out of the garage and screamed at the top of her lungs, with one arm flung high, "I am a cat trapper. And I always get my cat!"