Rocksy Gets a Family and a Name

One day the man of the house said, “The little yellow feral cat is getting fat.” He was right. She was indeed getting fat. Upon further inspection, it appeared she would be fat a few more weeks. Her belly got even bigger, and her milk bottles grew, too.

We didn’t want her to have her kitten family in the pile of rocks. If kittens were raised in the cat den under the big rocks, we would have more than one feral cat. That wouldn’t do. We put the doghouse on the concrete pad. I put an old blanket inside hoping the little yellow cat with the fat belly would go inside and check it out. I continued to befriend the pretty little cat in an attempt to tame her enough that she would be comfortable somewhere else besides the rock pile.

The day came when two little kittens were born. They were both yellow just like their mom, and yes, she did have them in the doghouse. I peeked in and saw the little squirmy kittens. Their mom seemed pleased. I told her what a good mama she was and that her kittens were pretty just like her. She just looked at me and smiled. After waiting a day or two, I reached in and took one of the kittens out. The mama stayed close by and then strutted around a bit as if to say, “aren’t they wonderful?” I assured her that they were the cutest little critters I had ever seen and were as soft as a baby chick. When the man of the house went to look at the kittens, the mom hissed at him, growled and said, “Get away from my babies.”

We had to be careful to not handle them too much because we didn’t want her to move them. But, of course, she did. The man of the house took them out of the rock pile before she could take them into the depths of the earth and moved them back to the doghouse. One morning, it was discovered that the runt had died. The mama looked for the kitten for days, going back and forth from the rock pile and other good hiding places. The other kitten thrived with all the milk and attention.

One thing was for sure, the pretty little yellow cat needed to go the doctor to get “fixed.” That could not be done until she weaned the kitten. But something else had to be done first. She had to have a name. I was leery about naming her because just as soon as we did, she’d probably end up running off or worse. I didn’t want a Vet bill for a non-existent cat.

So, what do you name a golden furry cat with gold eyes? NO – not Goldie! I asked the expert cat namer – my youngest granddaughter. She didn’t hesitate, “Name her Rocksy because she lives in the rock pile. Perfect! Rocksy it would be – Rocksy the Feral Cat!

We have a feral cat
And the cat was getting fat
But she won’t be for long,
What do you think about that?