You’ve probably heard of Tennessee Williams’ play, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. It’s the intriguing story of a woman named Maggie the cat. This successful play is still as relevant today as it was when Williams first wrote it.
My story is not as exciting or even that interesting unless you happen to be a cat lover, which I am not. My story first began this summer when I feral cat with one blue and one green eye showed up under the trailer.
First she came around looking for handouts which my son’s paternal grandmother was more than happy to donate. (It’s her trailer; so what could I do?) In the “blink of an eye” we heard mewing coming from under the trailer and my son’s grandmother was more than happy to crawl under the trailer to investigate. Naturally she found kittens, and being such a kind hearted soul, she moved them to the front porch. Her logic was sound at the time. She would tame the pesky varmints (my words) and then find homes for them.
Flash forward to Oct, 2010 and two litters later. The babies grew up and liked it here so much that they stayed and “played” amongst themselves. Now these babies are getting so big that they climb onto the roof and run all over it. We can’t tell if it’s the wind or the cats making the infernal racket. If it was daylight and we heard the commotion, we’d be able to look outside and see if a tornado was approaching, but what do you do if it’s cats atop your tin roof?
I’d get my gun (if I had one) and use it. I’d have done that months ago when my son’s grandmother wasn’t looking, but it’s too late now because I can’t climb up onto the roof, and the cats are much quicker than they were when they were little.
We live in the boonies; so there is no animal control that we can call. Anyone got any suggestions for our cats on a cold tin roof?