So a feral cat decided to have her kittens in the back corner of my carport, next to my husband's connected garage. Now this momma cat will eat the cat food I put out for her and the many other ferals, but she won't come near anyone.
I had named her Bear because of her severely crossed eyes, and she is a beautiful cat and nearly blind. As soon as I had seen that there might be kittens, I quit using the carport and squeezed my car onto the patio, under the plum tree. But what a mother she has proved to be over the last eight weeks! We stop by the patio doors often -- both of us -- just to watch her and the kittens, and what a joy they are!
I haven't named the kittens yet. It takes me awhile to name any of the ferals, although most have names. For example, there's Muffin -- MY cat. The mother of Muffin is a sleek black and white cat, beautiful to behold, whom I named Tux. But Muffin? Muffin is nearly the least beautiful cat I've ever seen. Rough, ragged, badly-colored, and ill-cared-for, the first words out of my mouth upon first seeing it were "What a little rag-a-muffin!" But my heart went out to the poor little thing. "I'll call it 'Muffin,' I told my husband. "'Muffin' sounds nice, and that way, it will never know what I really think."
Muffin was obviously a male. He had a male attitude. And when Tux released him from her care, he realized he was my cat and would let me touch him -- barely. But he, like the others, ate my food. Eventually, I realized who his daddy was -- an even more raggedy old man cat who had started hanging around but would run when I came out the door, even when I bore cat food.
Muffin grew to be about 16 months old, then another somewhat raggedy cat started hanging around. One dark morning, as is my habit, I looked out the patio window and saw the newer raggedy cat doing the unthinkable to my poor Muffin. Muffin came running to where he saw me in the window, still in shock at what had been done. I could hear Muffin crying out, "What was that about! Why didn't you save me?"
And I told him, "It was way too late, by the time I saw. I'm sorry, Muffin. And I guess you aren't a male." It broke my heart.
A couple days later, they were at it again.
Then, the two of them lay down side-by-side on the patio,
sharing a glass of champagne and a cigarette. They had obviously married.
Since then, Muffin watches Bear and her kittens, as though she knows and is learning what is to be expected.
I like the name Dracula for a cat. Or dog for that matter. I can imagine the looks on the neighbors faces as you go outside to call kitty home. 
