Doing the Right Thing is Hard

Doing the right thing is hard.

First, KNOWING what is the right thing is a challenge.
Then, doing it, when it's going to be painful, is hard. And somehow the right thing always seems to be a little painful.

For example.

A stray set of adolescent cats wandered onto my porch. Still kittens, but no longer in that fluffy stage. I got the ones I could catch their shots, and was going to get them spayed and neutered on the next paycheck, but they wandered off again. (Extremely unhappy about the shots I suppose.) UNTIL the little female comes back HUGELY preggers.

SO, I set up a nest on the front porch. She has her litter there. (4 kittens. Nox is the mom, the kittens are: Tigger, Boots, Socks, and Callie Koh a/k/a Callie Fornia. ) She is raising them, they are adorable. Everybody starts getting friendly and affectionate (except Callie, who is just suspicious by nature). I start looking around for homes for them. Because, well, I have more cats than I can comfortably deal with. But I love them, so I want good SAFE homes.

Nox's brother (Cinnamon) starts coming by again too, and he tames up, but he's small, and he's not so good at the whole fighting thing. But he babysits the kittens and snugs with them and Nox and they're a great family. And he fits in with my cats and comes inside some, so we're good.

But there are too many cats here. Really. And I find a home that is willing to take mom AND the kittens as a group. (A friend's brother bought twenty acres and needs cats to sleep in the barn and keep the premises rodent and hopefully snake free. They can all be together with someone who will love them and keep them fed and in their shots and vet treatments, etc.)

The kittens have gotten old enough too now that they are exploring, in the form of running toward the street (ACK--since they moved the high school by my house people drive through the neighborhood like a bat out of hell), and climbing inside the underside of my truck. (ACK! I mean really! ACK!!!) If they stayed some at least will end up run over and killed. They just would.

So, yesterday I packed up mom and the babies and drove them out to my friend's house where her brother's wife was going to meet us and pick up my little darlings.

And it is the right thing to do. Nox can teach the little ones to hunt and protect them until they're big enough to protect themselves. The little ones will have 20 acres to run on and an access road that has next to no traffic.

But I keep crying. Because I will miss Nox running up to greet me every time I drive up to the house. And I miss the little furballs climbing on me and playing with my shoelaces. And Cinnamon is heartbroken. But damn it, he can't even take on the local tom cats, so he wouldn't be big enough to do well on the farm. And he's too tame now too. He's a housecat. And I love him, and can at least keep him, or perhaps my son will take him when I get up to Denver.

It was the right thing to do. Dammit. I know that. But I HATE it.

I'll get over it. I know. They'll forget me and be happy in the new digs eventually. But today it is very, very hard, and very quiet on the front porch.