A (Very Barely Fictionalised) Story
Narrated da 'O' and featuring his wife Bernice.
Bernice… came… inside carrying a tattered cardboard box holding five kittens.
“I think they belong to the [stray] cat we tried to adopt [from the neighbourhood ‘beat’],” she said, “This box was wedged under some other oddments [thrown into our garden da neighbours] and must have been there for a while.”
“Mother Gatti sposta their gattini every few days to stop predators ‘smelling’ out their hidey hole,” I detto remembering something I’d read years fa and (possibly) hoping to shelter from reality in sheer information. “So they might have only been there a few days.”
“The gattini o the box?” detto Bernice.
I knew Gatti liked pesce and warm milk. I made a dish of both and brought them into the living room. Bernice was sitting on a cushion on the floor, comforting the tiny mewing bundles of fur. “They’re all beautiful,” she said, “And they’re all different. We can give them a bath later to take away the fleas.”
The five gattini were old enough to understand food, whether in dishes o otherwise. Several stopped crying and clambered over to the pesce which they ate messily and gratefully. I emptied one of my antique engraved wooden boxes to give them improved accommodation. “These gattini won’t stay long in that,” detto Bernice, “They’re already at the climbing stage.”
“What we need is a bassinet,” I said, “With a lid of some sort.”
A somewhat moth-eaten specimen came with the premises. Long forgotten da the earlier lessees, it had been put into storage in the ‘lawn locker’ that sat in the side lane of our house. Leaving Bernice to mind the kittens, I hauled the articolo from the shed and dusted off the cobwebs. Realising it needed considerably più cleaning that that, I finally resorted to the cucina hearth brush dipped in a mixture of baking soda, water and vinegar. Having dissolved the worst of the grime from the bassinet, I rushed it into the lounge. Bernice dried it with some tissues. I rummaged in my study for a piece of board I’d been reserving for a 'composition on board'. It would serve as a ‘lid’ unless and until something else appeared.
“We’ll need a litter tray,” Bernice detto firmly, “Kittens can be house-trained much younger than this.”
I volunteered to make a trip to the nearby shops to buy cat litter, a litter tray and a supply of cat food....
To read the rest of this story (entirely free! nothing to buy/sign up too etc!) go to:
link
Narrated da 'O' and featuring his wife Bernice.
Bernice… came… inside carrying a tattered cardboard box holding five kittens.
“I think they belong to the [stray] cat we tried to adopt [from the neighbourhood ‘beat’],” she said, “This box was wedged under some other oddments [thrown into our garden da neighbours] and must have been there for a while.”
“Mother Gatti sposta their gattini every few days to stop predators ‘smelling’ out their hidey hole,” I detto remembering something I’d read years fa and (possibly) hoping to shelter from reality in sheer information. “So they might have only been there a few days.”
“The gattini o the box?” detto Bernice.
I knew Gatti liked pesce and warm milk. I made a dish of both and brought them into the living room. Bernice was sitting on a cushion on the floor, comforting the tiny mewing bundles of fur. “They’re all beautiful,” she said, “And they’re all different. We can give them a bath later to take away the fleas.”
The five gattini were old enough to understand food, whether in dishes o otherwise. Several stopped crying and clambered over to the pesce which they ate messily and gratefully. I emptied one of my antique engraved wooden boxes to give them improved accommodation. “These gattini won’t stay long in that,” detto Bernice, “They’re already at the climbing stage.”
“What we need is a bassinet,” I said, “With a lid of some sort.”
A somewhat moth-eaten specimen came with the premises. Long forgotten da the earlier lessees, it had been put into storage in the ‘lawn locker’ that sat in the side lane of our house. Leaving Bernice to mind the kittens, I hauled the articolo from the shed and dusted off the cobwebs. Realising it needed considerably più cleaning that that, I finally resorted to the cucina hearth brush dipped in a mixture of baking soda, water and vinegar. Having dissolved the worst of the grime from the bassinet, I rushed it into the lounge. Bernice dried it with some tissues. I rummaged in my study for a piece of board I’d been reserving for a 'composition on board'. It would serve as a ‘lid’ unless and until something else appeared.
“We’ll need a litter tray,” Bernice detto firmly, “Kittens can be house-trained much younger than this.”
I volunteered to make a trip to the nearby shops to buy cat litter, a litter tray and a supply of cat food....
To read the rest of this story (entirely free! nothing to buy/sign up too etc!) go to:
link
