This morning when I was talking to God, I told Him I have to believe that there is a purpose for my home to be bursting with kittens right now. Waking up, most people wake up to sunshine streaming into their windows, we wake up to a wave of blackness surrounding our feet.

Sinclair, one of the little boys loves to jump on my neck in the morning and snuggle into my hair. Shakespeare has a foot fetish. My toes need kevlar in the mornings to keep them safe from kitty claws and teeth. When he is finished vanquishing the enemy, he settles triumphantly on my foot causing my toes to go even number than they are already (I have tarsel tunnel in both feet)

Walking to the kitchen, black obstacles block my path. These furry gladiators are armed and ready for combat and fuzzy slippers- they are the conquest. As I move, small thumps are felt as the kittens launch themselves tirelessly at the prey that dares to come in their midst.

The floor is littered with black kittens ready to stalk and pounce as this is when they are in their element. Nothing is safe. If it isn’t nailed down, it must be prey!

Now, after the arrival of “Queen” Sheba, the kittens know something is afoot besides fuzzy slippers moving among them. Opening up countless cans of food for my clowder, my hope is to sneak upstairs and visit with Sheba, give her a few pets and the food she appears to love (tuna).

However, the kittens arrive before me. Go figure, these critters can navigate our narrow stairs better than me! Who would have thought?
Now the blackness settles on the stairs each one challenging me to dare to come up and give my attention to another critter. I look at the scene before me and decide to divert and conquer.

Taking my fuzzy slippers off, I toss one downstairs into the hall and step back to watch them scramble after it. Any laggers, I have another slipper to distract them and I am able to get into the room in relative peace.

I check the several food bowls presented to Sheba last night. Her Royal Highness has declined the Kitten Chow. The fancy feast is sampled but the tuna is half gone. Figures for a queen, she has to have elite taste. Ignoring the stacks of canned food I brought up yesterday, I return to the downstairs pantry and grab the tuna and a can opener. The blackness doesn’t bother me, they are to busy tearing into fuzzy slipper a sacrifice for the day.

I managed to pet Sheba on the head several times before she moved off. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t touch a new cat or kitten for several days until they decompressed and adjusted to their new world. But with her being heavy with kitten, so heavy her nipples drag the ground I have to push the envelope a bit.

She is not feral- I suspect either someone tired of her kitten antics and threw her outside where she became scared, lost and pregnant before she ever should be (not that she should be at all). Or, she is part of a litter of an abandoned queen and has a small set of social skills with people but still she does not trust the world that betrayed her.

I drape the futon with blankets to give her blackness of her own, for her darkness is security. I push tuna and water under the futon towards her and leave her till the next meeting at noon.

Outside the door, the black plague waits. Mom is inside and so their quest is to find out why. I manage to get out without letting the plague in- and wonder what is going to happen in the next few days when Sheba starts labor. I need to call my feline specialist and make her aware of the situation so she can stand by to help me.

I told God, I have to believe there is a reason that these critters come here. I have to trust that I will be able to provide for every need of these wonderful felines and that the end result means you won’t have to see me for the first time on the next episode of Hoarders!