On the evening of July 6th of this year my wife allowed Mister Mittens into the house. She was still a street cat and snuzzled up against my wife's thigh on the sofa while the bride was reading a book.
Then something happened - Mister Mittens went into labor.
My son was going to Ohio in the morning to go to jail to pay for some misdeeds and I was going to bed. The bride informed us that the cat was going to give birth that night or shortly thereafter. I asked her how she knew. As a mother, a grandmother and a female with lady equipment very similar to Mister Mitten's gear my wife knew.
I told my son that as an old Army medic that he should be able to help the cat. He told me something about being nuts.
Anyway, Mister Mittens crawled to the front door and squealed to go outside. She did not want to give birth in the house. Mister Mittens grabbed a defensive position just next to our front stoop with just two walls around her. My wife stayed with her and laid out a comforter but Mister Mittens kicked it away, preferring to give birth in the dirt. And she did a good job.
Well the kittens went into the garage and they got a nice bed but then 100-degree temperatures hit Long Island. I was OK with that as a G.I. years ago and Mister Mittens was going to survive but it had to be 110 in the garage and the kittens were only weighing ounces and doing a slow cook.
Everybody came inside to catch air conditioning and probably you know the rest of the story. Chaos and Mischief have been adopted into loving homes and as an old fart I have three wonderful cats and, at the age of 62, have finally turned into something that I only could dream about as a 17-year-old Marine private of infantry - I am finally Pussy Man.
Do not ever stop laughing - I still have a bat and some sticks and a bus pass.