Like a concentration camp for night campers,
Nightly roundup of kittens,
Placing the little month old heart stoppers on the room desinated the Girls Room,
Barely returning to my chair,
Boots who at sixteen imagines me rising is for one purpose only to feed him and his daughters are nagging,
I look down to my chagrin there are two of the month old babies ready to romp some more,
Up I stand again scooping up the renegades,
Flinging open wide the door,
Like General Mac Carther I march down the hall promising to the other cats I will return!
Two mom’s scyrrued out when I gently pushed the babies back in,
I barely step foot into my back room look down,
Think we are not alone!
I was right!
Two more little kittens,
Once more, we zoomed down the hall;
This time, I stood and watched,
There’s an indentation back by the back of the door,
I shoved the small carpet piece back under the door,
That that was it!
Val Whitewolf 