Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored!" Why is it so hard for people to believe there might be more than one god out there? Why is it such a reach to assume there might be a kindly goddess hanging out in the shrubbery?
If you have no problem with goddesses in the shrubbery, pull up a chair! We're not trying to change your religion! We think all religions are swell.
(Well, we're not sure about those Aztecs and their penchant for hurling pretty girls into deep water. Or those Iranians who stone people to death. We might not have enough chairs for those people.)
This is a true story:
Night before last, a kindly Target employee was unloading merchandise onto the dock of our local store. He heard a noise in the truck. He found a litter of four kittens yowling their little heads off. No sign of a mama. The truck had just pulled in from a warehouse 250 miles away.
The kindly gent did the right thing. He called Animal Control. And Animal Control knows who to call to care for orphaned kittens.
That would be me.
Kitten fostering only works if you've got a hard-core 4-H background. Otherwise you just fall in love with the little angel kitties and keep them. But if you've cut your teeth on goats, you know that the whole point of raising them is to sell them. So you care for the kittens until they're old enough to be put up for adoption, then you kiss them goodbye and hope they're placed with nice families.
So the "Cat Lady" dropped the kittens off, and of course the husband and kids went wild. We like cats here.
But the husband made an observation that proved oh so true.
He said: "The faeries aren't going to be happy about this."
Oh no, you're wrong! Says I. Faeries love cats!
Can't lump all faeries together that way. Turns out some hate cats.
Puck, my male faerie, is the one leaping in the picture above. Puck came to live with us just last Christmas. He was a gift from a friend. So this is the first litter of kittens we've fostered since Puck joined the household.
Yesterday, the first full day of the kittens being here, Puck ran amok.
He stole their baby bottle (they have to be nursed). I went to the animal shelter and got another one. So he stole The Spare's gym clothes. I had to take her an extra set. Then he fixed The Heir's gym class so that The Heir by accident hurt the teacher and got yelled at like some Marine in boot camp. (Gym teacher denies using Marine vocab, but Heir and other students heard him plainly.) So I had to go to her school and deal with that. Then The Spare needs a lift home from school. Then Puck moved The Spare's unfinished math assignment from our living room to The Spare's locker at school. So I had to go back for that.
By the end of the day, it was looking better for the kittens to have stayed on the Target truck.
But a new day has dawned, and Puck has been given a dressing-down. And we at "The Gods Are Bored" don't believe in using Marine Corps vocab, so we were polite.
Ah, but it's wasted breath. You can't tell a faerie anything. One can only hope that Puck changes his mind about the kittens in a week or two, when they begin cavorting merrily about the house.
Otherwise he may resort to that Unforgiveable Sin of the Bored Gods: staining the furniture.
I'd better go and throw out all the red wine and barbecue sauce.
THE CAT LADY OF BERKELEY SPRINGS
Brian Froud faerie print available at http://spiderwebart.com. A bargain at $1000