Holy Kittens

Neve yells, "Where are we going again?  A monster story?"

"No, it's called a monastery. It's like a big beautiful church where monks live."

My answer means nothing to a child who has never heard of the term "monk", and she may also be losing memory of the term "church".

"Mom?"

"Yes, Neve?"

"Why do we want to go there?"

"Well, for a few reasons.  It's supposed to be a beautiful place with a lake and gardens and chestnut trees... and then there's the monks.  They're men dressed in robes who sing songs like this-"

{insert my ugly guttural interpretation of a Gregorian chant here}

Through the rearview mirror, Neve looks less than enthusiastic.

"They also make fudge."

"Oh, okay."

We park, get out of the car, and I remember to tell her the most important detail.

"Oh, yeah, and Neve?  You can't talk inside the church."

Just as I say this, a monk on a golf cart flies by us, and bows his head while using his elbows to steer as he makes a prayer sign in our direction, as if to say, "God Bless You In a Hurry."

"Mom?  What was that?"

. . .


We spent 10 minutes in the cathedral, soaking in the beauty, praying, and trying not to be distracted by the janitor who was using those long school brooms to reach under the pew in front of us.

We spent 5 minutes under the chestnut trees, dissecting those spiky alien-like nuts.

We spent 10 minutes down by the lake, watching other people silently feed the loudest, most agressive geese I've ever seen.

We spent 2 minutes in the garden area, where Neve found familiar plants that smell nice.

And then, we saw it.  IT.

IT was a box of kittens.  IT was filled with mounds of breathing fur.  According to the monks (who do talk), IT didn't have a mother.  IT should not have been put in our car and brought home, but it did.

. . .

I walk inside the nearest building and see two men in robes talking to one another in the lobby.

"Excuse me?  Do either of you know anything about the box-"

One of the men finish my sentence, "-the box of kittens?  Ya' want them?"

"Oh, well.  I don't know.  Maybe.  What's going on with them?  Where's their mother?"

"We get animals dropped on our doorstep all the time.  Who knows where they came from or where their mother is.  But we are gonna be forced to bring them to the Humane Society tonight if no one takes them home."

My brain gears are turning.  Kittens need to be bottle fed every 2-3 hours.  Will the Humane Society really do this?  They're totally going to die if I don't take them home.  I'm allergic to them, but if I keep them away from me (except when I'm nursing them) I'll be fine.  Banjo.  Hmmm.  I'll just have to keep him away from them too until we can find them a good home.  We can make it work.  Right, Neve?

"We can make it work.  Right, Neve?"

"Right!"

"Do you want my information?  I mean, I have a dog, but he's sweet.  I mean, he's a hunting dog and he did kill a baby chick once, but he's not vicious, just kind of impulsive.  And I'll be sure to keep them separated until I find them a good home, but who knows?  Maybe we'll keep them?  I mean, I'm not usually an advocate for outdoor pets, but 3 kitten siblings living on our little lot of urban land... how cute is that?  And I forgot to tell you that I'm allergic to cats, but I'll be fine.  Oh, and we have chickens!  It's kinda perfect.  All Old MacDonald and stuff.  I mean, once they're old enough to protect themselves they're going to love our yard.  And Fiona!  She's going to love them!!  But what do you guys think?  Is it okay if I take them???"

"Uh, yes.  That would be great."

And as me and Neve say thank you and goodbye, I hear the men clap their hands together and whisper-shout, "Thank God!"

A chill crawls up my neck.

. . .

We went out of town for the weekend, and my friend Anna babysat them.  This was the result of time spent with an amazing photographer:

Isn't she good?  And aren't they cute?

If you live in Atlanta and know anyone who wants kittens, please let me know.  I can't really keep them. They have been named Figgy, Wander, and Junkyard by my girls, but you may call them whatever you like if you want them.