The kids suddenly stopped their fussing over the cranberry and Gorgonzola salmon patties with couscous and grilled asparagus on their plates.
My ears were still ringing, though. We had already had a time out for the each of them and I was bracing myself for more.
But no. There was silence.
Was it a miracle? Had we finally had a breakthrough?
This is good food, kids. Come on! Just try it.
“Mommy! Someone is at the door!!!”
Then I heard it. A soft knock. I could see a shadow through the glass.
“I am not answering it. We are in the middle of dinner.”
They stared at me, waiting for what would come next.
“Go on. Eat!”
The knock came again. This time louder and more insistent. Then again.
Fine. Fine! I’m coming….
The man spoke in broken English, explaining there was an injured cat in the street and he did not know what to do about it.
I walked out to look and there was the most pathetic looking teeny tiny gray kitten wobbling down the road. He fell on his face every other step. One of his eyes was glued shut with pus. I could see a mangled left paw and blood on the leg and torso from a large gash.
What to do?
Now my kids really want a dog.
I don’t blame them. I have always wanted a dog myself, except that we don’t have a lifestyle that supports having a dog. Not right now, at least. Furthermore, boarding or finding a sitter for it when we are traveling is a challenge and I really don’t want to take it with us, babysitting a dog AND two small kids.
You may recall that we have had a run of interesting pets: the goldfish named Mr. Fish, the tarantula named Harry, and the lizard named Changie.
Changie escaped during a cage cleaning and roamed the house for a few months surving probably on those giant cockroaches we get in the South, the ones that are the size of your fist. Gag. The lizard resurfaced one day. And then died.
So now we have a mangled kitten. Except he is no longer mangled. His name is Whiskers, in case you were wondering.
We will see how long this little fella lasts….