Looking down

There are two kittens in a box on my back porch. First I laugh. Then I think hidden camera show but I’ve trained myself over the years not to look around for a hidden camera when I have that thought. People always look their best, or the most themselves anyway, when they don’t know they are being recorded. It couldn’t be TV anyways because the kittens are too scraggly. And wouldn’t the front porch make more sense? Don’t people usually leave kittens out on their own porch anyway? Or underneath it? I mean for people who like cats there’s no such thing as too many right? Well that is the impression that I get. Maybe the mama cat just hit the limit. Maybe she had a grotesque litter of twelve or thirteen and now the little guys have grown bigger and their chirpy little meows are too much to handle so the owner just went around dropping off cats in shoeboxes on random back porches. Or maybe the owner chose specific people whom he deemed worthy of the cats. I wonder who else in the park got a meowing telegram this morning. I wonder what kind of shoe box they got. Mine is L. A. Gear. I wonder if anyone else knows that I am one of the recipients. I wonder if the person who dropped them off knows me. Knows that I’m allergic to cats. Knows that I went to the hospital for it when I was kid. Knows that my throat swelled shut.


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