Ephemeral life

Stray cats, dead babies, mayfly poems, dead young warriors, dying--life goes on.

I am currently feeding a momma cat and supplementing a multitude of kittens, now grown and of various ages.

She is a tiny little calico, and when she is not hiding in her baby kitten place, she comes to visit.  She is both friendly and brave and when the kittens can walk well enough to follow, they too will come to my porch to supplement their food supply and take a drink when it is dry--all the time these days.

Right now, she comes once a day for food and drink, teats hanging, wrapping around my ankle.  The 2 from her previous litter that survived to self-sufficiency have a little temporary house my daughter built.  The permanent one is not quite done.  Call it a safe house or a refuge from the harshness of nature.

I have never been able to get close to any of her offspring.  She is like the momma killdeer that drags her wing to lead the danger away from her nest.  Red squirrels also distract, but considering how fast her kittens run from me, she must truly feel she is bearding a monster in its den.

I also put out my scraps for the passing possums and raccoons, occasional an armadilla or skunk and when there were strays and coyotes--instead we now hear frequent gunfire in the spring instead of the multi-pitched yodelling of new coyote pups--I would periodically see one of them eating or drinking also.

When she first starts bringing them over, there are frequently 3 or 4.  I never know how many she gave birth to.  But eventually the number will decrease  first to 2-3 then 1-2.  The first ones, grown now, still come by, not as often but certainly as skittish when they arrive.

She always seems a little lost when one is missing.  But she herds those still present with an increased vigor.

I buy food because I can't imagine how hard her life is, and how she is always attentive to babies and always brave about getting between them and me or a dog, or a raccoon, or another cat.

I don't know that I could continue to be that brave.

I remember a poem about the mayfly when I was a child.  I google it and am buried in mayfly poems.  Mayflies are archetypal to humans, apparently.  I must admit, the poems are all good, just as thought-provoking.  Making me feel as ephemeral as a--mayfly.

If you ever go to a cemetery and see the grave of a baby or small child, and feel sad, sad even though the grave has been there over 100 years and the child, if it hadn't died would still be dead, and realized--its not just death.  We want everyone to have a chance to live.  I think that is what makes the mayfly so thought-provoking--3 years in the ground, then one day to awaken, fly, mate, and die.  ONE DAY!

What expectations would I have if I knew it must all occur in one day?

I expect years.  I'm getting old and still expect years.  I still have things to do, goals to reach, experiences to experience.

And yet our young ones, the ones that expect to live forever and ever unending, sign up to go fight for our country, or their country or some ideal or some cause without once thinking--"am I ready to die".  "Why am I risking such an early death?"  "Why am I risking never knowing my children or grandchildren."

I like to think they are trying to be like the brave momma cat. (I wish I believed those ideals were as important as babies)

I hope someone is trying to protect them from the harshness of human nature.