Mew. Mew. Mew mew mew. Meeeeeeeeew. Concentrating on my Acholi language lesson is becoming increasingly difficult. How long can I ignore the pleas of these tiny, doddling, clumsy-footed things? Where did they come from? When will their mother return? WILL their mother return?
In the afternoon, we all sat shelling ground-nuts outside my home. Neighbors asked passers by, have you seen the mother cat? Did you see which child brought them here? We put the kittens in the hedge, where one neighbor thought they were from. Dusk came. Still no mother. Still crying. Wailing, to be more accurate. My internal dilemma grew by the minute- the time for a decision was drawing near.
So. I bought some milk, and my neighbor gave me an old babies bottle. My new furry friends require bottle feeding 5 times a day, followed by tummy rubs to dry any spilled milk. Its day three, and alls going well. Meet Simba (the spotty one), and Goom (which means lucky/blessed):
They are three weeks old, so by the time I leave for Kampala to join Nick in a month they will be fully weaned, ready for the new owners I’m currently locating. Pet cats are very popular, so it won’t be hard. In the mean time, they keep me company at night. They are also quite a talking point.