August 3, 2023 is special to me because two years ago on this date my little black cat GG gave birth to six beautiful surprise-kittens. God was good when he sent homeless GG to hang around my front porch and sleep in my nearby crabapple tree and capture my affection with her sweet ways until—of course–after a few days, much to the disgust of Ernest T. Bass, she became a member of the household.
Poor, only-cat Ernest. When I took GG to be spayed, I discovered she was with-kitten—six of them—and on August 3, she patiently went about delivering the final blow to Ernest’s reign as “Cat of the House.” And I, who was still grieving the death of my husband Wayne, now had eight felines to look after.
They were the best thing that could have happened to me. I had to turn my attention away from my sadness and let the cats be cats.
This is how it goes in Nepo: there are no leash laws, fencing, or noise restrictions on cats as there are for dogs. There won’t be until some annoying problem causes a citizen or two to complain to the village board. And because we’re usually on good terms with our neighbors we tend to gripe to the television about annoyances unless they involve bites, bad odors, or vandalism. Live and let live.
O.K. If you followed my column for another publication, you’ve heard plenty of stories about my kitties’ adventures, so I’ll pass on except to say “Happy birthday, Jazper, Tyrus, Mr. Moto, Tara, Tamera, and Milk Dud. I love you and I’m so happy you’re all in really good homes.”
I guess I’ve got Nepo in my blood. This village is not for the suburbanite who wants no pickup trucks parked in the driveway, no clothesline marring the backyard, and every blade of grass cut to the same length all over the neighborhood. Not that these are bad rules; it’s just that they don’t mean much to most Nepos. One of my favorite homes in this town is a big Victorian set in a park-like setting of wild grasses and flowers, and old, shaggy trees. Next to it is a little ranch house, clipped lawn, no messy trees, pure 1960s. Live and let live.
I love my neighborhood. We’re a mixture of ages, interests, religions, politics, races, and education. Homesteads vary from beautifully kept to, shall we say, “seedy.” We’re not a run-back-and-forth-to-our-homes group—unless we’re needed. In fact, I don’t even know the names of most people who live more than three doors away. But we get along. We visit in our yards; we wave when we pass by and yell “hi.” We live and let live.
Like every community we know, Neponset has a plethora of problems, many of them man-made. Some of them we’ll solve, some will grind on a while longer. But I can tell you, Nepos will probably like you if you let us. We pretty much live and let live. Wonder what would happen if this attitude replaced the present elitist attitude of “I’m right and you’re wrong, and furthermore, you smell of Walmart!” I like Walmart.
Keep the faith!
Your friend, Carol
