You may remember back in July I wrote about our odd feral cat coming a-visiting, and Sir’s absolute distaste for same.

Well, my dears, as they say, the plot has thickened.

Last time in this thrilling serial, I introduced you to Oreo (matriarch), Junior (funnily enough, Oreo’s junior), Domino and Polka Dot, Oreo’s subsequent batch.

Well, since then, Junior obviously had a close encounter of the feline kind with Big Daddy, and produced four kittens. Sadly, one of them has met with an end not conducive to feline longevity, but the surviving three, and mum, decided that under our deck was just the spot to be.

Meanwhile, getting just a tiny bit desperate, I urged Sir to speak with the neighbors up the street who started the ball rolling by feeding Oreo. The message was that if we don’t collectively do something, we are all in danger of being named the “mad cat people,” and we’re going to be inundated by more monochromatic pusses. The neighbors are less than enthusiastic with my idea.

It is quite obvious Big Daddy is a fertile little bastard, and being, we believe, a domestic cat, I would like to find his owners and treat them both to a bit of a snip for being so irresponsible to not only to have a very whole male, but letting said male roam about.

This plan of action hasn’t borne any fruit thus far, and so we both got on our phones to Spay & Neuter, the SPCA, Wayside Waifs, Animal Control, the Humane Society and anyone else we thought might be able to help. You see, I’m quite happy (Sir, I might add, is not) to pay for the fixing of these cats, and am happy to have them back sponging off us.

But the problem is how to trap them. The babies are too small to do anything with; Junior is still nursing them. Oreo and her other two partners in crime are ripe for having a bit of an op, but are as slippery as eels, fully clawed and faster than lightning when it suits them.

Oh, several of the organizations will lend us traps, but then what do we do. Neither of us can take time from work to be carting cats to vets, let me tell you.

Meanwhile, the weather has turned colder, and Sir exponentially has become a great big marshmallow. He’s created a shelter for Junior and her brood, and when the temperature fell like the Times Square ball on New Year’s Eve, even brought the lot of them inside so they didn’t freeze their furry little butts off. This of course, is mixed with such utterances as “we’ve got to do something about those damned cats” and “oh well hi there, little kitty.” He’s sending very mixed signals – and if I feel like that, imagine what the kids think.

So, if anyone wants an adorable black and white kitten – or three – I will very happily hand them over.

If you can trap the others, I would be so pathetically grateful I might even write you into my will.

I’m sending up a heartfelt and real S-O-S. Email me. Quickly. Please.

Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at