A mother cat, homely and tawny colored was named Thyme. Before she'd given birth to a litter, she could not have been given a title other than “stray cat” but her having given birth to kittens inevitably gave her the title of “mother cat”.
No one, including Thyme herself had intended for the litter to be conceived. As well, no one, including Thyme herself was very concerned about the birth of the litter, thus no one did a thing to stop it, nor was there anyone there when Thyme lay on the ground within a cluster of shrubs at the edge of a public park. She lay there heaving quietly, hoping not to attract attention from humans or any other animals.
The father of the litter was a tom-cat who was called Clyde. Clyde, unlike Thyme, had a handsome physique. This was due to the fact that he had not always been a stray cat like Thyme had been. He had once been a house cat, living with persons until he felt too constricted and decided to join the street roamers. Clyde and Thyme had been an unlikely pair, and quite honestly they hadn't been much of a pair at all. Simply, they had come across one another on a day when nature's impulses brought them together.
Since that day, Thyme had yet to have seen Clyde again. She hardly cared, just as she hardly cared that because of that day, she was now giving birth to a litter of stray kittens. In this city, it was not the kind of occurrence that anyone or anything gave much of a thought to. It was the assumption of all that these things just happened, and the cliché “it is what it is” came to mind.
Six kittens were born that day. Four of them were plain and tawny colored like Thyme, and two had been born with the black and white pelt of Clyde. The tawny kittens were all especially small, and one of them passed away shortly after birth. The other three lived on, however, as did the two black and white kittens.
As Thyme instinctively licked her five new kittens clean, she named each one; Whimsy, Smitten, D.D., Sequoia, and Vesper. The blind offspring wriggled under the warmth of their mother's tongue and within the newness of the noisy world they inhabited.
On the same day her kittens were born, Thyme carried them one by one to a safer place where she could care for them until they were able to walk. She made sure they were hidden within the bushes so no one would find them during each trip she was out transporting one of them by the scruff.
Thyme had decided to take her litter to the herb garden in the backyard of an elderly woman's house. Thyme had gone there many times before. It was quiet, and secluded, and the old woman always let her be even though she'd known of the cat's presence. The old woman never minded when Thyme would chew on the plants that rose from the Earth in her garden. Thyme had known the garden would be a suitable place to nurse her kittens.
It was evening when Thyme deposited the last kitten with the others in the security of the garden. The soil was warm, and the air smelled fresh and soothing. All was at ease. Even so, Thyme made one last trip into the urban spot in which her kittens had been born. She picked up the lifeless body of the kitten that didn't survive – a female, and carried her off. On the way to her destination, she named the deceased kitten Etherea.
Thyme carried Etherea to the rural edge of the city, close to where the herb garden was, but to an open area filled with meadowsweets. She lay Etherea's body on the ground deep within the meadowsweets, where she was hugged by their thick greenness. Their white flowery tops shimmered in the dusk light to greet Etherea and swear her in as the Queen of the Meadow, in spirit. Thyme bowed and licked the kitten's cold ear, then left to return to the rest of her litter; her living kittens. She shortly arrived back at the garden, where the kittens were peacefully lying in a cluster, and quietly sounding their hunger.
The old woman of the house stepped out into her yard to watch the sun set, and she then spotted a familiar tawny cat lying in her garden, nursing a litter of newborn kittens. She chuckled. Well, I suppose I'll stop throwing out birdseed for a while to keep the crows away, she said.
