Easter in July

All was quiet in the porch last evening as I passed through carrying tableclothes, plates, silverware, glasses and various courses to hold an alfresco dinner for two on our new deck. Our four-year-old cat, Blizzard, yawned and stretched watching me work. But his mama, Tickles, was no where to be seen. Then it dawned on me. I pulled back the silver tarp that I'd hung in the porch corner to create a dark quiet nook around a laundry basket lined with an old towel.

Sure enough.

There was Tickles lying on her side
nursing three kittens with markings
unlike any she's ever mothered.

As dinner progressed,
Dan and I heard a "YEE-AH-ROW!"
come from the porch corner.

"I'll bet that's number four," I said.

Later before I crawled into bed for the night,
I checked back with Tickles to find yet another
wet bundle added to the bunch.
Her quiver was full with her usual count of five.

A closer inspection revealed
three orange-and-white spotted males
and two black-orange-and-white spotted females.

Tucked in close to mama,
sporting their unusual spotted markings,
the kittens made me think
of dyed eggs in a nest -

Easter in July.