The next time was worse. The time after that worse still. i began to hate the animals because i knew they would only die and i would have to watch. i tried to run them off. i tried dragging their food away from the porch. When i was caught at it there was hell to pay. Hell that went on down in the basement. Yet i couldn't stop trying. Marcie bought me a watergun and i sprayed the cats and kittens that wandered into the yard mercilessly. Go away. Run. Save yourself. But, it was like trying to bail out a yacht with a tablespoon. They came anyway. They came in droves. And, they died. It began to peak around the time my Granny broke her hip and i was left alone with my grandfather.
