Glenwood's First Home

I largely avoid Glenwood's first home because (1) there might be cats there and (2) there might not be cats there. Still, I've wanted to document it - to capture where this story began and the miracle she's alive. So yesterday I went to where she was born and spent her first three months and I took some photos. Here's the house from Glenwood Avenue:The cats congregated at the end of the driveway. Some came down to eat from the garage roof via the dead tree, navigating razorwire that runs between this property and the apartment building next door. Sometimes cats slept on the pile of garbage bags against the house, and once I saw a cat get up from a pile of broken glass there.

The wood covering this entrance to the basement was propped open for the cats to get in and out. I saw a racoon go in.

I'd see the kittens' tiny faces watching me through these holes in the wood as I put out food. As I walked down the driveway, they'd run to eat from out of the basement, the yard, the tree. The most I ever saw at a time was eleven, all with happy tail (straight up, curled over at the top, if you don't speak cat).

Here is their dining area. Whomever else fed the cats (I met one woman) would leave evidence that they'd been there, so other feeders would know. I would clean up to show I was there. Now there's one empty can of Friskies.

An instructor I work with (who calls Glenwood One-Point-Two, her weight when I rescued her) suggested that if the cats were poisoned, Glenwood may have lived because she was no longer able to eat. Of all the ironies, she may have lived because she was dying. We're going to the vet now.