An international aid appeal

No, not about Ryan. (Though if there are any takers, we're still accepting tenders Write me!)

It's these damn kittens. For the wider readership, the short story is thus: K runs a feline soup kitchen on our balcony. (Er, I mean for cats. Not -- oh, never mind.) One of the feral little juvies -- honestly, pretty much a kitten herself -- got knocked up. One night, I was working late and fell asleep in my study, which is right off the balcony. At 6 AM, I was woken up by the persistent wailing of a cat in distress. Groggily, I opened the door to the balcony. Hadn't yet made up my mind whether to shoo her or comfort her. She didn't wait for me to decide, but dashed in, made a beeline for the closet, and thirty seconds later the first kitten was halfway out of her (and that's a sight I'm not going to forget soon, no matter how much I want to, let me tell you).

So what could we do? Couldn't put the lot outside; there are huge hawks and kites and worse (we're near the Parsi Towers of Silence, but that's another story) that encircle our building. Weeks went by. Eight of them, in fact. And now the kittens are weaned and litterbox trained and hale and hearty and not the least bit feral -- or streetwise -- and our apartment smells like it houses seven cats, which in fact it does, and I haven't had access to my study for two months (and it may never smell the same), and what can we do? These kittens need homes. But India is not a cat-owning culture. People regard them like pigeons: you might feed them on the street, but only weirdos would let them into their houses. A surprising number claim to be afraid of them (not dislike them, but fear them). Even our Indian friend T., who is well-educated and well-traveled and worldly, had never heard of a litterbox and thought cats had to be walked at regular intervals, like dogs.

I've emailed every single person I work with. I've held a "kitten open house," replete with catering. Exactly three people showed up: my secretary, my boss, and a woman who made it quite clear that she had no interest in adopting but just wanted her 18-month-old son to see them. (He smacked one sharply across the head. Ok, I guess they're a little more streetwise now; thanks for that.) K has placed ads with all the major recreational associations and with a couple of area vets. Nada. I've even started emailing co-workers in Delhi, as K, with growing desperation, has announced he'll fly them up there.

And now, internationally.

Seriously: K will likely be spending some time in July in the U.S., and he'll deliver to your door. They won't still be kittens, really, but they're still going to be cute, smart, and great conversation starters (I mean, with other people. They're not that smart). Please. I really need my study back.

Oh yeah: pictures. K's set up a limited flickr account.