In February or March, 2009, Bert had three kittens. When they were about four weeks old, she brought them to our neighbor's yard, where they lived most of the time. When they were big enough to climb down the fence separating our yards, she regularly brought them to our house to eat.One of the first times I saw them in the neighbor's yard, I watched the boy, whom we named "Tic," eating dirt, and I knew I had to make sure they were fed.
Long story short, they soon ate daily in our backyard, but Bert always reminded them that Phil and I were dangerous - hissing and fleeing from us the moment we walked into the backyard - so the kittens were very wary of us. When they were between eight and twelve weeks old, we trapped them and their mother and took them to the SPCA in San Francisco to have them fixed. The SPCA also gave them all their shots. A few days later, when they had recovered, we released them.
Bert promptly abandoned her kittens and has since rarely stopped by. The kittens, though, have taken up permanent residence in our gardens. In fact, we recently purchased a "feral villa" (as the website calls it) - or a cat house - for them to stay in during the rainy season.
Three or so months after their mother left them, they are finally trusting me, often letting me pet them, purring, and actually following me around the gardens...at a safe distance. I suppose they are now partially socialized, though they only tolerate me on their terms - usually when they are being fed or in the early evening when they are the most playful - and they seldom let Phil pet them.
We've named them "Tic," "Tac" and "Toe," darkest to lightest, the boy the darkest and wanting attention the most, Tac the fluffiest and often knocking my hand around with her head like a dog to show me where she wants to be petted, and Toe generally lying near me, but not too close for too long.
