Dear Diary, I've more or less given up chasing Morgan. Don't know what changed, but sometimes I even sleep next to her now. Must be that my human didn't approve. My latest target is Bones, who belongs to the man-child. She's afraid of me, so I chase her. I've heard the story so many times about how that cat got her name. The human family is somewhat confused about exactly what year she was born. They think it couldn't have been the first summer they were here because that time period was spent refurbishing the buildings and property so they could get a loan to purchase. That meant new roofs on the house, the bunk house and the barn; tearing the front porch, which was falling apart, off the house; stripping paint from the house and repainting; replacing all the gutters on the house; replacing 4 windows; and probably a bunch of other stuff I haven't bothered to pay attention to. Basically, they sank every penny they had into this property when it still belonged to another person. Bones must have been born the second year they were here. The heat was oppressive that year. A sickness descended upon the farm that took the kittens into its grip. For a span of time my human was finding kitten corpses every day. She was totally unprepared for this emotional and psychological trauma. She estimated that at least 100 kittens died that summer. This is not a wealthy family that I live with. They scrimp to get by for the most part. My human's man was oblivious to the trauma this was causing his woman, being adament that money was simply not there to treat a feral colony of cats. There were many harsh words, leading to my human grabbing Bones and shaking the kitten in the man's face, screaming "This poor kitten is a bag of bones. It's going to die. How can we not do anything?" My human took one of the kittens to the vet despite her man's objections, using monies she earned indexing books. This visit led to her purchasing 50 vials of distemper medicine and syringes for administering the drug. She'd never given a shot in her life, but with the help of Melissa (her niece), she managed to administer the medicine to the cats they could catch. They had to somehow track which cats had been medicated, and that is when the naming began. A list was made with descriptions and names. Some of the kittens medicated still died, but the entire operation seemed to put an end to the disease's grip. The mostly gray kitten my human had wholeheartedly believed would die, was named Bones at that time, and some strong constitution in the kitten kept her alive, though she was indeed a skeleton draped in skin. So, I suppose I should feel sorry for her and admire her strength of will to live. But I can't seem to help myself. Whenever I see her, I just have to chase her. Such is life.