It takes Marianne half an hour to walk from Dock 5 to her destination. Upon arrival, she enters a small shed, then emerges with several small plastic bowls, which she places haphazardly on the ground a few feet from one another. Another trip into the shed produces a large bag of something that rattles and smells vaguely like meat.
Already, her efforts have not gone unnoticed. A dozen spectators have appeared, watching and clamoring for her to finish.
Marianne fills the bowls, returns the bag to the shed, and calls, "KITTYKITTYKITTYKITTYKITTYKITTYKITTYKITTYKITTYKITTYKITTY!!!"
Cats converge on the scene from all directions, emerging from out of the woods, from under buildings, off rooftops.
Marianne sits cross-legged on the ground to watch them eat.
"Hey, guys. So, most of you know I got a job that will take me away for a few months. Well, that starts tomorrow."
A big orange tom looks up at her from his bowl like he's listening.
"Like I told you, the other volunteers will keep you fed. And Dr. Habersberger will still try and keep up with the spays and neuters."
A white kitten bites her in the arm.
"Ow! Yes, he'll still pull bad teeth too. Especially if you do that, you little shit..."
She uses her hand to gently wrestle with the kitten for a few moments as more cats finish eating and approach her.
"What's that?" she asks a feisty tortoiseshell who always looks like she disapproves of something. "You think I should go back and talk to my new crewmates? duck that. I'm spending my last few hours of freedom with you..."
She pulls a bottle of vodka out of her pocket.
"...and this."
Just then, an orange tabby kitten Marianne doesn't recognize runs straight up to her, mewing loudly all the way. Not satisfied with being petted, the little one leaps onto her sleeve, climbs her arm to her shoulder, and YELLS in her ear.
"Odin's balls, cat! That is not how we behave!"
Marianne plucks the little miscreant off her and deposits it in a group of other kittens who are happily eating. She's just started to turn away when the other kittens stop as one and either run away or hiss. The largest leaps at the orange one and Marianne gets several scratches breaking up what clearly wasn't a play fight.
Marianne offers the orange kitten to various cats she knows were recently pregnant, and a few who weren't.
"Is this yours?"
Rejection at every turn.
Shit.
"All right, little guy," she says as she tucks the kitten into a pocket. "I guess you're mine."