“So, anyway, this little girl kept coming to me in my dreams and it’s like I’ve known her all my life and she knew everything about me. It never dawned on me it was our child, our Layla. At least that’s what Mama Vermillion thinks and the more we talked about it the more it made sense. I hadn’t even thought of her name until about a week ago and then all this happened with you and Mama and she already knew Layla’s name.”

“You’re right, I would have worried about you,” I said.

“At least until Friday night,” Maggie said.

“Yes, Friday night,” I said as we rounded the corner to Mama’s house.

“Look, Jim, there’s the big oak tree in front of Mama’s house!” Maggie said.

“And we’re supposed to be seeing her babies right about now!” I said, somewhat sarcastically, just as I noticed about fifty cats in, about and over the entire front porch, yard and oak tree.

“Looks like this is right place,” Maggie said.

“Yep, I believe you’re right, my dear,” I said as I tugged on the old painted iron gate that made a loud creaking noise as it opened in towards Mama Vermillion’s
ancient little house in the French Quarter.