Washing Day

I think the babies of every species of mammal on the planet undergo the ordeal of the spit-wash. Human children certainly do; the only concession the parent makes is that a handkerchief or facial tissue is used. Otherwise, it’s the same: a dirty face or body receives the cleansing benefit of spit.

So it was with Rhapsody’s kittens last night. Their mother decided it was time for them to be bathed. Each was seized in turn; there was no refusal. They were held down, little limbs flailing, eyes shut against a rough tongue. Resistance was of no use.

It’s not easy being the children of a good mother. But they certainly stay clean.

Doing His Duty, and Then Some

All the cats in the Cosy Cabin use the litter-boxes conscientiously. Some are a little messier than others, but their aim is true and if the results include some sweeping, rather than scrubbing and washing, that’s acceptable.

For some, that’s not good enough. Some like to make sure the debris is covered. If Moxy finds uncovered deposits, he will cover them. I don’t mind that. Then there are Brazil and Sable.

Brazil and Sable will make sure everything is covered. And they will make sure. And make sure. And make sure. And make sure. And make sure. And make sure.

Sable is not as bad as Brazil, and Brazil is usually worse late at night. I will be just drifting off to sleep when I hear a cat in the litter-box. Shimmer likes to give small cries to let me know he is going to use the box. Once there, he will conduct his business. And then he will commence the cover-up. I can hear him change positions every few seconds. He digs from the right; he digs from the left. He scrapes forward; he scrapes backward. There’s a pause. He’s done. He starts again.

I don’t want to roust him out of the litter-box, of course; that would lead to him thinking going there is a bad thing. So I try encouragement.

“Good job, Brazil. That’s it. You’re done. You can go now. That’s a good boy. You’re finished. Come on, Brazil. Up, up. All done. Good boy! Let’s go. Fine work.”

I timed him once, after he had been going for a while. He continued to work for five minutes.

Many animals are conscientious, but some carry it farther than others.

Free-for-all

The kittens have not ventured out of the cat-bed yet. One or two have been outside, but I think these have been accidents. They clamber about on the parapet, and look beyond its confines, and sometimes they fall off. I don’t believe any has made a deliberate attempt to escape to the wider world yet.

But they are crawling more. Now and then, everyone is on the move, climbing over each other, over their mother, completely apathetic as to who or what they step on. There are fights - little limbs flailing almost ineffectively, eyes closed against little toe-bean blows to the face - over access to milk, over being trod upon. Sometimes it looks like an animated version of a Renaissance painting of the condemned in Hell - writhing, twisting, rolling, falling - except it’s the little furry demons performing all the actions.

Here is a glimpse of a typical free-for-all. Please note that no kittens were injured in the photographing of this picture.

Unhungry

Yesterday, the cats weren’t hungry.

Sometimes, at dinner (in the afternoon) or snack-time (in the evening), the cats who live in my house are not hungry. This doesn’t apply to Rhapsody, of course, who is always willing to eat due to her extraordinary condition. The rest, however, periodically, decide that they simply aren’t hungry.

Now and then, it is the individual. Yet, oddly, there are days when the entire gang isn’t interested in food at a meal-time. Yesterday, I began preparing the food, bringing out the bowls, putting the food in them. I called repeatedly, but no one stirred. Sometimes, such inactivity will be followed by a grudging interest. Yesterday, everyone remained immobile, happy to continue lying wherever they were. I rousted a few of them out of their torpor - principally because I had already dirtied dishes with food and I didn’t want the work to go to waste. But they ate only a little.

No one was sick. The food was not bad; there were numerous varieties and flavours from different tins. Nobody had eaten particularly large amounts at breakfast (at which this phenomenon never occurs). It was simply the periodic apathy that settled over everyone, a kind of ennui that precludes even meals from being attractive, the lure of Lotusland so strong that hunger is ignored, not even felt.

Evening snack-time was normal and well-attended.

A Waiting Foster-cat.

Interestingly, Millie has been coming out of the cat-room more and more lately. During the past week, after dinner, she came into the sitting room and lie on the back of the couch, while I sat there with Imogen on my lap. Imo doesn’t like Mills. Why, I don’t know. But I was surprised at Millie. Firstly, she rarely comes into the sitting room, where many of the other cats spend their time. And to be there, lying on the couch, was unprecedented.

When a foster-cat does such things, showing a greater propensity to join in the life of the Cosy Cabin, I tend to regret that she will be adopted by someone else. But Millie’s increasing extroversion is certainly not great, and is shown only when I am present, to keep her safe, as it were, from the other cats. She really has nothing to fear from them, but she doesn’t want them near. If I were to leave the door to the cat-room open during my absence, she would hide in there while others came and went. Indeed, she does that much of the time when I am home, and when she does come out, she tends to stay near where I am.

This presents an image of what Millie’s Cosy Cabin life could be that is false, or at best, limited. Her waiting permanent home will be much better for her: the only cat, with a human and a whole house to herself. No more hiding from other felines, no more watching them warily, hissing at them, wanting them to go away, so she could move freely.

Fostering cats is a life filled with wishing, wondering and hoping.

Time for Herself

At last, all the kittens’ eyes are open, even Andante’s. It’s true that his are barely open, but they are open, and everyone is seeing, I can tell. They probably are not seeing anything distinct, but it’s more of the frightening new world for them to wonder at. In the family portrait below are, from left to right, Vivace, Largo, Rhapsody, Presto, yawny Allegro and Andante.

But Rho is now willingly leaving the babies for short periods to enjoy some time for herself. She and I spent a short while together before my bed-time. She is still the friendly and sociable girl-cat she was before the kittens were born.

Even so, she remains a very good mother. At least twice during our petting session, she got up to check on the kids.

The Tiny World is Not Enough

Largo is the third kitten to open his eyes, while Allegro and Andante are still sightless. I think the babies are starting to feel constrained by the cat-bed: they are climbing more, and Vivace made a full circuit of the bed, and has probably satisfied herself that all that may be discovered in that tiny world has now been discovered.

Meanwhile, I think their mum is starting to think a break from the kids may be in order…

The Envy of Its Fellows

This is one of the cats’ fuzzy mice. They like to bat them around on the floor. Valkyrie liked to carry one about in her mouth, while Sable enjoys knocking them back and forth on the kitchen’s linoleum. Consequently, they become dirty. Yet this fuzzy mouse is clean. It’s so clean it shines. How was this accomplished?

I did the laundry on the weekend. As I was transferring the clothes and towels from the washing machine to the dryer, this little item escaped from a knot of damp fabric. Somehow, it had been gathered up with dirty clothes and washed. Having had its bath, it evidently saw no need for drying, so I took it back upstairs.

I have no idea how it was included in the laundry, but I am sure it is now the envy of its fellow toys.

Eye-opening Experience

Another stage of the kittens’ development has begun.

On Saturday, one of Vivace’s eyes opened. Strangely, even as of this morning, the other remains shut. Her brother, Presto, has sped ahead of her, however: yesterday, both of his eyes opened. They are still not fully wide, and the blurriness of his photograph (taking a one-handed picture of a struggling kitten is not easy) is probably clearer than what he is seeing right now. But it’s a start.

As soon as the Tempos can see properly, they will start crawling away from their mother, in efforts to reach whatever it is they observe. Then the fun begins. Theirs, not mine.

The Sun in the Morning

It’s taken a while, it seems, this year, but the sun is at last returning to the Cosy Cabin. The front window of the sitting room faces due east, and when the sky is clear, spring and summer mornings are light and bright. This is greatly enjoyed by the sun-cats here (even though the second picture makes it look like a crime-scene awaiting the arrival of the police.)

The next meteorological event is the opening of the windows…

Weekend Slumber-party

At just over a week of age, the Tempos don’t really have much of interest in life except sleeping and eating, though they appear to be good at both. They are growing, which is also good. Rhapsody does not seem tired or drawn, and appears as chubby as the kittens. I feed her all the time, which may or may not be the right thing to do: I may be feeding her more than she needs, and she’s just putting on the pounds. But I think that’s preferable at this stage than under-feeding her.

Here are some pictures to show the babies at their favourite pastime: snoozing. One must admit, they are becoming experts at it.

That’s a close-up of Presto in the second picture. And in the third picture, the slumber-pile, look at Largo head to head with his brother, Andante, and holding him close. Well, at this stage, any closeness and grasping is probably chance and instinct. But it’s darn’ cute, nonetheless.

Infantile Dreams

The kittens can be rather mobile in their sleep. This time it was Presto’s turn. As usual, when I do manage to video-record what I intend, I keep the show going hoping to get more, and nothing happens, so most of the action occurs in the first few seconds.

Normally, I would guess that such movements as Presto’s are due to dreams, but I can’t imagine what he’s experienced so far that he could dream about. Then again, maybe they are smells, feelings, sounds, various stimuli that he’s picked up in the last week. The movements may even be involuntary and random jerkings of muscles and nerves trying to find their connections.

Whatever the cause, it seems normal, and he settled down after a bit.

Through a Window

While the kittens continue learning about their as-yet very small world, the other beasts continue living in their larger small world. They like the wide window in the sitting room, and someone can usually be found sitting or lying on a cat-tree looking out.

I sometimes see a beast or two when I come home. This is what I observed yesterday. Brazil can be clearly seen, but the reflections on the glass blot out most of Moxy, whose white bib and feet may be discerned. I don’t think they were looking for my return in particular; I happened to come home while they were at the window.

Nevertheless, it’s pleasant to see the cats at such a time. They make the house more of a home, little lives going about their business in safety and comfort. Maybe others feel that about me when they see me inside, through the window.

A Moving Picture

The kittens seem to be moving more now. Though they sleep a great deal, they also crawl, push, pull and drag themselves quite a bit. They appear to move aimlessly, and perhaps it is pointless movement, at least in the sense of direction. But they are developing their muscles, their nerves are connecting, their ligaments strengthening. Moving at this stage may be more impulsion than decision, and it all goes toward creating the grown cat.

And it’s fun to watch. Viewers may note that Largo (the solid orange fellow) tries to make a break for it at one stage, hoping to scale the great wall of the cat-bed. But he apparently falls asleep in the middle of his escape. These things happen.

Bum Wrap

Rhapsody’s kittens are always looking for warmth. I don’t believe that they are too cold for their comfort; after all, conditions for kittens outside are worse, and there they have just their mother, their siblings and whatever setting in which they live to keep them warm. In their nursery in the Cosy Cabin, though, they sleep in the birthing bed, which is on a thick and bulky blanket, and which contains a folded blanket, a soaker pad, and their fuzzy cat-bed. I eschewed a heating pad because, as someone else in the rescue-group pointed out, if it becomes too hot for the kittens, they have, at this stage of their development, no way of escaping from it. I do have the electric heater in the library on most of the time, however.

Nonetheless, the kittens enjoy their warmth. Partly, it no doubt brings a feeling of security. They are always looking for that extra bit of snuggly. This has led more than one to find the warmth in the fur of their mother’s rear end. In the picture here, Allegro is wrapped cosily, but I have seen his brothers and sister there, too, usually more enclosed than he is. The leg helps.

Among instinct, cunning, curiosity and intelligence, these kittens are going to be a couple of handfuls soon, and I am grateful that they are sticking close to mum for the time being.

Perspectives

Once the kittens were born, I of course let them become accustomed to finding nourishment, and being next to their mother. They huddled together against her for warmth and security.

It was vewy wawm and skwishy when I fewst wemember. Then, there was a big push an’ out I come into the big cold. I was scarwed but then a big lappy thing cleaned me and I felt wawm but dwy. There was a big big wawm fuzzy body an’ she kept me close and comfy.

Then I found a itty bitty tube an’ wawm tasty stuff came out an’ I dwank an’ dwank an’ dwank. Then I slept. I felt wawm and safe next to the big big warm fuzzy body.

But I wanted to get them used to human touch as soon as possible, so that their earliest memories would be of  being held gently in my hand. I wouldn’t keep them for long, just a minute or so, and then would replace them against their mother.

Then...then...I was lifted up up up up! I was way up and flying except I was on this wawm smooth thing that held me an’ kept me from falling. I yelled and yelled, an’ the wawm smooth thing put me down an’ I was against the big big fuzzy body again. Whew. I slept.

Repetition is important, I think, as it establishes a routine, and gives them a sense of  being held and touched as rather mundane and every-day.

Then, I was lifted up up up up again!! The wawm smooth thing held me an’ something stwoked my head. I yelled and yelled and yelled, an’ the wawm smooth thing put me down again.

They were of course frightened at first, but they became used to the process. I take each of them up in turn and softly run a finger along their little bodies and over their heads.

There are other little fuzzy things like me an’ the same thing happens to them! Some day, we’ll be big an’ stwong like the big big fuzzy body an’ if the wawm smooth thing tries to lift us, we’ll tear it to pieces!

Ya have to watch out in this new bright cold wowld. What a nightmawre. Whatever a nightmawre is...

I think the kittens enjoyed their first pets.

The Naming of Kittens

I have been thinking of names for Rhapsody’s kittens since long before they were born. I tend to prefer unusual names; not outlandish, but not common, so they will be unique. And I like the names of cats who come in groups - and there is no group like a litter - to be of a kind, of a theme. Since their mother is Rhapsody, I thought immediately of music. The trouble is that I have used musical names for a number of beasts already, notably the ferals of the small colony that I trapped and had fixed, and now help feed, at my work-place.

But that didn’t stop me from thinking of more musical names. I decided on the kinds of tempo music has. (It would have better if my former foster-cat Tempo (now adopted and re-named) had been the mother in this case, rather than Rho, but, thankfully, Tempo was never pregnant.)

Therefore, I would like to introduce to you the new Tempos, as it were: from top to bottom in the illustration, we have Presto (meaning ‘fast’), because he was first to be born; Vivace ([viv-aw-chee] ‘lively’), whom I believe to be the only girl; Largo (which means ‘slow’; he was the last to be born); Andante ([awn-dawn-tay] the name refers to a walking pace; he was born in the middle, neither in a hurry, nor dawdling), and Allegro (‘happy’).

Fortunately, they all have distinctive colouring and patterns; I feared half a dozen black cats… Instead, we have an orange and white tabby; a semi-diluted tortoiseshell; a light orange tabby; a dilute orange, and a white and dilute orange.

I’m sure their names won’t survive their adoptions, but for now, one might say, the timing is right for these little notes.