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auntbijouOnce again, I find myself a mother. To kittens.
....sigh...
Am I a sucker or what?
Okay, so there was this cat, a calico that the kids christened "Angelina Pumpkin." This was bad, as it was contrary to my "we will feed no more strays" campaign. (Yes, I can hearvicki_sine's snorts and guffaws even from here. It was a vain hope, true, but a hope nonetheless). Once you name them... you're stuck.
But ... I held on to my illusions, because the kids assured me that she belonged to our neighbors. The ones with the kids my kids weren't allowed to play with, due to the fact said kids were constantly hurting or attempting to hurt the Impossible Son. I don't react well to that. They got their butts banned from my house muy pronto, and subsequently got banned from other houses up and down the street, pretty much for the same reasons they got banned from here. Anyhow, supposedly, they were Angelina Pumpkin's family. Then Miss Kitty started getting rounder and rounder and I thought, great, they didn't get her fixed, and now they're going to have MORE cats. I forbade the kids to feed her, wanting to see what would happen. She didn't lose weight, and no, it wasn't because she was preggers. She looked well-fed, trust me.
Then they moved. And two days later, Miss Angelina Pumpkin was at our back door, meowing. I thought, great, abandoned cat. Except, whenever I was outside, and I'd see her heading our way, I never saw her coming from next door. I always saw her coming from across the street and down the corner. Licking canned meat juice from around her mouth. So, I asked the kids again. "Are you guys sure the folks next door were Angelina Pumpkin's family?"
No. They weren't. Seems they always saw her coming from the same place I did, but she always hung around next door. Great. I didn't do anything, mainly because we've been literally running to stay in one place, sort of like the White Queen. And she's well-fed, as I mentioned. And when she inevitably had her kittens, she always came from that same place, so I figured that's where the babies were, thank goodness.
Until last night.
I noticed her on the back porch and thought, how odd. What's she doing there? But whenever I went out to check, she'd disappear. So... I shrugged it off.
Then, this morning, the kids came in, frantic. They could hear kittens underneath the garden shed, but... they sounded faint and weak. Uh-oh. Apparently, wherever Miss Angelina Pumpkin had her babies wasn't weathertight and she moved them. To someplace worse. She brought the first one out, and I thought it was dead. It was a popsicle. Literally. Okay, just paint "SUCKER" in big, neon words on my forehead. Yes, I took the ball of semi-frozen mud that turned out to be a kitten, washed it carefully, dried it briskly with a rough towel to make it mad, and settled it on a towel-wrapped bag of hot water to warm up. It promptly started complaining and immediately earned the name "Noisy."
That wasn't the end of it. The Impossible Son came running in with another ball of mud that looked slightly more kittenish in his arms. I thought this one was dead. It was stiff, and completely non-responsive. But, I washed it off, rubbing it and encouraging it, an eye twitched, then it yowled softly, and I thought, "Okay, this one's semi-alive." One brisk towel rub and hot water bag later, it was crawling around, squeaking and complaining, and earned the name, "Icicle." Because it was. Literally.
The third one we didn't find until nearly an hour later. And when the Impertinent Daughter came racing in with it, it looked like she was carrying a stick of wood. A muddy stick of wood. With orange bits at one end. I thought, oh dear. How do I break it to them? Because really... it was... dead. But, it started responding as soon as the water hit it, and after the towel rubbing, it was weakly crying. "Orangello" is now cuddled up with Mama and siblings, and doing fine.
By the way, Mama Angelina Pumpkin is one can short of a six-pack. Not the brightest bulb in the box, but then so many cats are lousy first time mothers. It's not unusual for a first litter to be completely lost. So, when the weather warms up, guess who's going to be trekking to that house on the corner with a basket of kittens to say, "Lose something?" And boy, don't you know I'm going to have to really fight the urge to say, "Please, please, PLEASE tell me these are your cats, PLEASE!!"
Anybody want a kitten?? Or three?
....sigh...
Am I a sucker or what?
Okay, so there was this cat, a calico that the kids christened "Angelina Pumpkin." This was bad, as it was contrary to my "we will feed no more strays" campaign. (Yes, I can hear
vicki_sine's snorts and guffaws even from here. It was a vain hope, true, but a hope nonetheless). Once you name them... you're stuck. But ... I held on to my illusions, because the kids assured me that she belonged to our neighbors. The ones with the kids my kids weren't allowed to play with, due to the fact said kids were constantly hurting or attempting to hurt the Impossible Son. I don't react well to that. They got their butts banned from my house muy pronto, and subsequently got banned from other houses up and down the street, pretty much for the same reasons they got banned from here. Anyhow, supposedly, they were Angelina Pumpkin's family. Then Miss Kitty started getting rounder and rounder and I thought, great, they didn't get her fixed, and now they're going to have MORE cats. I forbade the kids to feed her, wanting to see what would happen. She didn't lose weight, and no, it wasn't because she was preggers. She looked well-fed, trust me.
Then they moved. And two days later, Miss Angelina Pumpkin was at our back door, meowing. I thought, great, abandoned cat. Except, whenever I was outside, and I'd see her heading our way, I never saw her coming from next door. I always saw her coming from across the street and down the corner. Licking canned meat juice from around her mouth. So, I asked the kids again. "Are you guys sure the folks next door were Angelina Pumpkin's family?"
No. They weren't. Seems they always saw her coming from the same place I did, but she always hung around next door. Great. I didn't do anything, mainly because we've been literally running to stay in one place, sort of like the White Queen. And she's well-fed, as I mentioned. And when she inevitably had her kittens, she always came from that same place, so I figured that's where the babies were, thank goodness.
Until last night.
I noticed her on the back porch and thought, how odd. What's she doing there? But whenever I went out to check, she'd disappear. So... I shrugged it off.
Then, this morning, the kids came in, frantic. They could hear kittens underneath the garden shed, but... they sounded faint and weak. Uh-oh. Apparently, wherever Miss Angelina Pumpkin had her babies wasn't weathertight and she moved them. To someplace worse. She brought the first one out, and I thought it was dead. It was a popsicle. Literally. Okay, just paint "SUCKER" in big, neon words on my forehead. Yes, I took the ball of semi-frozen mud that turned out to be a kitten, washed it carefully, dried it briskly with a rough towel to make it mad, and settled it on a towel-wrapped bag of hot water to warm up. It promptly started complaining and immediately earned the name "Noisy."
That wasn't the end of it. The Impossible Son came running in with another ball of mud that looked slightly more kittenish in his arms. I thought this one was dead. It was stiff, and completely non-responsive. But, I washed it off, rubbing it and encouraging it, an eye twitched, then it yowled softly, and I thought, "Okay, this one's semi-alive." One brisk towel rub and hot water bag later, it was crawling around, squeaking and complaining, and earned the name, "Icicle." Because it was. Literally.
The third one we didn't find until nearly an hour later. And when the Impertinent Daughter came racing in with it, it looked like she was carrying a stick of wood. A muddy stick of wood. With orange bits at one end. I thought, oh dear. How do I break it to them? Because really... it was... dead. But, it started responding as soon as the water hit it, and after the towel rubbing, it was weakly crying. "Orangello" is now cuddled up with Mama and siblings, and doing fine.
By the way, Mama Angelina Pumpkin is one can short of a six-pack. Not the brightest bulb in the box, but then so many cats are lousy first time mothers. It's not unusual for a first litter to be completely lost. So, when the weather warms up, guess who's going to be trekking to that house on the corner with a basket of kittens to say, "Lose something?" And boy, don't you know I'm going to have to really fight the urge to say, "Please, please, PLEASE tell me these are your cats, PLEASE!!"
Anybody want a kitten?? Or three?
