Her mother Samantha is the true tortie.
However, #TortieTuesday embraces both types of three-colored cats.
Serena is a little over one year old, and as I left, late for work, this morning it occurred to me that this is the worst day of Serena's life so far--the first time I've seen her express pain or fear.
Last spring, Samantha gave birth to four kittens who all looked premature. One couldn't possibly have lived; one looked as if it might live, but it never did; one lived for less than a day. This left Serena well fed on all of her mother's milk, and although she often expressed boredom and impatience at having only adult cats and humans to play with, she was the biggest, strongest, healthiest kitten ever. She never showed a reaction during last year's glyphosate poisoning episodes. She was bigger than her mother before cold weather arrived, and there was none of the usual kitten drama about wanting to spend warm nights indoors because spring kittens' fluffy coats don't provide enough insulation...Serena is part Manx, and her extra-thick coat did provide insulation. She'd come into the warm office room where she was born to show friendliness, then start panting from the heat and go out, like an adult cat...in contrast to Samantha, a scaredycat who spent most of her first winter indoors in a nice safe cage, by choice.
I have no idea why she chose the name she did. (It was unmistakably her choice, among others.) She never knew her grandmother Irene, she never watched the "Bewitched" show (where I didn't remember that the character Samantha had a relative called Serena, myself), and I don't think she'd ever heard of the tennis champion either...although I will say Serena-cat's behavior looks as if she'd dedicated her life to emulating a big, strong, yet feminine and motherly athlete. I have more respect for Serena Williams than I have for most athletes, and more for Serena-cat than I have for most spring kittens.
Serena has always been very friendly and affectionate with me, though not in a way other people would understand. As an only kitten she didn't need any more snuggling and mothering. She needed more romping and playing. She shows affection by "clawing and chawing." (I don't encourage her to get close to other people for that reason.) She has really tried to be gentle about slapping and chomping me, too. She has expressed apology. However, she was delighted when someone brought us a rescued feral cat with a kitten just her age! She and Traveller were born a hundred miles apart, but nobody could tell them they're not brother and sister. It's been hard to separate them since the first day they were allowed to sniff each other and start their first game of tag.
So during the night before the first day of March, Serena gave birth to four cute, healthy kittens. One does have a Manx body shape, but all four have complete tails. I worried about them being out on the porch through the winds of March. Serena assured me I didn't need to worry. She comes from a long line of abnormally intelligent cats. She figured out how to drag heavy fabric down between stacks of storage bins to make a warm, soft, well insulated nest with a series of three overlapping doorways to keep out drafts. On the chilliest nights she let Traveller join her and the kittens for extra warmth. The nest remained snug...until the kittens started exploring the world.
Kittens usually want to explore the world when they're six weeks old, but these are Serena's kittens. At five weeks they were as big and as ready to explore as ordinary kittens are at six weeks. She showed them to me right away, and three of the four of them instantly recognized that a human is to snuggle up to. The fourth one backed away and hissed at first, then became the cuddliest of the four by the second day.
None of them is either black or calico, but a kitten of any shape or color is adorable. And we mustn't forget Traveller, still a growing year-old kitten himself...Trav is as proud and protective of these kittens as any human uncle ever was. I have never seen a tomcat bond with new kittens like that before. I don't think Traveller is especially smart or social, by himself, but he knows whose lead to follow! Serena is a true Queen of Social Cats, fully worthy of her remarkably clever and social predecessors Heather, Bisquit, Polly, Patchnose, and the unforgettable Black Magic.
Oh it was a charming weekend at the Cat Sanctuary! Fruit trees and their ornamental cousins, and forsythia, still show a few blooms as redbuds and violets start to color the land. The weather was mild, sunny, and pleasant. The kittens spent Saturday learning how to climb and jump, then spent Sunday and Monday doing all the adorable kitten tricks in the book. If they had been calicos, Torties, or Tuxies they couldn't have been cuter. Even the one with that jugheaded Manx look...he may never be handsome, but he's a purry, cuddly, lovable little guy, with almost enough black spots in his white coat to qualify as a Tuxie.
And then...on Monday they started refusing milk, and crying and screaming when Serena tried to groom them.
Serena remembered where I keep a solution of powdered food-quality charcoal in water in case of accidental poisoning. This is a safe home remedy for humans and domestic animals, though some pharmacies don't stock it because people with food intolerance could easily abuse it. Dose is one teaspoon per cup, one full cup for an adult human, 5 cc for an adult cat, 1 cc for a kitten, a bucketful for a cow. Serena hasn't had this problem herself, but she remembered where I'd put the remedy after giving it to Samantha and Traveller. She walked up to me as I was typing and nonverbally asked for a dose by pointing, first to where the container was kept, then to the container.
Overnight the kittens had lost their bounce and become whiny, listless, bloated, and glassy-eyed; two of them even had globs of mucus around their eyes. Kittens bloat up quickly if they drink their milk without being groomed and cleaned, because, as all cat rescuers know, their bowels don't move without the external stimulation of brisk light strokes around the back section of the kitten. What comes out of healthy kittens is bland white curds and whey, which mother cats eat. Sick kittens' mothers nonverbally say "Urgh" and either "abandon" the kittens, or dump them at their humans' feet saying "See if you can do anything about this."
So Serena did that. If you watch cats closely, "abandon" is hardly the word for the way they walk away from sick kittens. You can see their distress as they tiptoe slowly away. From time to time they'll come back to see whether their babies are living. Usually kittens whose mothers can't feed and clean them will die, and often their mothers are sick too, but if they do survive their reunion will be joyful.
On Monday I gave the kittens three doses of charcoal each, and tried cleaning them. No use. Hardly a drop of tainted cat whey came out of each kitten. They screeched and clawed at my hands during each effort--although they recognized good intentions. They came back to me, as a family of four, to solicit the next feeding and cleaning session six hours after the previous one. They would rest in a basket in the office, I'd be typing on the computer, and then I'd hear scrabbling at the back of the desk and see four little faces peering around the edge. They waited to be invited, then swarmed up for their home remedy, however much they didn't enjoy it. I would not have tried to make that up. During the midday feeding the sickest kitten was feverish, but by evening the fever broke and the kittens were starting to bounce and scamper again.
By Monday evening Serena was glassy-eyed, feverish, and irritable as she requested another dose of charcoal. Her teats were swollen and felt inflamed. The kittens saw her and squeaked for milk, and Serena surged up off my lap, nonverbally saying "They can jollywell have this milk if it kills them."
It didn't kill them. In fact, although the curds were still backed up inside the kittens this morning, enough whey came out to reduce the bloating. They wanted to nurse again, and Serena let them.
But both Serena and I knew that allowing kittens to take nourishment, in this condition, is risky--sort of a kill-or-cure.
Samantha always used to try to follow me to work, being afraid to stay home alone or even with the senior cats when they were present. Traveller used to try to follow me, being afraid to miss any possible petting or cuddling time. Serena never tried to follow me; she kept the other two at home! But this morning, when I was out of sight of the house, only one cat was following me. That was Serena, looking distressed. She even meowed--something Real Queen Cats seldom do! "Don't leave us alone," she cried, with body language I've often seen on other cats but never seen on Serena.
I hadn't wanted to leave them alone. If I hadn't made a commitment to host the #GlyphosateAwareness live chat on Twitter on Tuesdays, I wouldn't have come online today.
I locked Serena indoors and left her. I am not a happy camper today either.
Why had such happy, healthy cats suddenly become so miserable? Something they'd eaten, I thought, and then I came down the hill into town and saw the dead grey and brown tops of the few weeds that grow within ten yards of the railroad track. So the wind and Sunday night's rain must have kept the glyphosate vapors away from me, but cats can never resist a poisoned bird or cricket...
We have got to get glyphosate banned in the United States, Gentle Readers. We've won the right to get local bans. Please nag your local councils today.
No comments:
Post a Comment