(Just to
needle a certain kind of reader, here is a Terribly Cute Post written from the
point of view of a terribly clever cat:)
“You’re not
actually doing what it looks as if you’re doing,” my human said.
Well, she
was underestimating me again. You’d think, after all these years together, that
she’d remember that I am Serena Ni Burr Mac Irene Ni Candice Ni Bisquit Ni
Polly Ni Patchnose, and none of those
was a cat you’d meet every day.
“We are
doing exactly what it looks as if we’re doing, silly human,” my daughter and I
purred.
This is
what we were doing. I had babies. The weather wasn’t
cold, and I hadn’t been ill, so I did not expect to need any help. I made a
nest for them in a private place, as cats normally do when we don’t anticipate
any problems rearing our babies. Nobody needs to see them until they are old
enough to come out on their own feet and see the world.
Then my
daughter, Silver, had kittens of her own. I’m a grandmother! Jolly high time, too, I might add. Silver loves Sommersburr, who can’t give her
kittens, but we cats often feel the urge to try a different tom and this year
Silver finally had kittens of her own.
Although a full-grown cat, Silver is
smaller and thinner than I am and people have kept on calling her “the kitten,”
which suits me. She was not confident
about being able to rear these kittens so she made a nest for them on the
porch, under a piece of furniture right beside where the humans always walk.
She will want to move them when they start walking!
They’re nothing much to
look at, but that’s because nature did not intend them to be looked at. Tiny
new kittens need to be in a nice, dark, private nest. These four will look very
similar to my first four when they grow up.
“But I
can’t feed them,” she wailed. The
humans had not thought she was about to give birth to four healthy kittens
because her underside was still nice and flat, not puffed out with milk.
“Keep
trying,” I advised. “Acting as if something had happened does not usually make
it happen, but in the case of milk for babies it does. If kittens keep kneading
and nibbling on cats, even cats who can’t have kittens will eventually have
milk. If they don’t, even after having kittens, our milk will be reabsorbed
into our bodies and our undersides will flatten out again.”
“But all
they are doing is wearing their poor starving selves out and causing me pain,”
said Silver.
What to do?
What to do? This seemed like a thing a Queen Cat ought to know.
Last year when I had all those kittens, and all of them died, the human encouraged me to try to feed them. She did that by calling me to come and sit beside her. As a new mother, I was so full of prolactin I didn’t even mind curling up beside the human and letting her stroke my head, even though I usually try to redirect her affection into something more interesting, like dragging a stick around the yard for me to chase. I snuggled up against her warm flank (it was a cold day) and tried to warm my babies, but it was too late. They were all gone.
'
I could
hear Silver’s babies crawling around in their nest, wondering where their food
supply was. I felt my own milk “let down” and knew that my idea would work.
“Get into
that nest,” I told Silver. “Now.”
She knew
better than to waste my time even blinking her eyes at me. She went into her
nest and curled up around her babies.
I went in
and pulled a fold of the blanket Silver had used to line the nest up behind
Silver. Then I lay down across her body and purred at the babies. Tiny new
kittens don’t see anything, and don’t hear much, because they have to learn
first to pay attention to what they can hear—or
feel—vibrating in their nest. Among other things that’s how cats know when to
make our humans carry us away from fires, floods, earthquakes, and similar
dangers. (Humans think we do that to save them! Well, of course, that may be a
side benefit, but obviously the primary benefit is that their long legs, and
other things to help them cover more ground faster than we do, tend to help them save us.)
The babies
went to their own mother first, and tried to nurse. That still did them no
good, but I made sure Silver lay still and gave them a good long chance to
start her hormone cycle. Then when they began to show discouragement I called
them to climb a little higher and discover my
milk.
“Would you
believe it! I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t looking at it,” the human said.
“Can you see it on the tacky little cell phone camera? The bigger one is sort
of cat-cornered on top of the smaller one, who is the mother of these babies.
She’s not only sharing her own milk; she’s helping the babies stimulate the
lactation cycle for their own mother. These are not normal cats, but that
grandmother cat, Serena, just may be the cleverest of them all.”
YESSS! I’ve
finally got something through that big thick head. I, Serena Ni Burr etc. Ni Patchnose, just may be the cleverest of
us all. Maybe. And I’m a GRANDMOTHER!
(This post was written for the Tuesday before last, when Blogspot wouldn't open. Since then, Silver's milk has come in as expected. Serena is still an active grandmother. Only one kitten has died, during a glyphosate poisoning episode. The three on the porch are growing fast, and have their eyes open.)
