I skipped the first day of my senior year of college because I awoke to find my cat was in labor. One of her twins was dropped in my lap as she leaped up to avoid the discomfort of having him. I grabbed her and put them both back, saying, “I don’t know what to do with this!” But fortunately she did. What do they do the first day of class anyway, just give out schedules and syllabi, I could get those tomorrow.
Another incident to confirm the ages old adage. Dogs have masters, cats have staff. We mere mortals exist for their pleasure and in their service. Now, here is a trick (taught to me by my daughter who is a vet) to help socialize the newborns once Mom has stopped feeding them and they go on solid food. Hand feed them with wet cat food holding the kitten at the same time in the other hand. Works every time to bond them to you and if our experience in raising now five once feral kittens is any indication they will be anything but the aloof distant animal many cats evolve into . Ours, hang out with us, constantly show signs of affection and are as social as any dog.
Hoorayyyyyyyyyy! Kitten season has officially commenced!
I remember the first time I saw the catbirth -- which nearly took place on the living room rug. My mother was, shall we say... displeased. The mother cat was sent outside -- airborne with half-born kitten hanging out -- both survived. I didn't know my mother had such a good throwing arm.
After moving the mother and X number of kittens to a more acceptable location, I watched, fascinated. Meanwhile, still trembling with rage over the near defilement of the carpet, my mother took a Valium. I was chirping things like "But Mom, come see! It's the miracle of life beginning." "Not on MY rug..."
come to think of it, I may have told this story already.
You reminded me of a story from my mother. When Mitzi gave birth to her first kitten under the 50's style green chair in the living room, Mom gently picked them up to place them in the birthing box. She then went back with a wet cloth to inspect the carpet under the chair. It was spotless.
It must have been fascinating to watch those kittens being born. But I'm sorry that instead of just finding a more washable textile to move the cat to, your mother chose to throw her out the door, halfway through birthing a kitten. That must have been pretty horrifying. I hope your mother treated her own human children far more gently.
Well, she just didn't like cats. My brother claims that he was sixteen years old before he learned that these critters were called simply "cats" and not "damncats."
Worth repeating your story as it brings back a flood of memories.
We watched Tiger and Coochie give birth in Englewood, New Jersey at my cousins and in a rare moment in Bayside, New York before my Dad died.
These stories are buried and are just waiting to be retrieved. One of our neighbors drowned her cat’s newborn kittens and bragged about it. My mother was outraged!
A couple of years ago, I gave houseroom to a beautiful calico and her five "seductive little puffballs" (description courtesy of my friend Bob) -- I must admit, I wallowed in all the praise I received from Facebook acquaintances, but my cleaning lady went ballistic! She wouldn't listen to me when I said the situation was temporary (It was and I found good homes for all the kittens AND the mama), that the carpet in the art room was going to be ruined (it wasn't, I set up a kitten station in the room with vinyl flooring), that I was going to wind up as an obese recluse with bad teeth, huddled in a rusty trailer swarming with diseased cats and one day I'd drop dead of a heart attack and the cats would eat the flesh off my bones (fine, I'm in favor of recycling). ANYHOW -- I can listen to a rant -- ONCE. By the third time she said all this, I said "You have made your point QUITE some time ago... I'm going on an errand. I'm sorry you're upset by this but there is no law that says you have to go on working for me." Exit mjb, cleaning lady howling in the background.
I came back, we had a significantly more rational conversation about the situation and two months later, she was trying to convince her husband that they should adopt the mother cat. (Who was beautiful but did not get along with my other three lady cats -- she needed to be the princess of the household.)
My mother didn't fool around. She liked to tell—for shock value—of drowning bags of newborn kittens when she was a kid in an oil wildcatting camp, and she'd have been as protective as you describe your mother of her precious—dusty rose!—living room rug. (It's possible the oil field house didn't have an actual floor.) No cats in *our* house, or dogs until the parents finally had to indulge my brother's normal-boy need for one.
Congratulations! What lovely news. Five kittens will be at least as much fun as the proverbial barrel of monkeys.
Nicely done! Enjoy your grandkitties.
Finally the wait is over. Perhaps they all need Spanish mnames to celebrat their birthday.
Uno, Dos, Tres, Cuatro and Cinco ?
Beautiful story…Thank you for rescuing Graycie and helping with her kittens!
Congratulations!! Graycie looks so proud and protective. I’m sure all of you are worn out. Cinco kittens on Cinco de Mayo. Love it!
Mazel Tov and Mazel Katz!
I skipped the first day of my senior year of college because I awoke to find my cat was in labor. One of her twins was dropped in my lap as she leaped up to avoid the discomfort of having him. I grabbed her and put them both back, saying, “I don’t know what to do with this!” But fortunately she did. What do they do the first day of class anyway, just give out schedules and syllabi, I could get those tomorrow.
Hurray, Cinco de Mayo kittens. You are such champs - congratulations to the
superb work you have done! Well deserved rest now!
Another incident to confirm the ages old adage. Dogs have masters, cats have staff. We mere mortals exist for their pleasure and in their service. Now, here is a trick (taught to me by my daughter who is a vet) to help socialize the newborns once Mom has stopped feeding them and they go on solid food. Hand feed them with wet cat food holding the kitten at the same time in the other hand. Works every time to bond them to you and if our experience in raising now five once feral kittens is any indication they will be anything but the aloof distant animal many cats evolve into . Ours, hang out with us, constantly show signs of affection and are as social as any dog.
Another myth shattered, Es muy brilliante, senor!
oh so sweet...good work!
So adorable! I love how Graycie is protecting her babies with her leg. Please continue to post photos as the kittens grow.
Bravo! Cinco de Kittens!
Amazing Graycie!
Congratulations. Get some rest!
So sweet!
Congratulations! It must be such a rush to help usher in new young lives, even if they are feline!
Feline, Canine, Equine, Bovine it's always a rush when everything goes smoothly.
Hoorayyyyyyyyyy! Kitten season has officially commenced!
I remember the first time I saw the catbirth -- which nearly took place on the living room rug. My mother was, shall we say... displeased. The mother cat was sent outside -- airborne with half-born kitten hanging out -- both survived. I didn't know my mother had such a good throwing arm.
After moving the mother and X number of kittens to a more acceptable location, I watched, fascinated. Meanwhile, still trembling with rage over the near defilement of the carpet, my mother took a Valium. I was chirping things like "But Mom, come see! It's the miracle of life beginning." "Not on MY rug..."
come to think of it, I may have told this story already.
You reminded me of a story from my mother. When Mitzi gave birth to her first kitten under the 50's style green chair in the living room, Mom gently picked them up to place them in the birthing box. She then went back with a wet cloth to inspect the carpet under the chair. It was spotless.
Yes, because mother cats CLEAN UP after their babies are born.
It must have been fascinating to watch those kittens being born. But I'm sorry that instead of just finding a more washable textile to move the cat to, your mother chose to throw her out the door, halfway through birthing a kitten. That must have been pretty horrifying. I hope your mother treated her own human children far more gently.
Well, she just didn't like cats. My brother claims that he was sixteen years old before he learned that these critters were called simply "cats" and not "damncats."
She never threw us outside. We were too heavy.
🤣
Worth repeating your story as it brings back a flood of memories.
We watched Tiger and Coochie give birth in Englewood, New Jersey at my cousins and in a rare moment in Bayside, New York before my Dad died.
These stories are buried and are just waiting to be retrieved. One of our neighbors drowned her cat’s newborn kittens and bragged about it. My mother was outraged!
A couple of years ago, I gave houseroom to a beautiful calico and her five "seductive little puffballs" (description courtesy of my friend Bob) -- I must admit, I wallowed in all the praise I received from Facebook acquaintances, but my cleaning lady went ballistic! She wouldn't listen to me when I said the situation was temporary (It was and I found good homes for all the kittens AND the mama), that the carpet in the art room was going to be ruined (it wasn't, I set up a kitten station in the room with vinyl flooring), that I was going to wind up as an obese recluse with bad teeth, huddled in a rusty trailer swarming with diseased cats and one day I'd drop dead of a heart attack and the cats would eat the flesh off my bones (fine, I'm in favor of recycling). ANYHOW -- I can listen to a rant -- ONCE. By the third time she said all this, I said "You have made your point QUITE some time ago... I'm going on an errand. I'm sorry you're upset by this but there is no law that says you have to go on working for me." Exit mjb, cleaning lady howling in the background.
I came back, we had a significantly more rational conversation about the situation and two months later, she was trying to convince her husband that they should adopt the mother cat. (Who was beautiful but did not get along with my other three lady cats -- she needed to be the princess of the household.)
Your neighbor the kitten drowner may have grown up in the same oil fields as my mother.
My mother didn't fool around. She liked to tell—for shock value—of drowning bags of newborn kittens when she was a kid in an oil wildcatting camp, and she'd have been as protective as you describe your mother of her precious—dusty rose!—living room rug. (It's possible the oil field house didn't have an actual floor.) No cats in *our* house, or dogs until the parents finally had to indulge my brother's normal-boy need for one.