I missed a newsletter, then I missed another this past Saturday. For some reason, I simply couldn’t write anything for 10 days, while my sweetie, Chuck, was home. We had a lovely 10 days, almost like he was here to stay.
But I know how much he loves living at our little piece of paradise, Pine Ridge, in the NM mountains near Cloudcroft, near our children. I love being here in West Texas, free to write without interruptions. Until this morning.
The true story I’m going to tell you today.
I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that we have two kitties, Sophie and her sister, Freddie, in the house.
We also have a dozen or more (once, two dozen) kitties on the back porch. Most of them are female and live in the garage, where they’ve created a huge mess under and around all the stuff Chuck moved home from our storage unit several years ago.
Consequently, the cats and kittens who have lived in the garage—generations of them—run when we appear at the back door, leaving the ones we pet, talk to, and love by picking them up.
Except Mama Motley, who goes crazy when picked up and turns into a thousand claws, leaving blood dripping if we forget to do more than pet her.
There are regular times the liable females— six, we think—emit exotic perfume. Half a dozen tomcats from the neighborhood come to the porch to woo those ladies.
Once the perfume drifts away, the ladies claw noses and hiss a lot when their interest in the guys has waned. The toms leave one by one, some of them so exhausted they can barely walk straight. The rest feeling deprived.
Then, we wait for all of the ladies to grow fat. When they’re about to burst, each will produce four bitty babies. That’s a LOT of bitties.
Now, for the story.
This morning, when I went outside to feed the porch kitties, I heard bitty babies calling loudly from the trailer shed at the back of the yard. The trailer is at Pine Ridge, so it was easy for me to pinpoint the cries.
Sure enough, I found four newborn kittens in a pile of dirt, leaves, and other stuff that ended up under a shelf during our last sandstorm. Their mama was nowhere to be found. So, I extracted them, removed whatever was clinging to their still-attached umbilical cords, and carried them to the porch.
Mama Motley lost her last litter of EIGHT, one by one, so she perked up immediately when I lowered them for her to sniff.
Then, I spotted their mama, her hiney and back legs still wet from the birth, cleaning herself. Naturally, she came from the garage, and wasn’t a kitty who trusted us. But she didn’t run. I retrieved a shallow basket from the storeroom and an old cup towel, and created a bed. I put it on the porch on our Texas Tech rug.
Motley came immediately and started licking and bathing the new bitties. If she’d still had milk for new babies, they would’ve been hers. But she still wanted to curl around them to keep them warm.
Then a miracle. The bitties’ mama came over and rubbed against Motley, and sniffed the babies. She still didn’t have a clue about what her duties were, but she was interested, at least.
I went back inside, hearing the babies begging for food. They stopped crying when Motley encircled them, then started again when she didn’t have a drop of milk to feed them. Close by, their mama kept sniffing, watching Motley licking them tenderly.
I couldn’t stand it. I warmed some canned milk (not the best milk for kittens, but they love it) and used a dropper to feed each one while Motley and Mama watched, smelled the milk, and licked the babies’ lips.
Hmmm. I drizzled drops of milk on the bitties’ backs and both mamas set in to give those babies thorough baths. I prayed it would be enough for their actual mama to decide having kittens was delicious!
Motley curled around the babes in the basket. And Mama curled around Motley.
Motley felt pinned in and got up. Then, the miracle.
Mama curled around her babies. They eagerly nuzzled her belly until they found the fountain of milk they needed!
Mama started purring and treading along with them.
I moved away from the back door.
Then I heard crying. Back to the door.
One bitty had crawled out of the shallow basket onto the rug. I eased out the door.
Mama watched me, but didn’t leave her babies. I picked up number 4, held it to her nose. She sniffed. I placed it between number 3 and number 4.
It immediately wiggled its way to the nearest fount.
I cried.
Nothing new for me.
We’ve been married 52 years. We’ve never been without dogs or cats or both. And every last one was a rescue.
This morning, I rescued 4 bitty babies—and their mama.
No, such rescues aren’t oddities at our house. The oddity of the story was my success getting Mama to figure out what to do with her precious babies.
Have a wonderful week!
Hugs and happiness,
Linda
It sounds like you really understand cats and they trust you. Nice work!