Mammalian motherhood

Unlike me, Wenusia has read nothing about cats giving birth, yet she is proving an absolute natural at it. Her instinct, my intelligence, our intuition. Did she know she was about to become a mother? Right up to the end, with five kittens inside her, she didn't look massively pregnant, and was still able to jump up to the parapet outside to be let in (a leap of over a metre). She must have felt great biological changes going on within her – to what extent did she know she was carrying five live kittens in her womb?

Lila's last-born kitten, Bonus, didn't make it, dying of a lung infection at the age of ten days. Lila sensed that he was weak, and tried several times to discard him from the birthing box, carrying him upstairs by the scruff of his neck and depositing him under a bed. Despite a visit to the vets, he succumbed. I was worried that this might prove to be the case with one of Wenusia's brood, but all (so far) is well. 

She is a caring mother. After a hearty breakfast this morning, she asked to be let out for a poo (she doesn't like to do it indoors, despite the presence of cat litter in the bathroom). I opened the kitchen window, she jumped out into the garden and disappeared for a few minutes. I could hear her five kittens starting to get anxious, so I went outside and called out to Wenusia. On hearing me call her, she emerged from the bushes, charging at top speed towards the front door. She is living responsibility. No one but her can keep her offspring alive. And she knows it – instinctively and intuitively.

Equipped with six nipples, Wenusia is capable of feeding her entire litter simultaneously, but not every kitten can easily latch on at the same time. Fights occur. A roiling scrum of kittenhood. The orange tom (named Czestuś for his late namesake) is particularly assertive, striking out with his right paw at any sibling between him and his milk. Despite being born second from last, he's the largest of the litter, weighing in at 118g this morning. Wenusia ignores the squeaky squabbles, stretched out in supreme contentment. She can see that no one is going hungry, and while some are stronger than others, there are no outlier weaklings in the pack.

Wenusia is a proud and protective mother; when she sees me hovering over the birthing box, her forepaw arches over the five feeding kitties; but she looks at me with a gaze that expresses accomplishment, she is purring continuously as she lactates. How could I deprive Wenusia of the satisfaction and completion of purpose in the role of a mother?

At what stage in evolutionary history did viviparous mammalians develop lactation, separating them from egg-laying reptilians and birds? I looked this up with AI. Apparently, proto-mammalians secreted antibacterial fluids to bolster the immune systems of their young as they emerged from parchment-thin eggs (the amniotic sacs I saw in yesterday's deliveries are vestigial reminders of eggs).  Over a period of 200 million years, this evolved into mammary glands.

It is amazing how animals know what to do. No teaching, no theory, no practicing – just doing it right first time.

This time last year:
Qualia compilation – Isle of Wight, summer mid-1960s

This time six years ago:
Quantum jumps, quantum luck and the atomic will

This time seven years ago:
Under the sodium

This time eight years ago:
"Further progress? Hell yes!"

This time 17 years ago:
The 1970s and the 2000s