Around quarter past two this morning, Céleste began giving birth, with the fifth kitten popping out at exactly 03:03. Céleste has been visibly pregnant for the last few weeks, waddling around, but still being capable of a blistering turn of speed when running with her brothers in the garden.
Since last Thursday, when for an hour or so she lay next to the kitchen table panting quickly, I knew it would be any day now. Yesterday evening, all the other cats moved out for the night – Céleste remained alone in the house. She followed me into my bedroom, where the birthing box stood. I went to bed around nine and was woken up by miaowing; soft bedside lamp on, and there it was, the miracle of new life. Photo below taken in low light; the first kitten is out and still soggy with afterbirth.
This is the third time I witnessed the birth of kittens; a profoundly moving experience. Each successive time it becomes more so. I can now imagine the kittens morphing into adolescent cats by autumn; prime kittenhood (oohs and aahs) does not last long.
Tiny paws tangled in umbilical cord; bloody fur, lots of licking. Tiny parcels of dark, wet, squealing fur on wet towelling and wet cardboard.
After five hours of Céleste's constant licking off the bloody afterbirth, I can see that the dominant colour among the kittens is grey, confirming my suspicions as to paternity – the grey-and-white tabby tom who'd turn up on the dziaka in early spring, ready to father at the earliest conceivable opportunity. The photo below was taken on 10 March, so about a fortnight before insemination.
Céleste is 11 months and 10 days old today, so a couple of months older than her mother was. She has always been a patient cat, never miaowing to be let out or to be fed, just standing by the door or by the bowl; and so it was with her birth. No noise, no drama, just quietly getting on with it.
Céleste gave birth on the same towel, in the same birthing box, in the same place (corner of my bedroom), where she was born. A sense of continuity. Unlike her mother, who showed signs of anxiety whenever my head hovered over the box, Céleste was perfectly comfortable with my presence around her and her kittens, but then she has been familiar with my presence since the very beginning of her life.
So – I'm now up to 12 cats. Wenusia, her children Scrapper, Arcturus, Pacyfik, Czester and Céleste, Hipek the old stray I took in two months ago, plus now the new five of Céleste's. Will I keep all five? We'll see. Assuming there's a female or two in the litter, will I keep them to procreate further? Probably not.
In the meanwhile, it's Babcia Wenusia, Uncle Scrapper, Wujek Arkcio, Wujek Pacio and Wujek Czestuś to you and me.
Coping with seven is no problem. I just have to buy more cat food. But coping with 12? Again, we'll see.
Why would a billionaire want more money? A man's wealth is expressed in cats.
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Birdland
De-growth – a personal manifesto
This time four years ago:
Start Late, Finish Late – more on the Speed of Life
This time nine years ago:
Swans' way
This time ten years ago:
Sam Smith, Shepherd Neame and the Routemaster bus
This time 12 years ago:
Rainy night in Jeziorki – no flood this time!
This time 13 years ago:
Wide-angle under Pl. Wilsona
This time 14 years ago:
Ranking a better life
This time 15 years ago:
Questions about our biology and spirituality
This time 16 years ago:
Paysages de Varsovie
This time 17 years ago:
Spring walk, twilight time
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2 comments:
Weren't there some raised eyebrows among the uncles and the oldest members? No tut-tutting?
Every dat showed a different reaction. Babcia Wenusia hissed at the newcomers. As did wujek Pacio. Czester and Uncle Scrapper were curious, but indifferent. Arkcio hasn't even bothered to stop by. The nicest reaction was from unrelated Hipek, who gazed quietly at the kittens through the hole in the birthing box for a while before turning away.
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