Halfway through kittenhood, a quarter of the way to full feline adulthood. All is going well, rites of passage being observed by some but not all – Kwintesencja ('Kwincia') and Memphis ('Fisia') have already spent their first night outdoors after failing to come home by lights out, and Kwincia recently sported a wound on the left side of her neck, probably the result of fighting with one of her siblings. Or maybe uncles. Or maybe some external attacker. In any case, it has completely healed.
Below, from left: Wiktor, taking it easy, Kwincia and Mars, both alert, watching the breakfast bowls.
Dorian, with his cerebellar hypoplasia, is not growing as quickly as the others; he is a fussy eater. Whatever wet cat-food I leave out, he will scrape the ground with his paw next to the bowl, a sign that he treats the food on a par with faecal matter. He loves Greek-style yogurt, milk and dry cat-food (especially the premium fish-flavoured sort). Yesterday, I bought some freeze-dry chicken fillet strips (Céleste's favourite treat); I am feeding small portions of this to Dorian away from the others, allowing him to catch up weight-wise.
Below: first foray into the forest next door for Wiktor and Mars.
Mars is a great little lad, full of energy and with a hearty appetite, though unlike Kwincia, his identical-twin sister, he has a short stumpy tail. If you look at the two of them closely side-by-side, you will notice that Kwincia has a more feminine face. Wiktor shows very mild signs of cerebellar hypoplasia, though with a regular tail he has much better balance than Dorian. Unlike stumpy-tailed Dorian, whose rear legs are splayed outward, Wiktor walks normally, although his head nods very slightly while at rest. And then there's Memphis, 'Fisia', tabby with a white underside and a white 'tear streak' on the left side of her face. Below: all five together, licking the aluminium lid of a 1kg yogurt pot. Clockwise from bottom: Mars, Dorian, Wiktor, Kwincia and Fisia.
The kittens are spending more and more time outdoors and are discovering the extent of their range. They move as a group, with Dorian in among them (I do worry that one day he might get lost and be unable to find his way home on his own). I must remember not to take anything for granted and to be grateful for the joy that the kittens bring, as well as other items... dead birds and live mice (though the mice end up tortured to death and eaten whole). Below: Wiktor and the remains of a young starling.
Céleste is still managing to breastfeed her little ones almost four weeks after being sterilised! No longer all at the same time, and no longer for more than a few minutes. Like her mother, Wenusia, she has proved herself an ideal mother. Her fur is starting to grow back; I hope she will have regained her beauty by the time of the first snows. However, unlike Wenus, who toilet-trained her brood with military discipline, Céleste has proved remiss in this department. I continue to find kitten poo where it shouldn't be – on the floor beside the litter tray, on the floor nowhere near the litter tray, or in a cat-basket that hitherto had been the exclusive snoozing spot of one of the kittens' uncles. The floors, being tiled, are easy to clean. The cat-baskets are not. And tooth-marks on electrical cables worry me... grown-up cats don't do this.
Below: Wiktor and Mars in the kitten play-house I built several weeks ago out of old boxes.
Wenusia herself, grandmother and materfamilias, makes an appearance for breakfast, stays a short while then departs, popping in once or twice during the day for a meal. But most of the time, she remains outside. My neighbours (summer weekends only) often report that Wenus pops round there for ham and milk.
The uncles, Czester, Scrapper, Pacyfik and Arcturus, spend most nights roaming the great outdoors; within two minutes of me pulling up the roller-blinds, there's a commotion on the windowsill and a breakfast queue has formed of the above-mentioned toms, plus their mum, plus ol' Mr. Heaps (Hipek), the elderly castrated male who's been with us now for over four months.
Left: typical brunch buffet scene. All five kittens present, along with Czester the beloved ginger tom, Hipek, white with black patches and tail, and at the bottom of the picture, Arcturus (whom I've left uncastrated). Arcturus remains an even-tempered and undemanding fellow, who gets on with everyone.
The kittens never knew the house without Hipek, so accept him totally. Now Hipek is a good, calm, emotionally stable old cat. He gets on with everyone, and everyone gets on with him – except Pacyfik. For some reason, Pacio will hiss and growl and swipe at Hipek, often necessitating the younger cat's removal from the house. Pacio has learnt to tolerate the kittens (he'd hiss and growl at them too at first), but with Hipek relations remain bad. It makes me wonder whether intolerance of the outsider/newcomer is a genetic thing. One in five mammals is born a racist? Why does Scrapper often snooze beside Hipek and run together with him in the garden while Pacyfik gives Hipek a hard time? Cats from the same litter, same upbringing... different genes.
This time four years ago:
Strange twilight
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