The kittens at two months

Peak kitten cuteness? Between six and ten weeks. They are playful and scamper about, they are now going outside, watched over by their mother and Hipek (who feels that he can play a useful role in his adopted colony). The kittens still breastfeed, though less regularly and have started going over to solids, in particular the paté type. Fresh water is always on hand as is 0.5% ultra-low-fat milk. 

Dorian, the stumpy-tailed wobbly kitten, and his twin Wiktor (who is just slightly wobbly and has a normal tail), are fine, accepted by their  mother and their siblings as part of the group. Dorian will not let his disability hold him back. Is he aware of his difficulties in coordinating the movement of his legs? How does his cerebellar hypoplasia affect his experience of life? Am I just imagining it, projecting it onto him, but is there a stoic, almost cheerful acceptance in his feline mind? He can climb up into the cat tower without difficulty. He plays, play-fights, grooms and chases the others (and they him) without any changes to the rules. I am, however, wary of these Dorian and Wiktor going astray outdoors, especially when I catch sight of a buzzard overhead. Below: Dorian play-fighting with Mars.

The other three are developing ideally. Mars and Kwintesencja, tabby twins, are distinguishable only by sex and tail length (Mars is a stumpy-tailed male, Kwincia is a normal-tailed female); both are explorers eager to push the envelope of how far they can roam. Memphis (Fisia) is a female tabby, and displays white fur on her throat, neck and undersides; she has a mid-length tail with just one kinked bone. 

Below: the five tend to all sleep together. Céleste no longer fits with them all present, so breastfeeding is done on the floor. We see here Kwincia (left) and Wiktor, the rest are all uh, down there somewhere.

Below: time for some fresh air – Mars (centre) leads Dorian (left) and Wiktor (right) towards the open kitchen door. Notice the focused expression on Mars's face. 

Meanwhile, mum Céleste has been losing fur at an alarming rate. Her face is familiar but her head seems to have shrunk (below).

This hair loss is both hormonal and seasonal. During pregnancy, elevated hormone levels hold hair follicles in an extended growth phase. Around six to eight weeks after giving birth, those hormone levels plummet. At the same time, peak milk production has placed immense metabolic demand on her body, which today is as thin as a weasel's. This shift forces a large percentage of her hair follicles into a resting phase simultaneously ('telogen effluvium'). The result is a dramatic, synchronised blow-out of her undercoat and long guard-hairs, making her head look noticeably smaller. [Here she is, La Contessa, in midwinter, coat by Courrèges.] All this was going on during last month's heatwave. Long-haired cats naturally drop their dense thermal undercoat during summer. In temperatures over 25°C, dropping fur is Céleste's body's natural defense against heat-stroke while trapped under a pile of warm kittens.

Lying on her side for hours on end creates warmth, humidity and constant mechanical friction against Céleste's flanks. Combined with loose shedding fur that hasn't been brushed out (frequent brushing was put on hold during the breastfeeding weeks), dense dreadlocks quickly formed. This mass of matted hair had to be removed, gently, with minimal use of scissors, aided by Céleste herself who'd be gnawing on the base of the locks. The whole lot finally came off as one large piece, looking somewhat like a false beard.

The internet assures me that Céleste's fur – the undercoat and long guard-hairs – will all have grown back by the winter. The internet also warns me to arrange an appointment with the vet to sterilise Céleste as soon as possible. Sterilisation will, sadly, be the fate of Fisia and Kwincia; the prospect of looking after 22 cats by the end of 2027 is too much. I'm already close to the point where my monthly cat-food bill is approaching the amount I spend on feeding myself.  Céleste is eating seven or eight times a day; she is stick-thin after two months of nursing the little ones, so whenever she calls for food she gets food.

The two female kittens are destined not to experience the joy and pain of motherhood... unless someone wants to take them as whole females with the intention of letting them breed (an outdoor lifestyle has to be provided for them). The joy of kittens is extraordinarily special.

And let's not forget grandmother, Wenusia. She comes by in the morning for breakfast and pops in a few times during the day. Once fed, she will put her paw on the side of my leg, which means "lift me up and stroke me, don't forget that once I was your one and only cat." I do so, she wanders off, contented, I hope.

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Wobbly kittens

It has become clear over the past week that Dorian (the grey kitten) and Wiktor (his grey-and-white twin) both have wobbly kitten syndrome. Of the two, Dorian is extremely unsteady on his feet and unable to walk more than three paces before falling over. Having a short, stumpy tail doesn't help – a cat's tail is important for balance. Wiktor, who has a normal tail, is somewhat more stable, nevertheless he cannot scamper freely like his siblings; his gait is unsure, he walks slowly, but does not constantly fall over as Dorian does.

I began noticing slight tremors in these two a few weeks ago. Weight-wise, they are above the average for this litter, they were both feeding well and neither was being ignored by their mother. But as soon as  the kittens left their birthing box having learned to stand upright, it was clear that all's not well with Dorian and Wiktor.

Below. Dorian (left) and Wiktor (right) flanking their one brother, Mars. Sisters Memphis and Kwinta are in their basket in my bedroom. At rest, all seems normal. As soon as they move, the disability becomes obvious to see.

I typed the symptoms into ChatGPT, which told me that this is very likely to be 'wobbly kitten syndrome', or cerebellar hypoplasia. "It typically becomes obvious when kittens start walking, with uncoordinated gait, swaying and falling over. It is neither painful [though Dorian falls over a lot], nor contagious, nor progressive; many cats adapt well", says ChatGPT.

Cross-checking with Wikipedia, I discover this: "Cerebellar hypoplasia in cats. Symptoms include swaying, head tremors, uncoordinated walking, and hypermetria [overshooting of the intended leg position]. There is no treatment. There are very minor differences to a cat's life caused by cerebellar hypoplasia. Usually, they are more prone to falls and being attacked. A simple solution is keeping them indoors. The condition is not infectious in any way. Some accommodations that might be needed are easier access to the litter box or higher food and water bowls."

I have to watch how I move around the house, ever-careful not to step on a kitten that can't get out of my way. They are clumsy, so things need moving. First damage has been done – my French press coffee maker was nudged off a low shelf at the end of the kitchen unit, shattering the glass.

Early morning, Tuesday 30 June. I wake up with the dawn. Outside on the kitchen window, a line of cats awaiting their breakfast, like social-security claimants waiting for the doors of the DHSS office to open. 

A tin of cat food is cracked, the front door is pushed ajar, and in pour Scrapper, Czester, Pacyfik, Arcturus and Hipek like a feline tsunami (no sign of Wenusia this morning). The kitchen floor is a mêlée of adult cats and tiny kittens; Pacyfik is growling and hissing at them (and at Hipek).  The rest are cool. The adults know what's expected of them; they eat quickly, and having hoovered up sufficient wet- and dry cat food, they leap up onto the parapet and one by one are allowed back out of the kitchen window, leaving Céleste and the little ones. 

I settle down at my laptop to read overnight emails, and hear a sound like a distant industrial pump – I stand up to check if the neighbours are up to something – but no; this the sound of five kittens feeding at their mother's breasts. Céleste is lying by the kitchen sink, not far from my feet. Neither Dorian nor Wiktor have any difficulty in latching onto a nipple and feed normally. Mum is feeding them all without any prejudice or preference. Given that much of their time up to now has been spent sleeping and feeding, their condition was easy to overlook. But once out on the tiled floors, they slip up continually. Wiktor looks like he's had one drink too many; poor little Dorian appears worse for wear, staggering from side to side, with his hind legs sliding away from him..

Most importantly, what next? I shall see how things unfold. Firstly, most importantly, this is not a condition that will ease as the kitten turns into an adult cat. ChatGPT again: "cats are generally affected for life but learn to cope. It usually does not resolve, but the kitten may compensate." How adept the brains of Dorian and Wiktor will be to create work-arounds that enable them to function normally remains to be seen.

Secondly: how will the group dynamics evolve? At present, all is good. The three able-bodied kittens, Mars, Memphis and Quinta, play with Wiktor and Dorian in equal measure, and there is plenty of allogrooming [social grooming – mutual cleaning of fur between members of the same group, this reciprocal behaviour being a crucial social mechanism used to relieve stress, reinforce family links, build companionship, and establish dominance hierarchies – Wikipedia]. But how long will this continue? With last year's brood, all five kittens would set out on patrol, setting out and returning together as a group. Dorian (certainly) and Wiktor (probably) should not be allowed out. How long can that continue in a rural setting?

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