About a month ago, Carrie trapped a female tabby who’d been living behind a Mexican restaurant in town. To her alarm, after she was spayed the vet told her the kitty had recently given birth; to her sorrow, the vet also said she was not lactating, which was a sure sign that the kittens had been stillborn.
Normally, if a trapped cat is judged to have recently given birth, she’d be returned immediately to her turf, for fear the kittens would die if left alone too long. But because she was not lactating, Carrie kept her two nights, to give her time to recover.
Fast forward a month. I went to the cafe for breakfast a week ago, and there was the mama cat (whom I’m now calling Maya) on the steps, sunning herself and waiting to be fed by restaurant workers.
[Feed me, human, but leave me the #&*$ alone! Do I LOOK happy to see you?]
When I reached to pet the feisty little smartie, I could see on her belly some unmistakably swollen nipples. I was both confused and alarmed – hadn’t the vet said this was not a live birth? Could she have mastitis, brought on by spaying so soon after delivering? I consulted a vet, who said it was a distinct possibility, and that she should be trapped again and brought in. The outcome could be dire, the vet said, if a mammary infection becomes systemic.
Sensing the urgency, I started stalking Maya, to discover her routine. Days went by when I didn’t see her at all. My anxiety growing, I meditated for a sign, a solution… something I could do to help her.
Finally on Saturday, I saw Maya again on the steps. This time I came with some good tuna, and gave her a fat bowl of it, which she ate eagerly while keeping her distance from me. I sat for 20 minutes while she toyed with me, sunning herself, licking her fur, in no hurry. Then she picked herself up and ambled away, around the corner of the building. I tiptoed behind her at a distance, ducking behind a tree when she turned around to check on me, aware of how ridiculous I looked. She led me on a 360-degree trip around the building, and when we were almost back where we started, she turned down a sidewalk between the cafe and an old house next door. And this is what I saw.
[Hi Mama! Where’s our breakfast?]
Inexplicably, Maya had KITTENS. Three that I could see, maybe 7-8 weeks old, who came bouncing out from under the house looking healthy, frisky and of course adorable. One gray, one orange, one buff. As joyful as I felt, I also could not fathom how on earth could this have happened! When she left them alone for two nights 5-7 weeks ago, how did they survive?? They must be made of hardy stock indeed.
I said a small prayer of gratitude that Maya’s life was not in danger, that she was just in in the iron grip of a benevolent Mother Nature, who’d decided that motherhood was Maya’s mandate. It was, in its own small way, awe-inspiring.
And then I realized… OY!! Kittens! And under a house! Things were about to get even more complicated.
Thank you, St. Francis, for watching so beautifully over your critters, and for letting me be in the right place at the right time.
oh how precious! and amazing. the hearty who survive are hearty indeed.
I know – amazing is right!! Kills me to think of them being newborns with no food for two days. And yet here they are! NOW we just have to get ’em. 🙂
I want the orange one. No, no I don’t, not really, no. Yes. No. Can’t. No.
HAHAHAHA – wait until I catch her and then you’ll get a better (more tempting) picture! 🙂