How Lily came to have seven cats (with pictures!)
I typed this novel-length reply to another post and decide that all that effort should be rewarded with wider publication, so yes, all of you should be subjected to the same torture, and thus I give you...
Three was my usual limit for cats. Occasionally I had four, but only briefly--when one was very old I might consider bringing in a new one. That happened twice.
In addition, there were inevitably outside feral cats that I fed, but outside cats never live long. They just don't.
One outside cat I fed was tough. He was a fighter. I called him George Foreman. I think I spoke about George here on LJ. I loved George. It took me four years to tame George enough that he let me pet him. He was a bad ass and he was a fighter and I knew that he was never coming inside. Never. It would never work.
One day I looked out the window for George, and there, on top of him, lay an orange kitten. Puddled right on top of George! I was amazed. Every other cat in the area, George fought with and ran away. But here was an orange kitten, snuggling with him!
I assumed it was his son. That's the only reason that made sense why George actually liked this kitten. And George liked the kitten. They hung out, all the time. They slept under my porch together. They shared the food that I put out. In fact, George let the kitten eat first. Imagine that!
The kitten was jumpy, antsy, squirrely, and I called him Squiggy, because he was such a Squiggy little thing.
I worked on taming Squiggy. I love orange boys, they've always been my favorite. I loved George and Squiggy, and George and Squiggy loved me, and all was good. All winter, I tried to lure them into my basement when it got cold. My cats have never been in the basement, so it doesn't smell like them. It got so cold over the winter, bitterly and terrifyingly cold, but I could never lure them in to stay the night. They were tough. They were feral.
So spring came (2014), and I was sitting outside enjoying the warmth and petting Squiggy. Did you ever pet a cat right at the base of their tail? When you do that, their tail goes straight up and they lift their hind end. I did that to Squiggy, and when his butt when up in the air, I happened to look down, and I realized something was missing. Namely: testicles.
Squiggy had no testicles. Squiggy was a girl. An orange girl! Holy shit, that's kinda rare!
Springtime. A girl cat, closing in on a year old. That meant Squiggy was pregnant, or soon to be.
George disappeared. He lasted almost five years, longer than any other feral cat I've ever fed. I imagine that when Squiggy was in heat, other male cats came a calling, and it proved to be too much for George. Did I mention that I loved George? I did love George. I miss him still.
So George wouldn't be there to help Squiggy with kittens. I worked hard and fast on taming Squiggy. Eventually, as she neared her due date, I brought her in, even though she was still half feral. A vet visit, a clean bill of health, and we were good to go.
Squiggy gave me babies. She gave me babies, six of them, six of the most beautiful kittens I have ever seen, there in my bedroom. I sat with her the whole time she was laboring. I helped her--I really did. The last kitten was crowning, and Squig was so tired. So very, very tired. After about ten minutes, when she didn't push the kitten out, I reached down and pulled it out.
We had babies.
Three of the kittens were striking. The father must have been Siamese. They were gorgeous. Soft fur with a brown undertone and striking blue eyes. Everyone who came to see those kittens fawned over those three. It was easy to find homes for them. Each time a kitten went to their new home, it broke my heart to watch them go. Shattered my heart. I cried and cried. Giving those kittens away was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
The other three were average looking. Two orange boys, and a gray tiger girl (with an orange belly!). These, I kept. Because I couldn't face giving any more away, and because they weren't bedazzling and so no one wanted them but me, I wanted them, always, they were mine. Mine.
So there you go. I had my original 3 + 1 (Squig) who then had +6 more = 10 but then -3 = 7. Seven. I have seven cats.
Originally I called the kittens Lighty and Darky (light orange became Simon Wu, dark orange became Willy Wu), Whitey and Blacky (Whitey was given away, Blacky became Molly Wu), and the twins, Mary Kate and Ashley (because I couldn't tell them apart at first; Mary Kate became Bibi and Ashley became Sasha, but they were given away and both got new names).
See? Picture albums:
Squig having babies: http://imgur.com/a/KAtoR
Two-week old babies: http://imgur.com/a/XDv5m
Five-week old babies: http://imgur.com/a/gVxCW
Six-week old babies: http://imgur.com/a/FxpHl
Seven-week old babies: http://imgur.com/a/VLIiS
Is that enough pictures of kittens? Enough talk about kittens?
NEVER!
Three was my usual limit for cats. Occasionally I had four, but only briefly--when one was very old I might consider bringing in a new one. That happened twice.
In addition, there were inevitably outside feral cats that I fed, but outside cats never live long. They just don't.
One outside cat I fed was tough. He was a fighter. I called him George Foreman. I think I spoke about George here on LJ. I loved George. It took me four years to tame George enough that he let me pet him. He was a bad ass and he was a fighter and I knew that he was never coming inside. Never. It would never work.
One day I looked out the window for George, and there, on top of him, lay an orange kitten. Puddled right on top of George! I was amazed. Every other cat in the area, George fought with and ran away. But here was an orange kitten, snuggling with him!
I assumed it was his son. That's the only reason that made sense why George actually liked this kitten. And George liked the kitten. They hung out, all the time. They slept under my porch together. They shared the food that I put out. In fact, George let the kitten eat first. Imagine that!
The kitten was jumpy, antsy, squirrely, and I called him Squiggy, because he was such a Squiggy little thing.
I worked on taming Squiggy. I love orange boys, they've always been my favorite. I loved George and Squiggy, and George and Squiggy loved me, and all was good. All winter, I tried to lure them into my basement when it got cold. My cats have never been in the basement, so it doesn't smell like them. It got so cold over the winter, bitterly and terrifyingly cold, but I could never lure them in to stay the night. They were tough. They were feral.
So spring came (2014), and I was sitting outside enjoying the warmth and petting Squiggy. Did you ever pet a cat right at the base of their tail? When you do that, their tail goes straight up and they lift their hind end. I did that to Squiggy, and when his butt when up in the air, I happened to look down, and I realized something was missing. Namely: testicles.
Squiggy had no testicles. Squiggy was a girl. An orange girl! Holy shit, that's kinda rare!
Springtime. A girl cat, closing in on a year old. That meant Squiggy was pregnant, or soon to be.
George disappeared. He lasted almost five years, longer than any other feral cat I've ever fed. I imagine that when Squiggy was in heat, other male cats came a calling, and it proved to be too much for George. Did I mention that I loved George? I did love George. I miss him still.
So George wouldn't be there to help Squiggy with kittens. I worked hard and fast on taming Squiggy. Eventually, as she neared her due date, I brought her in, even though she was still half feral. A vet visit, a clean bill of health, and we were good to go.
Squiggy gave me babies. She gave me babies, six of them, six of the most beautiful kittens I have ever seen, there in my bedroom. I sat with her the whole time she was laboring. I helped her--I really did. The last kitten was crowning, and Squig was so tired. So very, very tired. After about ten minutes, when she didn't push the kitten out, I reached down and pulled it out.
We had babies.
Three of the kittens were striking. The father must have been Siamese. They were gorgeous. Soft fur with a brown undertone and striking blue eyes. Everyone who came to see those kittens fawned over those three. It was easy to find homes for them. Each time a kitten went to their new home, it broke my heart to watch them go. Shattered my heart. I cried and cried. Giving those kittens away was one of the hardest things I've ever done.
The other three were average looking. Two orange boys, and a gray tiger girl (with an orange belly!). These, I kept. Because I couldn't face giving any more away, and because they weren't bedazzling and so no one wanted them but me, I wanted them, always, they were mine. Mine.
So there you go. I had my original 3 + 1 (Squig) who then had +6 more = 10 but then -3 = 7. Seven. I have seven cats.
Originally I called the kittens Lighty and Darky (light orange became Simon Wu, dark orange became Willy Wu), Whitey and Blacky (Whitey was given away, Blacky became Molly Wu), and the twins, Mary Kate and Ashley (because I couldn't tell them apart at first; Mary Kate became Bibi and Ashley became Sasha, but they were given away and both got new names).
See? Picture albums:
Squig having babies: http://imgur.com/a/KAtoR
Two-week old babies: http://imgur.com/a/XDv5m
Five-week old babies: http://imgur.com/a/gVxCW
Six-week old babies: http://imgur.com/a/FxpHl
Seven-week old babies: http://imgur.com/a/VLIiS
Is that enough pictures of kittens? Enough talk about kittens?
NEVER!