Sixteen years ago this week something wonderful happened in my household. I had taken in two feral cats, both of whom were parti-colored, meaning they were more than one color. Odds were very good they were females. Sparks was a longhaired calico, or more properly a tortie and white, while Tourmalina was a shorthaired tortoiseshell. And since it was spring, they were most likely pregnant. Tourmalina’s litter was born on May 2, 2008 and that’s what I’m celebrating this week.
From the very beginning I sat beside the cages that held the two families and spoke to them as often as I could. I knew the kittens probably couldn’t hear me yet nor see me, because their eyes and ears wouldn’t open for about a week, but maybe they could feel the vibrations. It wouldn’t hurt their mothers to get used to my presence either.
Tourmalina’s litter included three red tabbies, one “white,” and one dark one. I knew from experience that the white one and the dark one would soon be changing colors. I also knew that red tabbies are usually, but not always, males. As it turned out, two red tabbies were males and the other three kittens were females. The white kitten turned out to be a seal point longhair and the dark one turned into a brown patched tabby.
One of the male tabbies made his way out of his box just as soon as he could see his environment. I called him Trucker because he was “trucking” around the cage and then the room easily. The next was the seal point. I can’t tell you why, but her name just became Taylor, eventually Taylor Dane. The brown-patched tabby was Trinket, the red tabby female was Tinkerbell, and the other male tabby was Tweety-Pie. I only realized later that I’d given them all names that started with a T, but they were only temporary names anyway. Someone else would give them their real names.
In order to get them all used to my touch I fashioned a barrier from a cardboard box to keep the mothers away from my hand. It worked well until the kittens came out of the cages on their own. Amazingly, the mothers got used to the routine and came out for a walk around the room too, and when I put the kittens back into the cage, they went back in as well.
The kittens grew fast and developed unique personalities. Taylor was my first favorite. While the other kittens played, she cuddled with me. Such a lovable kitten, but she did play with toys if I moved them around for her. Then Trucker must have noticed because when he tired of wrestling with the older kittens he climbed up on my chest and tucked his head beneath my chin. What a charmer.
As the kittens grew, I made sure they were treated for parasites, vaccinated at appropriate intervals and adapted to nutritious kitten food. I let the mothers decide when to wean them and moved the kittens to one cage and the mothers in another. I had only planned to keep two of the older kittens, maybe three but as things worked out that changed.
I’d learned from past litters how to find homes for kittens. First, I didn’t place ads in the local papers or online, advertising “free” kittens to good homes. I worried about attracting undesirable applicants. Instead, I found adopters by sending an announcement to employees at my workplace through an email list advertising “kittens for sale.” That limited it to people who most likely had a veterinary background or at least a relation to the veterinary college where I worked. And it meant that any interested adopters would be willing to pay for them.
Second, I put together contracts for the new owners to complete and sign agreeing to spay/neuter and vaccinate the kittens at the appropriate ages. Also in the contract was a promise to bring the kittens back to me, at any age, if for any reason they couldn’t keep them. The four females (three younger ones and the one older kitten) quickly found homes. Then an older male kitten. All were perfect homes.
Also from previous experience, I learned that allowing adopters to come into the room and leave with their kittens only caused the remaining kittens stress. My new routine was to let them look into the room to see them, but then I would bring the kittens out into the living room for them to play with. Then if they wanted to adopt them, I delivered the kittens to their new homes at the right age. Not only were the other kittens less stressed, it gave me a chance to be sure they were going to good homes.
Four kittens remained after that.
Then one of my cats died. I was devastated. At that point I found it hard to imagine “losing” any more of my cats. I checked the latest research about quarantine periods for Feline Leukemia and Feline Immunodeficiency Virus. Then when the mother cats were spayed, I had them tested for both viruses. Their tests were negative so I felt relatively certain that the kittens would be negative as well, since they had not been around any other cats besides their mothers.
I knew I was going to name one of the older kittens Mulberry, though he became Mulberry Spot. His brother was B.W. Huckleberry. In keeping with the theme, Tweety-Pie became Strawberry and Trucker became Gooseberry.
My other cats had been exposed, through the door, to the sounds and smells of the kittens and mothers for all these weeks so I felt comfortable letting them mix at their leisure, but at first, only when I was home to supervise.
Of my other cats, Mewdy Blue seemed the most indignant at the newcomers. Gooseberry was infatuated with the older cat. I mused that it was like hero worship. They reminded me of those classic cartoon characters – one a Bulldog, the other a Chihuahua. The Bulldog muscled his hulking way down the alley as the smaller Chihuahua bounced around him pestering him for an answer. “What’ll we do today, Spike, huh, Spike, huh, huh?” that’s exactly how Gooseberry was to Mewdy Blue’s consternation.
Today, sixteen years later, only Gooseberry remains. He has been to many cat shows and won many ribbons but he was never happy, so he retired. Early on I thought he might be an agility cat because he was so active and could do a few tricks. But only at home. Instead, he is a much-loved house cat who enjoys his days as an only cat. He still tucks his head under my chin from time to time and talks to me all the time.
We only have our pets for a very short time. Always enjoy them, show them your love and appreciate their unconditional love in return every day.
Happy Birthday Gooseberry! Now let’s go get you your driver’s license.
Happy Birthday!