An early Mutha's Day

Last night, as I'm soaking up the Philadelphia Congress of 1776, enjoying a spring evening of open windows, I heard holy hell breaking loose. Some damn cats were dukin' it out as I was trying to progress through McCullough's Pulitzer-Prize winning, "John Adams." Feeling way too lazy to check out the melee, and rather proud of myself that I'm actually interested in this behemoth, I remained between the sheets. And eventually the screeching and hissing ceased.

Soon my husband came to bed, at which point I started hearing a little peep, like a song bird was awake at 11 p.m. Odd, but small pox inoculations were taking place in Boston and I needed to see how Abigail Adams was faring. Maybe the periodic peeping was Marty's breathing? Nope, that log sawing was far from a peep. Back to the British Fleet sailing from Halifax. The peeping, though soft and infrequent, continued. Then it hit me, "Could Sally have had her babies?"

Sally is our resident Queen Bee and given she's the ripe old age of 2 gives you an indication of how long cats last at our place, and what sluts they are. This was pregnancy #3 for this hussy. Last spring was her first pregnancy and she, along with her sister, Brachiosaurie (yes, like the really tall herbivore dino), were both "heavy with child."

I'd heard cats can struggle to connect with their inner mommy so I kept my expectations low, and good thing because Brachiosaurie was the first to drop . . . and she did so out in the lawn and left 'em there. Nice. Of course, we didn't know this until I happened to glance in the window well where the cats tend to congregate and saw her chewing on a rabbit, or so I thought! Aaaaaaaaa!!!!!! She was disposing of the ugly truth. It's hard to pet her without remembering the image of little paws hanging out of her mouth. Did I just share that? Could it possibly get more macabre? Buckle up, little campers!

Sally dropped. It was the morning of Moira's kindergarten field trip and I spotted tiny, mewing rats in the window well. Marty and I leapt into action as I was determined to hold Sally accountable for her easy ways. We quickly moved Sally, mid-delivery, onto our enclosed porch. Two kitties were moved with her, only to be joined by four more. After a couple days, she looked like any normal, haggard mother, but we kept her there. And she didn't do too bad. She only ate one of 'em.

It was not an easy time. It was June 1st and the kitties were about 3 weeks old. My country gramma had died two weeks earlier and my city gramma, that morning. So after a few hours with my sisters and parents (the kids were occupied elsewhere), I arrived home to find a HEADLESS kitten laying abandoned in the middle of the porch floor! Oh My Loving God in Heaven!!! Frantically I called my brother-in-law, a large animal vet, and with his eternal calm (and sarcasm) he told me, "Hmmm. Never heard a that before. Guess she took care of that problem." WHAT? My kids piss me off plenty, but never in my life have I thought, "with a little salt . . ."

But back to last night. With the occasional peep still sounding, I could no longer take the suspense and grabbed a flashlight. And there in the window well lay a fresh litter of seven soft, mewing baby kitties. And Sally was staying with them! In fact, after I grabbed a towel and began moving the little ones into a laundry basket, Sally started growling! Maybe she's feeling 'Mommy-dom?' Third time's a charm, they say. (Oh, No. 2 pregnancy? We'll never know. She went on 'walk about' one day last fall and returned a lot thinner.) Anyway, Sally let me move her and her kids to the safety of the porch where they'll remain until we get the Kitty Clubhouse built tomorrow.

So far, she hasn't broken out the cutlery, but it looks like the little ones did. She appears to have lost an ear. . .

and the desire for sobriety. Is that scotch I smell on her breath?