July 12, 2006

• update on the feline soap opera

  I was getting concerned because I was hearing tiny mewling voices from
  under my bed and Hilary seemed unconcerned, content to lie there
  letting her nearly-grown son, Sammich, suckle.  When I started
  pulling out the 3 flat underbed storage boxes, Hilary showed some
  interest.

  Crawling under the bed was out of the question.  It’s a Hollywood
  style, barely six inches off the floor.  Yesterday, after we’d
  seen a bloodied Hilary come out from under there and suspected there
  might be kittens there, Doug had pulled the boxes out and gotten his
  head and an arm under, with a flashlight to investigate.  He found
  nothing.

  I hadn’t gotten down there to look, because the dentist warned me to
  avoid strenuous activities for a week, and that sort of thing: 
  reaching under stuff, stretching, triggers my M.E. (AKA
  “fibromyalgia”).  But today after Doug had gone to bed and I kept
  hearing kittens mewing, I decided to see for myself. 

  It was immediately apparent why Doug couldn’t see anything.  The
  unwoven fabric that once had covered the bottom of the boxspring was
  hanging loose, torn and shredded around the edges.  I have
  previously written here about the other two successive litters of
  kittens getting up into the springs and twanging around, playing
  pinball cat.

  I could see some movement near the wall at the head of the bed, way out
  of my reach.  The only way to get to what was there, or even to
  see it properly, was to move the bed away from the wall.  That
  required moving a chair and footlocker that were in the way at the foot
  of the bed.  In my concern for the kittens, because I could hear
  one strong voice and at least one other that sounded weak and
  distressed, I forgot the dentists prohibition of exertion.

  My first hard tug moved the bed far enough from the wall for me to get
  my hand into the gap and feel around.  I felt a kitten weakly
  struggling, entangled in the fibers from the shredded fabric.  It
  took another hard tug from the end of the bed to move it far enough out
  that I could grasp the kitten.  I started tugging on the fabric,
  tearing it away from the framework, trying to free the kitten. 

  When I had enough slack to move the kitten into the gap between bed and
  wall where I could see it, I realized the strings were twisted around
  its neck so that my best course was to cut them, not try to disentangle
  them.  After I’d freed that one, a thin and cool-feeling, smooth
  little calico with beautiful markings, I felt around some more, found
  one big hearty-looking black kitten with white on its belly and feet,
  one cold dead tabby, and another tabby.  That one also was thin
  and cool to the touch, and was struggling to free its feet from the
  fibers.

  I freed it and placed Hilary and all the kits on the couch.  I sat
  there and stroked Hilary until she became convinced to stay there and
  nurse the kittens.  Then I went back and finished removing the
  fabric from the boxspring, and did some more searching and
  cleaning.  I found another cold dead tabby kitten and my old
  Reeboks.  I also found a dime and a lot more debris than I had
  ever imagined could have accumulated behind and around those underbed
  boxes.  

  Entangled in the fibers were three separate “jingles”: bells or pairs
  of bells that had once been parts of cat toys.   I make for
  my kittens little things I call jingle birds, just bundles of feathers,
  wired together with a little bell or two.  A litter of kittens can
  run through half a dozen toys during their prey-play phase, pouncing on
  them, fighting over them, and slapping them around until they get
  “lost”.  I had discovered the jingle bird graveyard.

  Hilary and her three surviving kittens are together on the couch
  now.  I’m satisfied that she has bonded with them sufficiently
  that I won’t need to worry about her neglecting them for Sammich, but I
  intend to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t steal all their milk. 
  The couch is not a good permanent nest for the cats. 

  When I moved them up there, I put Koji on his “hook” (a cord on a hook
  by the door that allows him enough slack to reach his feeding station,
  and in winter to lie beside the wood stove, but no further. 
  Hilary attacks Koji if he approaches her kittens, so for my dog’s
  safety, I’ll have to find a place for the kittens that is beyond Koji’s
  range.  After Doug wakes up, I’ll try moving them into his closet
  where Hilary had her first two litters.  If she doesn’t like that,
  she will have to find another place for them.

  Now, I have to go finish my underbed cleaning and get those boxes back
  in there.  They’re up on my bed now, and I’m going to need it
  tonight.  I plan to drive to Wasilla tomorrow for shopping, a
  meeting, and some time with Greyfox.  This has been an exhausting
  day.  I’ll probably need some ephedra to get going tomorrow. 
  It’s time for my regular mid-day empty-stomach meds now (herbs and
  amino acids, plus vitamins and minerals to synergize with them).

  • 10:06 pm
  • 4 Comments