Back one Wednesday evening in April, I watched Dolores, the tiny feral farm cat, writhe around on her back yowling, leg in the air, belly rippling and twitching. Then one big contraction, she looked at me with her little startled face, jumped up, and waddled out of the garden.
I followed her at a distance, just to see if I could see where she was going, you know, just in case. She crossed the lane and disappeared into the farm’s middle yard. It’s a small farm, the middle yard is more storage than working yard. She looked like she knew what she was doing.
We’d watched her growing belly over the previous two months, worried about her, fed her insatiable appetite*, let her come for an on-her-terms cuddle when she wanted. We’d marvelled at the size of her belly, wondered how many there might be in there. Three? Four? She was colossal, a bottom-heavy triangular shape. It went on and on; we wondered if she’d ever give birth. Then round about day 65, she started the strange behaviour.
Cats have a bicornate — Y-shaped — uterus. It has two distinct chambers, each holding several kittens, spacing them out a bit. I think this is why Dolores’ pregnancy looked like it did, out at the sides rather than all underneath.
The next day we didn’t see her until teatime (we worried), then she turned up, shouting, and looking considerably slimmer. She’d done it, popped them out, she was a mum. Over the next few days she would come early, disappear, come back. Her teats started to protrude; one day she was rolling about on her back, and I saw them clearly. All six showed signs of use; that’s more than a couple of kittens’ needs.
Over the next few weeks we worried about her and them, worried about how much time she spent in the garden away from them, worried how many there were, were they safe, what would happen next.
Last summer, when she was an infrequent visitor to the garden, she’d had one kitten. She moved it in from wherever they had been before, hid it somewhere, and we didn’t see much of either of them. One morning she was limping and ragged looking. Her back end looked wrong, but we couldn’t get close enough to see properly. The kitten, maybe 5 weeks old, was nowhere; she’d lost her baby overnight, we assumed to predation.
She’d fought hard for the poor tiny thing, been injured. Watching her look and sniff and call for it was unbearably heartbreaking. She recovered from her injury, seemed to bounce back after 2 or 3 weeks perhaps, but you can’t know she didn’t carry that horror with her. We worried for the same fate this time; how would such a small cat look after all those babies? All we could do was hope and trust she was doing her best. We waited.
Then, in the middle of May, R saw something in the old kennel we’d put out, and gently lifted the lid expecting to see Dolores. Instead there were five tiny beings all cuddled up in the corner. Five. She’d kept five kittens alive and well for five weeks all on her own. What a brilliant mum.
Realising the kennel wasn’t the safest of places, she promptly moved them under the shed, where they stayed for the next few weeks, until she moved them again to underneath a large planter next to the main door. Even safer.
They’re eleven weeks old now. We’ve been watching them grow for six weeks, worrying about them for the five weeks before that. Still worrying about them, to be honest. Even at nearly three months old they are still small and vulnerable, and completely reliant on their mum to protect them, which she does diligently. But watching them grow up so far, playing and fighting and climbing, has been an absolute delight and a privilege. We look forward to more of it, for as long as they’re around.
* Bad form to feed feral cats, I know, but there’s a reason why we did, a story for a later date. We certainly couldn’t stop at this point, she was pregnant, now lactating, she needed a reasonably reliable food supply.
Thank you for reading.
I never use AI in my writing, despite the presence of em-dashes or brackets or other things that some people claim proves AI usage
For more about JB Priestley’s book Delight, from which I originally took my cues, please take a look here:
I love this story so much, Sally. But I feel so sad for the kitten last year (and mum). So if she is feral, what will happen to her babies?
What a wonderful read Sally. Delores and her babies are lucky they have you and R in their corner. It must be amazing to see them thrive just by your doorstep.