The saddest time of my life.


It all started on the day that I was asked by a friend if I wanted a 
kitten.   She had two left and was looking for homes.

When I saw them scampering about and playing together I didn't have 
the heart to break them up, so I took them *both* home.

I could sit the two of them on the palm of one hand - if I could get 
them to stay still for long enough...

Long summer evenings watching the antics of my two cats growing up.  
Endless hours of amusement.  They discovered that they could literally 
climb up the thick moulded vynyl wallpaper that I had, and used to 
play three-D tag at high speed, hanging onto the wallpaper with 
three paws and batting each other in a flurry of blows with the other.

I remember one evening watching the television when I heard a strange 
noise above my head.  I looked up to see the boy hanging upside down 
on three paws, and batting one of the pictures to make it swing on 
the hook and trying to catch it.

Not to mention the trouble I had getting them to stop kipping on 
top of the fish tanks where the lights kept them warm....

When she was just short of a year old the girl got pregnant.  As 
luck would have it, I was at home when she started; which was just 
as well because half way through delivering her first she decided 
that she didn't like the nest she had previously chosen - and 
headed across the bedroom floor with this kitten half in 
and half out...

Anyway, I stopped her, and soothed her till this first one was out, 
at which point she promptly started heading for parts unknown leaving 
the kitten behind.  Quickly shutting the door I legged it downstairs 
and grabbed the cat-slipper basket they had used as kits.

Dumped her in it, cleaned up the kitten and pointed it at a teat.  
All the while soothing mum.

Four she had, though it would for sure have only been three if I 
hadn't been home because the third was born with the cord wrapped 
tightly round it's neck, and mum couldn't get it clear.

Anyway, four young uns suckling away, mum just nipping outside for 
a couple of minutes to do the essentials - then straight back in 
again and the days went by ...

Until on day eight, when I was met by neighbour a few doors down 
with tears streaming ...

Mum had been run over by someone who didn't stop - and was dead.

Considering that I live at the very end of a dead end road - I don't 
even see how anyone could be moving fast enough to catch a cat out l
ike that.

Frantic phone calls to all the various cat support goups, RSPCA, and 
vets all elicited no help.  No surrogate mothers free, no feeders - 
but I was welcome to try myself.

The vet stayed open until I got there, and gave me some powdered milk, 
a couple of small syringes, and lots of advice... the last of which 
was that it would be easier to let them go, but if I got them past 
the next week they had a good chance...

Lack of antibodies and such from mothers milk left them vulnerable 
to infections.

Not only do you have to feed kittens at this age, but you have to 
*make* them go to the loo as well.  You do this by dipping a wad of 
cotton wool in some quite warm water, to emulate the body heat of 
a mothers tongue, and then stroking them - as if it was mum licking 
them - until they do the business....

Every two hours to start with.

They didn't want to let go of the nest, they didn't like lying half 
way back so that I could feed them, they didn't like the syringe 
at all, and they mewled piteously through the whole affair.

By the time I'd got round all four of them, an hour and threequarters 
had gone by, which left me quarter of hour before I had to start on 
number one again...

I arranged to take a weeks holiday at extremely short notice - like 
*now*, and we all settled into a routine.

After three days the kittens would 'let go' when I picked them up, 
held onto the syringe with their cute little paws and kneaded it, 
and translated easily onto the tiny little feeder bottle ...

Their eyes opened.  Awww.  They were SO *CUTE*

We made the first week ok.  Pot bellied little beggars, all snuggled 
up together in a tiny clump, sleeping the days away...

Another week, and they had begun trying to climb out of the basket, 
so I had them in a tall carboard box stuffed with old jumpers, because 
I had to take them to work with me to give them a feed during the day...

Everyone at work, entranced by the little mites and helping with 
feeds and such.

Then one day they wouldn't eat, and started getting quite cold.  
The vet shook his head, but gave them shots anyway ...

I kept them under my jumper to keep them warm, no improvement, no 
eating, just getting colder and weaker all the time.

Somewhere in all this lot, her brother went out, and never came 
back again.

They all died within two hours of each other.

I was utterly heartbroken.


They're buried with their mum now, under a nice little fuschia ....