Kittens can happen to anyone.
~Paul Gallico
The box meowed. My colleague struggled to get the heavy cardboard box in the door of the veterinary hospital without spilling its precious cargo onto the busy street outside. The box containing two adult cats had been left there during the night. Overnight they had lost their former identity.
These one-year-old females were attached to each other, so we kept them together in a large cage. One was a gray-and-white tabby, obviously pregnant. We named her Bethany. She had a sweet face and demeanor, gentle eyes, and an aura of softness about her. The other was a spirited brown-and-black-striped tabby we called Jasmine. Since we couldn’t vaccinate Bethany — this would cause irreparable harm to the kittens — we made her comfortable. She was in her third trimester.
Instead, we vaccinated Jasmine and decided to spay her soon. “Soon” meant a lot of things at our clinic. We were always busy, and the orphans often got bumped from the overbooked surgery schedule. “Soon” meant more like sometime in this lifetime when the stars align kindly, or something like that. But within a week, it became painfully apparent that Jasmine was also pregnant. Because of the vaccination, we would have to spay her and abort the defective fetuses. We all felt sorry for Jasmine, but the surgery was done more quickly than “soon.” Jasmine recovered smoothly and was reunited with her feline buddy.
When Bethany went into labor, I separated the two cats and hung curtains over Beth’s cage doors so she could deliver her six kittens in safety and privacy. It was a large litter — three males and three females — and they were a colorful lot, all shorthaired, tiny, and perfect. There wasn’t a runt among them.
The only one put out by the whole scenario was Jasmine. She watched Bethany’s closed-off cage from across the room and howled pitifully. Apparently, she still had enough hormones in her system to make her long for kittens herself. Jasmine had been deprived of something her body was preparing for. She was miserable, and I cringed when I heard her plaintive cries.
Three days later, as I cleaned Bethany’s cage and examined the kittens, I let Jasmine out to get some exercise. All she wanted to do was sit outside Bethany’s nest and nudge me relentlessly. I decided to try something that felt a little bit crazy at the time. I let Jasmine in to see her friend.
The two girls sniffed noses. There were no growls or hisses or protective postures on Bethany’s part. Suddenly, Jasmine began nurturing the kittens, cleaning them and nestling up with them. She assumed full motherly chores with the exception of nursing. Keeping a cautious eye out for this unusual pairing, I allowed them to stay together for the day. The mama and wanna-be mama made an excellent duo in tending to all the kittens. The babies got the best of both worlds.
At the end of my shift, I separated the two mothers. Needless to say, Jasmine was angry. “Wait,” said the vet. “Bethany and Jasmine are bonded. The kittens are safe.”
I blinked. “But won’t she eat her young or something?” I asked.
“She hasn’t yet, has she?” This wise veterinarian had seen more than I had as a new vet tech. I reunited Jasmine with her adopted family.
By the time the kittens opened their eyes, they had already accepted both adults as their parents. While Bethany rested or nursed, Jasmine cleaned them, played with them, and kept them from bothering their exhausted mom. Both adult cats were young, but together they muddled through their first litter with grace and ease. For a little comic relief, the staff would let the family out of their cage to explore the surrounding room. The kittens got into holes and cracks, so we quickly became adept at kitten-proofing this room of the hospital.
Cats are purported to be solitary hunters of small prey, but I dispute that premise. I’ve seen enough cats display pack behaviors to wonder just how solitary they really are. I think we underestimate their ability to bond. In the fifty or so rescued cats that have come through my home at various times over several decades, I’ve observed strong attachments, and also, grieving behavior when one of the pair dies. Perhaps we deny their sociability. Jasmine and Bethany were a family, raising those kittens together.
The kittens were eventually weaned and placed in new homes. Bethany was spayed to prevent future litters. The sweetest part is that the two mamas were later adopted together into a permanent home. They retired from their mothering chores and, last I heard, were happy, chubby housecats, living an idyllic life in the Hollywood Hills.
~Terilynn Mitchell
