Mother cats cry too
May. 24th, 2004 01:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brightrosefoxWe spent Saturday with Charlotte and Billy, who came over to see the kitten. We went to their house later on and spent the night, most of it awake and talking. But it was the major event on Sunday that's worth talking about: Introducing our kitten to Charlotte's cat, Shadow, in the hopes of creating a bond and having Shadow nurse the kitten.
Adam and I went home with a borrowed cat carrier to take care of a few things and then to pick up our still-unnamed kitten and take her to Charlotte's. Why? Because our kitten bears an uncanny resemblance to the firstborn of Shadow's litter, who died a day after the birth, from a dislocated jaw, blocked airways, an oversized tongue, and brain damage (he couldn't close his mouth to suckle). Shadow knows she lost a baby; she sits at the back porch door and stares out into the backyard, where the newborn was buried, and cries. Sometimes when she's called her surviving two kittens to her, she looks around as if waiting for the third to show.
Charlotte hoped that Shadow might accept our kitten, thinking it's her lost baby come back, and allow her to nurse. The kitten is very underweight, probably premature, and while healthy, she was probably not completely weaned. Mother's milk would provide essential nourishment.
So, when we arrived with the kitten, we showed Shadow and her kits the carrier. Shadow started sniffing and the kitten started hissing -- loudly. We took the carrier into the computer room -- the last place Shadow had seen her kitten alive -- in the hopes that there could be a "reunion" of sorts. After letting our kitten out, we slowly introduced her to the male kitten, then the female. She hissed, growled, and snarled at each one. She never attacked them, but she made it clear that she didn't want to make friends. It seems that her bark is worse than her bite, so to speak. She stood her ground very well, but never actually attacked.
Finally, we removed the kittens and brought in Shadow. Shadow instantly recognized the little one not only as a small, motherless kitten, but possibly her lost baby. Charlotte said that she had never seen Shadow move so cautiously or quietly. As the kitten hissed and spat and growled with all the ferocity of a wild tiger cub, Shadow met her hiss for hiss but Shadow was clearly trying to say "I'm bigger than you. I'm also here to help you."
It was a fascinating dance to watch. The kitten, clearly confused, angry and upset (she probably thought we were leaving her there), ran all over the room and Shadow followed her very carefully, projecting a powerfully maternal air. Adam held her down a few times in the hope that Shadow would come and sniff or lick her, but she struggled violently and screeched and hissed and snarled and cried -- not hurting Adam, but letting everyone know that she wasn't pleased. Every time she cried or shrieked, Shadow jumped in concern and rushed over, staring at Adam as if to say, "What are you doing? Don't hurt her!" But the kitten refused to let Shadow touch her, although Shadow did get a few good sniffs in.
The funny thing is, gradually she seemed perfectly comfortable with Shadow in the room. She even settled down as if for a nap and started rocking herself from side to side, eyes closing. Normally, a cat wouldn't feel so safe in a room with an unfamiliar cat. We could tell she wanted to go to Shadow but was so uncertain.
Shadow, in the meantime, was sitting at the other end of the room, watching. The look in her eyes said it all: Why won't it come to me? This is my baby, alive. I want it to come to me, but I won't push it.
It was heartbreaking. Shadow had even lain down in the "ready to nurse" position hoping the kitten would take the hint. She wanted so badly to hold and lick and nurse this strange kitten who could have been her own. The way she sat and watched like a mother, stretching her neck out to catch the baby's scent, running over if the kitten squealed when Adam held her, it was all extraordinary. Never let anyone tell you that cats can't feel deep emotion. The expression in Shadow's eyes -- a look of deep maternal concern and powerful, desperate longing -- brought tears to my eyes. Never had I seen an animal so desperate to touch an unfamiliar infant of its species. But to Shadow, this infant was very familiar -- while she probaby knew in her heart her own baby was dead, she could take comfort in seeing this living almost-doppelganger.
We left with the kitten after a couple of hours, since it was obvious that she wasn't going to take to Shadow just yet. But she had started to break down and become somewhat comfortable. Before Adam and I left, I was approached by the male kitten, who slid to a stop at my feet and looked up at me in a very deliberate, solemn way. I had the distinct feeling he was thanking me for at least bringing the kitten over and making his mother happy. Shadow came over to lead him away, but as she turned I caught her eyes and there was this unmistakable look of intense sadness and gratitude. Charlotte hopes that maybe now that Shadow has seen this familiar kitten, she'll stop crying.
We're going to try again, probably this weekend; by then the kitten might be able to let Shadow nurse and care for her, and accept the other kittens. Shadow has certainly accepted her. Now it's just a question of how long it will be.
Adam and I went home with a borrowed cat carrier to take care of a few things and then to pick up our still-unnamed kitten and take her to Charlotte's. Why? Because our kitten bears an uncanny resemblance to the firstborn of Shadow's litter, who died a day after the birth, from a dislocated jaw, blocked airways, an oversized tongue, and brain damage (he couldn't close his mouth to suckle). Shadow knows she lost a baby; she sits at the back porch door and stares out into the backyard, where the newborn was buried, and cries. Sometimes when she's called her surviving two kittens to her, she looks around as if waiting for the third to show.
Charlotte hoped that Shadow might accept our kitten, thinking it's her lost baby come back, and allow her to nurse. The kitten is very underweight, probably premature, and while healthy, she was probably not completely weaned. Mother's milk would provide essential nourishment.
So, when we arrived with the kitten, we showed Shadow and her kits the carrier. Shadow started sniffing and the kitten started hissing -- loudly. We took the carrier into the computer room -- the last place Shadow had seen her kitten alive -- in the hopes that there could be a "reunion" of sorts. After letting our kitten out, we slowly introduced her to the male kitten, then the female. She hissed, growled, and snarled at each one. She never attacked them, but she made it clear that she didn't want to make friends. It seems that her bark is worse than her bite, so to speak. She stood her ground very well, but never actually attacked.
Finally, we removed the kittens and brought in Shadow. Shadow instantly recognized the little one not only as a small, motherless kitten, but possibly her lost baby. Charlotte said that she had never seen Shadow move so cautiously or quietly. As the kitten hissed and spat and growled with all the ferocity of a wild tiger cub, Shadow met her hiss for hiss but Shadow was clearly trying to say "I'm bigger than you. I'm also here to help you."
It was a fascinating dance to watch. The kitten, clearly confused, angry and upset (she probably thought we were leaving her there), ran all over the room and Shadow followed her very carefully, projecting a powerfully maternal air. Adam held her down a few times in the hope that Shadow would come and sniff or lick her, but she struggled violently and screeched and hissed and snarled and cried -- not hurting Adam, but letting everyone know that she wasn't pleased. Every time she cried or shrieked, Shadow jumped in concern and rushed over, staring at Adam as if to say, "What are you doing? Don't hurt her!" But the kitten refused to let Shadow touch her, although Shadow did get a few good sniffs in.
The funny thing is, gradually she seemed perfectly comfortable with Shadow in the room. She even settled down as if for a nap and started rocking herself from side to side, eyes closing. Normally, a cat wouldn't feel so safe in a room with an unfamiliar cat. We could tell she wanted to go to Shadow but was so uncertain.
Shadow, in the meantime, was sitting at the other end of the room, watching. The look in her eyes said it all: Why won't it come to me? This is my baby, alive. I want it to come to me, but I won't push it.
It was heartbreaking. Shadow had even lain down in the "ready to nurse" position hoping the kitten would take the hint. She wanted so badly to hold and lick and nurse this strange kitten who could have been her own. The way she sat and watched like a mother, stretching her neck out to catch the baby's scent, running over if the kitten squealed when Adam held her, it was all extraordinary. Never let anyone tell you that cats can't feel deep emotion. The expression in Shadow's eyes -- a look of deep maternal concern and powerful, desperate longing -- brought tears to my eyes. Never had I seen an animal so desperate to touch an unfamiliar infant of its species. But to Shadow, this infant was very familiar -- while she probaby knew in her heart her own baby was dead, she could take comfort in seeing this living almost-doppelganger.
We left with the kitten after a couple of hours, since it was obvious that she wasn't going to take to Shadow just yet. But she had started to break down and become somewhat comfortable. Before Adam and I left, I was approached by the male kitten, who slid to a stop at my feet and looked up at me in a very deliberate, solemn way. I had the distinct feeling he was thanking me for at least bringing the kitten over and making his mother happy. Shadow came over to lead him away, but as she turned I caught her eyes and there was this unmistakable look of intense sadness and gratitude. Charlotte hopes that maybe now that Shadow has seen this familiar kitten, she'll stop crying.
We're going to try again, probably this weekend; by then the kitten might be able to let Shadow nurse and care for her, and accept the other kittens. Shadow has certainly accepted her. Now it's just a question of how long it will be.
