Feline Baggage

The last thing you probably want to read about today is my Feline Baggage. She's a she, and goes by several names.. To most people she's known as Heidi, the handle I nominated for her when she was a kitten out of desperation. Before I owned her I could have thought of a million names for a feline, but when it came to the proverbial crunch, nothing would fit. So Heidi it was, out of desperation - her only characteristic as a tiny kitten was that she ran away and inserted her tiny body into nooks crannies. (And, to a lesser extent, I suppose I've always sort of felt an affection to Anna Sewell's blonde-platted Alpen Elfin)

The name stuck with everyone else. And I suppose everyone else I know thought it's just rude not to give a cat some kind of name. To me though, she's just 'the Cat'. (Well, if the glove fits the paw...)

Around sixty days ago the cat (let's just call her that for now, just to avoid any confusion from the outset) decided to go out and find another (male) cat. We all know the facts of life, and nature took its course, and here we are now, nigh on sixty days later, and still no sign of a litter.

My quest for knowledge of a cat's gestation period has been constant since she started showing a slight bump, having trekked through what seems like thousands of pages of text on hundreds of cat birthing websites. I could probably pass an exam tomorrow on the subject, if one were to exist and was being sat in the area. As far as I've deduced, she's very nearly there: Nipples a pinky colour... Check; Body bigger by 25 per cent... Check; On edge and needy... Check; The desire to sneak into nooks and crannies and cupboards and under the coffee table has always in there, hence her sometimes-name Heidi, so not sure on that score.

It could have been quite different, had I have followed the advice, been a more attentive father and followed her pregnancy as the websites suggested. But that would involve taking a temperature the only feesable way; a mercury thermometer coated with KY Jelly and inserted into her back passage. Her temprature would be a certain level when it was finally time to go into labour. But chances are she'd have my eye out if I tried any trick like that!

At time of typing she seems both restless and lethargic at the same time, if that makes sense. She's usual quite an independent thing, usually ready to give affection but not really that keen to receive it. Now she's climbing all over me, and isn't really put off by me rearranging the way she's sat when she has a paw digging into me .A couple of weeks ago one accidental touch somewhere that was obviously tender because of pregnancy, caused her to growl, hiss and maybe even take the odd swipe. Now, she doesn't really care about that, and is purring loudly. Usually she treats my lap as somewhere warm to get her head down and sleep. Right now she's sat here, seemingly glad of some company. She's been milling around a lot too, looking for somewhere small, dark, enclosed, but somehow getting edgy if I go somewhere else. I've turned my pantry into a makeshift maternity ward, but typically for a headstrong cat she hasn't really wanted to know. I showed her to my spare bedroom where she sat down and started licking herself. This is a trait of cat labour, so I left her to it, but within about twenty minutes she was downstairs milling around and mewing at me discontentedly. Right now her respiration seems to be faster, but I could just be imagining it. So neither of us are sure yet.

It's back to those internet cat birth sites now, to read up again, and see if there are other signs that the arrival of three to seven tiny kittens is imminent. The towels are there, as are the blankets. This period may last twenty four hours, maybe three days. However long it's going to take, one things for sure; sooner or later my Feline Baggage is set to multiply. This excited stepfather can't wait.