Bandita produced a whopping nine kittens. The first was born under the couch, between the bottom lining and the cushions, in the spot Spelunker created on one of his “cave” explorations. I heard it crying and went looking. I put the yellow tom in the new dog crate, (70-90# dog size) and she had the rest in there overnight. The second one was another yellow, whom I call The Squealer, as he has a very shrill, piercing, frequently used voice. He’s the smallest, but not a true runt.
The night they were born, I thought there were five tortoise shells, two black and whites, and two yellows, but in reality, one of the black and whites has a yellow dot on the side of her white face, and a bit on one hind leg... In the low light, I mistook the paltry color markings as stains from being born.
The next morning, one of the tortoise shells was laying in the front of the crate, alone, not moving, not crying. I picked her up, thinking she was dead, but she was not. I tried to revive her and made sure she had access to some of Bandita’s milk, but she seemed to have lost her sucking reflex. Bandita came and reclaimed her, but by the next morning, she was again alone, apparently abandoned, this time at the back of the crate, so I had to use the gripper to remove her body. I took two photos of her on my hand while I had her, trying to reviving her. She was a good-sized kitten. But eight faucets, nine kittens, and “share” just isn’t in their vocabulary.