Today I got a great WINTER SOLSTICE present.
Every day, I try to get Bandita's three remaining kittens to drink for themselves and eat solid food now that they have TEETH. (Nine were born Nov. 11th.) They climb out of the crate most of them were born in, so they have been moved onto an inch thick pad of sheets in the guest bath room's bath tub, a tried and true kitten safe environment.
Whenever anything disturbs their sleep, they awake and scream their heads off for attention. I leaned over the shower handle, gripping the far side of the tub. Two kittens instantly attached themselves to a huge pink fluffy scrub used to shed dead skin. I unhooked it from the knob, lifting it over the side, two hangers on gently supported by a failsafe hand an inch below their dangling legs. All three rode the fluff or my t-shirt into the living room. Nothing so dull as being carried safe in my arms for this game trio.
Finding a tin of canned meat, Hormel ham stamped "best by Sept 2007" on the bottom, I opened it, taking it and the torn towel I use for kitten cuddling in case of accidents to my command chair, pulling the lap board over, laying cloth and can dow, then carefully unhooking claws. Yellow tom #1 was the first to get the idea that HAM IS GOOD. He couldn't tell the difference from the lip of the can and the ham at first, but he went about it with wild abandon that made my heart soar. Finally!
I carried the plastic styrofoam tray, three kittens, the mound of lumpy pink ham, and the towel into the tub. Setting them down, I shielded the tub from Two Faced, the grandmother, allowing the mother Bandita to join the fray.
Success! All three kittens have condescended to eat solid food.