Crazy Cat Lady...Not!

I type this with an overly affectionate large brown tabby and white Maine Coon called Bonnie who is feeling pregnant and hormonal, perched on my left arm and shoulder, burying her head into my hair and nibbling on my neck. Bonnie’s great-grandsire, Bugger, lies nearby, supervising all of my laptop usage.

As a breeder of the magnificent Maine Coon Cat, I wonder if others see me as a crazy cat lady. Other cat breeders, probably not. They understand that in order to produce kittens, one needs to have more than two cats. Okay, technically you just need an intact male and female which makes two, but in order to have a breeding program, there needs to be a plan beyond your first litter. You keep a kitten to carry on, but who do you breed that one to if all you have is the kitten’s mom and dad? This ain’t West Virginia folks. We study things like inbreeding coefficients to steer away from too much of a good thing with shared DNA.

But to others; the “normal” people who regard more than two cats as too many, am I a crazy cat lady to them? For those without any pets, your opinion doesn’t count. That would be like a non-parent criticizing someone else’s children. You know who I’m talking about.

The words Crazy Cat Lady do not project a positive image. It’s intended to be an insult even though I know cat fanciers who embrace the term proudly. Frumpy, unmarried, overweight, talks obsessively about her cats as if they are children who talk back. Maybe she’s a hoarder, the ultimate image of a crazy cat lady gone over the top. They do exist; I see them at cat shows along with all the other “regular” cat exhibitors, but they are the minority.

An equestrian, jogger, college graduate, human resources manager, a wife, a sister and daughter, a mother of two grown kids with Celiac Disease; is that who I am or who I was? Well, I’m still a wife, daughter and sister and I’ll always be a mother. In my mind, I am 20 pounds lighter and not hampered by exercise-induced asthma. I can still ride a horse, but seldom get the opportunity these days. Perhaps I’m a novice paralegal, supporting her husband’s new solo law practice, but not having enough to do yet.

Certainly we identify people by their jobs more than anything else which is why I sometimes feel like I need a better label than cat breeder. I cringe when I’m introduced as a Maine Coon breeder to those outside the cat fancy. The first question that follows is, “How many cats do you have?” to which there is no good answer for the average person. Then I feel compelled to explain that I also show my cats, I’m a responsible breeder and the kittens are so popular that I’ll never have enough to meet the demand (and yet I’ll barely break even after all is said and done for them).

At the local cat shows, I often meet followers, my “stalkers” as I affectionately call them. These are the people who light up when they recognize my name or my cattery on the show cage sign, then they tell me how they’ve watched my website for years, read my blog, and/or follow my cattery on Facebook. That’s pretty cool, I admit.

Career-wise, I’ve been little more than a homemaker/stay-at-home Mom/housewife the past several years. That’s another label I never thought would apply to me; homemaker. I was going to have a career AND a family. However, reality, divorce, remarriage, a recession and children who needed me took over. Life happened and my plans were put on hold for so long I no longer have the desire to figure out what they are anymore. The one plan I had some control over was breeding Maine Coons.

  

Maybe it’s the sum of what we do that matters more than the labels given us. I do still fit in my jeans, but not the way I’d like to. I do pottery, but I’m not a ceramics artist. I am very sarcastic, but I’m not a comedian. I do sing pretty well, but not at Karaoke. I do take back and rehome any cats or kittens I sell if the owner can no longer keep them, but I don't take in strays simply because I have to keep my numbers down. I do enjoy cooking these days, but I am not a chef. I do write a blog, but I haven’t written a book (yet). I do try to stay in my children’s lives and consider myself a good mom. I do break out into song at any cue, but not as annoyingly so as my siblings. I do enjoy travelling to foreign lands for vacation or just for the weekend at a cat show, but I love coming home and hanging with the hubby. I do continue to be a passionate animal lover, but recognize my pets are not “like my children”. I do have a wonderful following of cat lovers and kitten buyers who appreciate me and my cats. I do breed and show Maine Coons, but I am not a crazy cat lady.

 

 

Another One Comes Home

In my effort to be a responsible Maine Coon cat breeder, I have vowed to be ultimately responsible for the kittens I sell. This means that even though I sell them to screened, loving homes where they are intended to live long lives as part of a family for the duration of their feline lives, I will take them back if things don’t work out.

Not often, but once in a great while, my kittens have come back. It’s usually as adults, for various reasons; home foreclosure due to job loss, upheaval caused by divorce, severe allergies of a new family member and death of the owner. In virtually all the cases, the owners are distraught about giving their pet back, but realize I can find them a new home more easily than they can. It’s also in most breeders’ contracts to have first right of refusal if the original owner can no longer keep the animal. I would always take the cats back rather than risk them being put in less desirable situations, like an animal shelter.

Almost all of the cats that come back to me are on the younger side and are easily sold to new homes after a short adjustment period where I can have them vetted and assess them. It has always worked out well; a family gets a Maine Coon and a cat gets properly spoiled in a new home.

Recently, I’ve taken older cats back that I felt were too old to re-home. One cat I took back was Ray, a nine-year-old red tabby who I blogged about in February. Ray’s owner had died and Ray himself had been recently diagnosed with cancer.  We enjoyed Ray’s company for about four months before my vet helped him leave us to escape his cancer. 
 
Last week, I brought Ray’s mother, Boom Boom, home.  I took the 11-year-old cat back from my mother, with whom she’d lived for the past seven years in North Carolina since she retired from breeding (the cat, not my Mom). Some of my readers may remember Dracoonfly Cosseboom, one of the largest female Maine Coons I ever had the pleasure of showing. Even with her tell-tale torbie and white coloring that’s normally assigned only to females, Boom Boom was large enough that a couple of judges felt the need to verify her gender.  Sixteen pounds on a one-year-old Maine Coon is big, even for the boys. Boom Boom earned the titles of CFA Grand Champion and TICA Supreme Grand Champion. In 2008, she became a TICA Outstanding Dam which means five of her offspring also became Grand Champions.

I had not wanted to bring Boom Boom back like this. Unfortunately, between my mother’s liver cancer, her increasing memory loss and my step-father's limited mobility, Boom Boom has not been receiving the attention she needs.  My mother would complain about how much the cat vomited and scratched herself, yet neither she nor my step-dad, John, seemed to be able to take preventive steps.

I spent quite a bit of time and effort over the years, trying to educate Mom and John on the need to avoid feeding Boom Boom cat food with corn meal in the ingredients because of her skin sensitivities.  Cats are obligate carnivores and many pet food manufacturers use corn meal as a cheap source of protein. Cats are not designed to digest corn. Thus, corn meal is a primary reason for cats vomiting after eating. However, Mom and John kept going back to Meow Mix; it was easier to buy at the grocery store than go to a pet specialty store and invest in the better brands I recommended.

In addition to food allergies, Boom Boom also had fleas. Fleas are more difficult to deal with in the South as they hitch rides indoors on people. Keeping a cat indoors is not an absolute guarantee to avoid fleas. Having Revolution applied monthly on the back of her neck to prevent fleas never became a habit for poor Boom Boom. Instead, when Boom Boom scratched, the knee-jerk reaction was to put a Hartz flea collar on her. This was not only ineffective, but irritating to the cat’s sensitive skin. Thanks goodness they never tried Hartz Spot-on as that product (which is still out there for some reason) has been known to cause seizures and death in cats and dogs.

No surprise then that Boom Boom has bald spots and scabs on her. I know I should have taken her back sooner, but when your mother always talks about how much she enjoys the cat every time you talk on the phone and the last doctor’s report indicates her time is getting shorter, you rationalize leaving the cat as a therapy pet for a few more months. My sister and I increased our visits to Mom after we saw the situation last December, when Boom Boom was badly infested with fleas and she’d lost weight.  My mother actually had not noticed because the scratching had become normal for Boom Boom.  We used Revolution to get rid of the fleas and got her weight stabilized. We bought the better dry cat food, but would just return a month later to find Meow Mix again, because “Boom Boom didn’t like the new food”.  My family is just too spread out to make visits more frequently; Mom is in North Carolina, I’m in Connecticut, my sister lives in Minnesota and my brother in Arizona.

So last week my husband and I drove to North Carolina to visit Mom and prepared to return with a cat. We packed the large, collapsible dog crate I use to transport the cats to cat shows. It’s big enough for a litter box and a couple of Maine Coons. We had already checked Boom Boom for fleas and found none, but just in case, the last day Boom Boom was at Mom and John’s house, I gave her a Capstar pill and a bath. Capstar will kill any remaining fleas within 30 minutes and I wasn’t taking any chances of bringing the little blood-suckers in my house.  Mom asked if we wanted to take Boom Boom’s cat tree for her, but we didn’t want to take a chance on unhatched eggs either.  I have several cats, two dogs and no fleas. I want to keep it that way. The seven-foot cat tree went to the dump.

I was very nervous about the prospect of taking my mother’s cat away from her. I had a vision of Mom bursting into tears and begging me not to take Boom Boom. To offset this, I had bought Mom one of those realistic-looking stuffed cats that lies curled up and breathes with the help of a D battery as a substitute to sit on her recliner with her. I also enlisted my step-father’s support as I knew he was tired of taking care of the cat. If Mom forgot why Boom Boom was gone, I needed John to be able to give her gentle reminders. Mom just can’t do it anymore and although John likes Boom Boom, he has enough on his plate with his wife and his own limitations.  

John agreed that this would be best and backed me up. We told Mom that Boom Boom needed to come back home with me where I could take care of her. Mom was in agreement; she even thanked me several times for taking care of Boom Boom during the week we were down there. Mom tends to repeat herself, but I was happy she remembered what I was intending to do. Still, when the time came for us to leave, Mom burst into tears.

Why does this have to be so hard? Aging parents. Cancer. Dementia. Aging, neglected cats. In the end, we’re trying to make the best of a bad situation. Mom calmed down quickly, saying she hadn’t intended to cry. Something would be wrong with her if she weren’t upset. I know how much she loves this cat. I reminded Mom that seven years ago I had cried when she took Boom Boom away to live with her in North Carolina.

Now that Boom Boom has been back a week, she seems very happy. My mother still thanks me for taking care of the cat, and is getting used to being cat-less. Boom Boom doesn’t appreciate our other cats yet, but she clearly remembered our house, jumping immediately into our master bathroom window. Right now, she’s enjoying an itch-free lifestyle, learning to like new foods, and meeting the other cats one by one while she lives in our bedroom. When Boom Boom is ready, she’ll come downstairs on her own terms and take on the rest of the household. I’m relieved the transition is working out well and we’re happy to have Boom Boom back in the family.

Back to the Fold

Responsible breeders of purebred animals have an unwritten code of ethics to be available for the entire life of the creatures born in their home.  Many of us have contractual agreements with our clients to be notified in the event that they can no longer keep their pet.  Over the years, I’ve taken my Maine Coon kittens back as adults because of financial hardship/loss of home, divorce, major health issues in the family, and death of the owner.  In all of these cases, I was able to find a new home for the cat so they only had to live with us a couple of months.  Until now.

 

Part of the musical litter named Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La and Ti, Ray (Re) was kept and shown as a neutered male. He had mitral valve dysplasia pretty severely as a kitten so I wasn’t sure initially how long he would live. As Ray developed, his heart did too, and although he kept his heart murmur, his cardiologist no longer considered it life-threatening.  Dracoonfly Renegade Ray was shown to the title of CFA Grand Premier and TICA Supreme Grand Champion Alter. 

 

Six years later, I decided Ray would be happier if he could be a spoiled only child. He had become increasingly unhappy with some of the other cats.  I placed him with Ella, a widow who lived in a lovely elder apartment community.  Ella’s daughter, Linda, had been looking for an adult cat to provide companionship for her aging mother and Ray was a perfect fit.  I even went to visit Ray about six months after he joined Ella to check in on him.  Ray and Ella had bonded beautifully.

Last week, Linda informed me that her mother had passed. Linda couldn’t keep cats in her own apartment so would I take Ray back? She was overwhelmed with the death of her mother and needed to have one less worry. Of course, I’d love to see Ray again, I told her.

Just one thing, Ray isn’t well.  Just a couple of weeks before, she noticed he’d lost weight.  Her vet ran several  tests and an abdominal mass around Ray’s gall bladder was discovered last month. His prognosis was not good. Ray would be coming home to die.  Linda had her husband drop Ray off the next day, with all his toys, brushes, scratching post, food and litter. She included a thank you card with money to help with his medical expenses.

So now I have him, my big red “Ray Ray”, my “Rainman”; “Superman” to my granddaughter. He was gone for three years, but clearly remembered his old buddies Bugger, Bubba and Chardonnay. The rest of the clan isn’t too sure what to think of the intruder (he’ll be an intruder until he smells more like my house), but they’re getting used to it. He still looks like the 20-pound cat that left me, but feeling through his heavy coat to his body tells a different story. Ray has lost four pounds and he feels very bony underneath all that hair. Once we get all the mats out, his weight loss will probably be even more apparent.

Ray’s vet has transferred his records to mine and she’s in agreement that with his age, weight loss, the elevated white blood count and the mass, Ray probably has cancer. Gall bladder disease is extremely rare in cats so it’s not as simple as removing the organ. The only way to know for sure would be to do exploratory surgery and I don’t want to put him through that.

As a breeder, I track the health of my kittens, just in case a genetic problem presents itself. However, Ray is considered an older cat at nine.  His sire, dam and six littermates are all doing well.  Sometimes, shit happens. 

Ray still seems happy; he eats well and loves to have his head rubbed, but I know he’s stressed with all the changes in the past week.  His purr should reassure me that he feels okay, but I know that purring is also a cat’s way of managing pain so I can’t use that as a barometer.  I have to watch his appetite, his litter box, his activity level and track his weight.  He’s had diarrhea so that’s worrisome. So now I’m in charge of Ray’s quality of life, a job I’ve unfortunately learned over the years. I’m not one for heroics, nor do I ever want prolong the inevitable for my own selfish reasons.  In situations like these, I watch the cat closely and try to put myself in their place.  Ray’s time with us may be short this go around, but he’s still my Ray Ray.

 

Time to Retire (not me, the cats)

Last month I took a cat back that I had sold as a kitten two years ago because his owner could no longer keep him due to her divorce and personal upheaval.  I posted Rudy’s availability on Facebook: “Red tabby neutered male Maine Coon, great personality, needs a stable home” along with a cute picture of handsome Rudy.  As it so often happens with a Maine Coon, I was flooded with inquiries along with comments on Facebook, most wishing they could have him or good wishes on finding the right home for Rudy.  One follower questioned me, “Why don’t you just keep him yourself?”

Rudy in my house

 

And I wondered, briefly, why not?  Rudy gets along well with others, he’s very friendly and it would be one way of insuring that the poor guy doesn’t have to move again.  I calculated that Rudy had moved at least five times in his two short years so stability was a priority. 

But I don’t allow it, not for my family or for the cat.  As a cat breeder, we have to make the hard decision to let our cats go to pet homes after we have stopped using them for breeding.  It seems a bit cold sometimes, but I learned the hard way after I kept my first Maine Coon, Sassy.  I felt somehow that I would be betraying Sassy if I didn’t look after her for the rest of her life.  It didn’t go well. 

Sassy had pissues (peeing outside the box) as a breeding female.  Clothes baskets were her favorite toilet.  Many queens have this problem, especially when they are in heat.  Well, it’s not really a problem unless you are a human and also don’t want to cage your cats.  Even after Sassy was spayed at the age of five years, she had pissues.  I tried isolating her in our half-bathroom with 3 different litters and boxes, but she still refused usage.  The best I could get from Sassy was to leave out an empty litter box and most of the time she’d pee there.  Sassy also became unhappy.  Her job as a mother was no longer needed and Sassy was a wonderful mom.  I tried to tell her to help out as resident grandmother, but the success was minimal.  Kittens were brats and they quickly tired of Sassy’s “Back in my day” stories. 

Because of my problems with Sassy as a retired queen, I vowed to place all retiring females in pet homes.  This has worked.  If a cat (male or female) had pissues as a breeder, that stopped once they got out of my home, away from the competition.  Their hormones settled and new, less offensive habits were formed in the new home.  They receive more individual attention.  Their coats and size grow and the new owners have a beautiful, loving addition to the family.  For 2014, I've retired Sally, Olivia, Tippet and Sunday.  Lulu will retire after her next litter.  I've also kept two female kittens for breeding and am considering a third. 

Male breeding cats have their own set of issues. Not all spray, but when they do, it’s hard to ignore.  The good ones (and there have been a few, it's largely a hereditary behavior) live in our bedroom unless we have newborn kittens.  Male urine changes aroma when they hit puberty, one of the signs we look for when trying to determine if he’s ready to try breeding.  Maine Coon boys are slow to mature, some taking up to two years before they show an interest in a girl.  The conversations among breeders can be pretty explicit. 

“He doesn't have a clue.  She's writhing around like a hussy and he just thinks she wants to play.”

“He enjoys practicing, but he’s still shooting blanks.”

“I’ve put him on top of her, catnip on her neck, showed him dirty movies, played sexy music…and still he’d rather eat than breed.”

Because of the strong aroma of male cat urine, many breeders have to cage or confine them to a room.  This is especially true of the “hosers”, males who feel the need to claim their space outside the box on a regular basis.  Hosers typically don’t remain working studs for long.  In my house, they’re bred a few times, then neutered and placed so they can live the rest of their lives as beloved pets.  The non-spraying males work longer simply because they’re easier to keep. 

After living with several other cats, showing and making babies, my Maine Coons deserve to spend the rest of its life as a spoiled pet, free from the side-effects of their hormones.  I have only three non-breeding cats now that Sassy passed away from cancer last year; Bubba, my daughter’s crazy-ass European Burmese who was purchased as a pet in the first place; Pipsqueak, a red Maine Coon spay who was never bred because she has aerotic stenosis and wasn’t supposed to live past the age of three (she’s five now); and Bugger, my former stud male who didn’t retire until he was older and I felt it would be too hard for him to adjust to a move at that age. 

Bubba, Pipsqueak and Bugger.  Obviously, we only keep the non-breeding cats that have most embarrassing nicknames, just to amuse ourselves by calling them.  Normal-named cats don’t make the cut.

Bubba the ultimate Diva
 

The other, more practical, reason for placing retirees is to keep my numbers down.  Keep in mind we also have chickens and two dogs.  I’ve been breeding Maine Coons for almost 13 years.  If I kept each one after it was retired, I estimate I’d have in excess of 40 cats. In terms of breeding cats, I aim for six girls and two boys.  If I keep a kitten, I have plans to re-home an adult within the year.  I miss some of them tremendously, but it’s not like I don’t have other cats to replace that spot on my lap.

How long I keep a cat for breeding depends upon many factors.  I read several years ago that when a queen starts producing smaller litters, it’s time for her to retire.  Sassy went from three to four kittens per litter to singletons.  Kitty menopause was approaching for her. 

Some cats just aren’t good at living in a cattery environments.  These cats may have pissues, fight, or are easily bullied.  These cats often have to be confined away from others.  We have a built in cage in our basement that has cat-door access to an enclosed outdoor run so that helps, but still, I don’t have that much space.  I also have to try to appease my family with some designated cat-free zones.  My cattery environment is not rows of cages or an out- building; they live in my house, separated by doors to rooms.  All of the females except the new moms run at large in the house.  The two boys have their own spaces to eliminate “whoops” breedings.  

A cat whose heart ultrasound is questionable will not be bred, petted out to avoid possibly passing on genetic disease to offspring.  Likewise if I find out it could be passing on other health issues that the cat itself doesn't have, like gingivitis.  If the cat just doesn’t develop into a good example of the breed, I’m not so likely to keep it, especially if I have something better.  

Reproduction issues in cats, like in humans, can be common.  However, the veterinary medicine for feline reproductions isn’t nearly as advanced so we breeders are often witness to the heartbreak of stillborn or fading kittens.  My female cats are normally given two chances at producing healthy, viable kittens.  Failing that, she will have a shorter breeding career rather than risk her health and future little lives.  Pregnancy can be complicated and some bodies just aren’t meant to make babies.  When it works right, raising kittens is a beautiful miracle.  When it doesn't, I like to limit the emotional toll it takes on the mother and me.

Sunday with her litter of nine.

Another big consideration for breeders is the usefulness of the pedigree behind the cat.  I don’t like to have more than two stud cats at one time.  If I keep daughters out of Stud Number One, Levi, with the intention of breeding those girls to Stud Number Two, Wilkinson, that’s great.  But what happens with the next generation if I then want to keep a female out of Wilkinson?  This isn't West Virginia.  Sure, I can take her to a fellow breeder’s stud, but that can be more complicated.  Plus, I’m further limited with Wilkinson because he’s a brother to three of my queens.  It’s already in the plans to retire Wilky at the ripe age of two years as soon as my new stud is purchased (he’s still waiting to be born as of this writing). 

Those are all examples of why I would retire a cat a bit earlier.  If the cat passes all of the above tests for health, type, personality, good cattery cat and usable pedigree, she or he will probably stay here as a breeding cat until four or five years of age.  We love them while they’re here, and after they retire, we allow someone else to love them too.  I find homes for cats I have to take back for the same reason; they deserve more attention than what I can give them.  Rudy now lives with previous kitten buyers and their other Dracoonfly cat, Camden.  Rudy has stability and Camden has a coonpanion.

Rudy in his forever home with Camden

 

Weighing In

When I first got into breeding Maine Coon cats almost 12 years ago, I researched feline husbandry to the point of obsession. Each book or article had a list of possible problems you may encounter during your cat’s labor and with the resulting kittens. One point I took to heart was the importance of weighing the kittens on a daily basis.

By weighing newborn kittens at birth and then at least once daily (same time every day), I am able to not only track its growth, but intervene early should the scale reveal a weight loss or lack of gain. Intervention by supplementing with a bottle or tube-feeding (some kittens won’t take a bottle so you have to force-feed them), can give the struggling kitten the extra energy it needs to nurse efficiently.

I learned with my own children that formula from a bottle is easier for a baby to suck than from the mother, it provides more calories and stays with them longer. Plus, in the case of animals who have multiple births, competition at the dairy bar can be a problem for weaker babies. From the time they’re born, kittens will defend their selected nipple by clawing frantically at any littermate who may get in the way.

Boom Boom's first litter

As the first couple of weeks of a kitten’s life are the most tenuous, I weigh every day for two weeks, then weekly thereafter. If a kitten is not gaining well, I often weigh twice daily. It’s important to track weight gain over time as a kitten may grow a lot one day, then barely anything the next. I look more for overall increases as opposed to what which one is the biggest. Often times, the size advantage changes once the kittens start on solid food so their initial weight isn’t a predictor.

I have a collection of six kitten journals, chronicling each litter since I started breeding. The great advantage of having kitten weight history is the ability to easily compare one litter to another. I also write down which day of gestation the queen is on and how she does with delivery, any stillbirths, etc. so I know what to expect the next time she has kittens. As each kitten enters the world, I record the time it was born, its color, gender and birth weight.

In the case where I have more than one kitten of the same gender and color, I clip the hair of the second born on its neck to differentiate. If there is a third kitten who looks like number one and two, then that one will have the hair clipped on its back, right in front of the tail. Some breeders use different colors of fingernail polish to identify the kittens by their toenails. I prefer hair clipping to toenail painting as I like to identify the kitten just by looking down on it instead of turning it over and searching for a painted claw.

The day after the kittens are born, I begin the ritual of weighing and examining each one. This is when the name assignments come in. Each litter has a theme, like Disney characters, rock stars, poets, Connecticut towns, etc.

Journal page for the Oscar Nominee Litter

Two weeks ago, Olivia had a litter of five kittens, four girls and one boy, all were blue except for one brown tabby girl. Two days later, Lulu had a litter of five kittens, also four girls and one boy; the girls are combinations of brown tabby or solid black with red and the boy is solid black. Fortunately, all the kittens look different, so I can tell everyone apart easily.

The mothers share the nursery, combining efforts to feed their kittens as one big happy family of ten. I wanted two themes that were related so I chose musicians. Since Olivia has a lot of blue kittens, I thought of a country singer theme for her litter. I’ve already done the Blues Singers theme so I won’t reuse that. Lulu’s kittens were named after Hip-hop artists. I’m not a fan of either genre of music, so it was a related theme; music I’m not that in to. Being originally from the South, I’ve rebelled against following stereotypical Southern pleasures, like pickled pig’s feet, Nascar, bass fishing, poor grammar and country music. I don’t hate Country, but I’m more of a Pop and Classic Rock kind of girl. I don’t regard Rap as music as I think singers should actually sing…but I digress.

I Googled country and hip-hop artists, came up with a list of names I’d heard of and tried to stay with current artists. Not as sure of myself with the hip-hopsters, I sought my teenage daughter Kelsey’s input. She quickly narrowed it down to the cool people. For my country litter, I had the names of Miranda Lambert, Carrie Underwood, Alison Krauss, Martina McBride and Rascal Flatts. There were several other male singers I could have chosen, but I just liked the name Rascal. The Hip-hop Litter names are Eminem, Mary J. Blige, Lil’ Kim, Missy Elliott and Lauryn Hill.

Now to assign the name to the kitten. Sometimes I would just go down the list, but I often select a couple whose look make it easier for me to remember them. Miranda Lambert’s name ends with the letter “T” so I gave that name to the blue tabby. “T” for tabby. I thought I’d keep the solid blue and white girl for myself so I named her Carrie because I like Carrie Underwood, having watched her win American Idol. Martina McBride seems like a more common name than Alison Krauss, so I named the more commonly-colored brown tabby girl Martina. The other solid blue girl became Alison Krauss by default.

For the Hip-hop Litter, Eminem is the one boy of course. I have two torbie’s with white and two torties. With the patches of red varying on each kitten, it’s fairly easy to differentiate even though they will be registered as the same color. The torbie and white with more red I called Missy, just because I often use “Little Missy” as a term of endearment for my daughter and granddaughter. The other is Lauryn. The tortie with the split of color on her chin is Lil’ Kim, because I can say, “Lil’ Kim with the chin” to remind myself. Mary J. just so happens to have red markings in the shape of a backwards “J” on her face.

The daily weigh-ins are not only my time to check on each kitten, but also to teach myself their names. By the time they are two weeks old, I’ve memorized my notes on who is clipped or has which markings. As they continue to develop, the “twins” often change enough so I can tell them apart by just looking at the shape of their faces, or under their tails if they are sister and brother. For me, newborn record-keeping is the only way to go.

Rascal Flatts weighing in

Now That You're Gone - Conclusion to Nine Little Butts

Three months ago, Sunday, our smoke tortie Maine Coon, gave birth to nine kittens. They were given call names with the theme of Santa’s Reindeer (Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, etc.). I blogged about the challenges of nine little butts to clean up after and later, about the medical emergency that plagued the mother cat.

Sunday with her newborn Reindeer Litter

Last weekend, one family after another came to claim their new baby and take him or her home. Many of them expressed concern over how well I would be able to cope with saying good-bye to the cute little balls of fluff. “How can you let them all go?” Well, I assured them, Cupid and Blitzen won’t be leaving until next week because their future family is on vacation. Cupid and Blitzen are partners in crime and will be living in the same home. That seemed to make people feel better, as if it’s easier for me if I’m weaned away from all the cuteness gradually.

It’s still way easier to deal with just two kittens than the whole herd. Dinner time was a chaotic cacophony of cries to be fed, now, put it down, frenzy, psychotic, circle-turning, underfoot, frantic running back and forth…just crazy kitten behavior. Once the food was in front of them, the meowing changed to a group purr. Three cans divided onto two large paper plates, twice daily, plus an extra couple of cans for lunch. Pet Supplies Plus personnel must think I’m feeding a feral colony I go in there so often to get cat food.

So I’m spending less on cat food and scooping litter boxes is far less time consuming. The thundering of paws has faded. I no longer have to count kittens and try to figure out who is missing from the kitten room at bedtime.

The best is the happy endings. The kittens’ mother, Sunday, has gained more weight and rediscovered her energy, tearing around like a kitten herself. All the kitten buyers have reported positive transitions with their newest family members.

The kittens have been renamed and some of the owners are staying connected with the littermates of their kitten through Facebook. It’s always interesting to see what names the new owners will come up with. Dasher is now Dylan Dasher. Dancer and Prancer went together and now go by Dixie Mae and Hank Junior. Vixen’s new moniker is Winterberry. Comet’s registered name is Dracoonfly Halley’s Comet. Donner is called Loki. Rudolph became Dante’s Inferno. Cupid and Blitzen will remain Cupid and Blitzen.



The Reindeer Litter

Jay and I agree that this has been a good litter. Our definition of good is based upon the personalities of the kittens and how many accidents they had in the house. We had some expensive bumps in the road, but ended up with nine healthy kittens along with their mother. Even though the chaos and adventure have died down, I feel the same relief I do when the grandchildren go home for the day. However, my respite is short-lived. Last week Olivia and Lulu had kittens two days apart. Between the two moms, we have ten newborn kittens. Here we go again!



Lulu and Olivia with their combined family of ten

Nine Little Butts and One Sick Mom

It’s been almost three weeks since my last blog, when I wrote about the demands of raising a litter of nine kittens. Since then, the kittens have gotten easier, but their mother gave us a run for our money (literally).

The Reindeer Litter of Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and Rudolph are now comfortably self-sufficient at the food bar and the potty. The kittens require two cans of food on two separate paper plates, three to four times daily. The two separate plates are necessary so everyone has room at the table. They have received their first vaccinations and have started the process of venturing out of their room to get acquainted with the other animal inhabitants of the household. It’ll take a week or so, then I expect to chase them off the counter like little cockroaches.

I mentioned their mother, Sunday, has had problems recently. She had stopped eating, something immediately noticeable with Sunday because she has a ravenous appetite. She was hunched up and didn’t want to move. I had her into my regular vet who wasn’t sure what to make of all the fluid in her stomach that showed up on the X-ray. She guessed it could be a ruptured intestine, a pyometra (uterine infection) or FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis). My vet referred me to Ocean State Veterinary Specialists in Rhode Island as they had the equipment and staff to diagnose and treat my cat.

I waited in the exam room at OSVS while Sunday was getting her ultrasound done. I was there a while, long enough to play with the motion sensor in the corner of the room to make the little red light blink and analyze how neatly the electrical cord from the X-ray light was tied. I also thought about all the “what if’s” of Sunday’s situation. If she had FIP, she’d have to be euthanized as FIP is a horrific and fatal disease. If her intestine had ruptured, her chances of surviving a surgical repair were slim. I was hoping for pyometra as at least that could be fixed by spaying her.

Then I started thinking about her colors, and although I have one of Sunday’s daughters from a previous litter, the daughter is a red tabby. Sunday is a black smoke tortie, which means she carries black, red and silver. If I lost Sunday, I lost my one silver gene. Should I approach the couple who have reserved Blitzen, the one smoke tortie from the current litter, about letting me keep her?

However, Sunday’s diagnosis was none of the above. She had an intussuseption, where the intestine basically telescopes onto itself, causing a blockage. The cure is to surgically remove the defective part of the intestine and reconnect it. I’d heard of it and knew the condition was something that could be repaired. Whereas Ocean State is wonderful with all their specialists and 24-hour care, the cost escalates exponentially. I was given a low and high end estimate after the initial diagnosis was confirmed. Although I was relieved with the diagnosis, I had a hard time swallowing the idea of spending upwards of $3000. I eventually rationalized it as this was a fixable condition if she was treated. After consulting with my primary vet, I agreed with her that Sunday needed surgery that evening because her condition had become very fragile and her temperature had fallen to 98 degrees (101 is normal for a cat). It was too dangerous for me to bring her back home and have my own vet do the surgery the next day. I signed a bunch of forms, gave them a deposit and kissed Sunday good-bye where she was already in a cage attached to an IV.

The surgeon called me at 9 pm after Sunday’s surgery to tell me everything went as expected and he’d removed a section of her intestine. The other veterinarian called me at 10 pm to tell me that the surgeon had not told me one important thing; Sunday had vomited up the fluid in her stomach during surgery and there was a possibility that she could develop aspiration pneumonia if any of the fluid had gotten into her lungs. I needed to watch her closely for the next week. Okay, fine, when can I bring her home?

The morning after her surgery, Sunday was eating like a pig and I joyfully drove the 45 minutes each way to bring her home. My euphoria was short-lived however when I noticed the same evening I brought her home, she also seemed to be breathing too rapidly. Yep, she had pneumonia, her left lung was severely compromised. Sunday ended up back at Ocean State where I felt obligated to continue my investment, but cut back on some of the a la carte expenses estimated for her second visit. No additional ultrasounds, x-rays and don’t dare expect me to put an Elizabethan collar on her (I said I already had one at home). The Cone of Shame is something I’ve never used on an animal as it just seems too cruel. I figured if Sunday felt well enough to pull on her 22 staples, maybe it was time for them to come out. Sunday stayed on oxygen in the hospital for the next two nights. She was allowed to come home after she could breathe normally for at least six hours without the benefit of extra oxygen.

Sunday has been spending the nights in our bed, snuggled up between Jay and me. Never one for dry food, she has been demanding three to four cans of cat food to herself daily. Her condition is steadily improving since she’s been home. She looks ridiculous with her shaved limbs where the IV was attached and the sight of the staples holding her stomach together still make one gasp.

I’m thankful that my emotional week seems to be ending happily, excluding the shock to my wallet. I am reminded that in the 12 years I’ve been doing this, I’ve never had to rush a cat in for an emergency C-section or spay. Most breeders can’t say that. Sunday goes into my primary vet on Monday to have her staples removed (she hasn’t touched them). In a way, it’s too bad that her fur will eventually cover over her scar because it’ll be a pretty impressive reminder of all she’s been through.

Nine Little Butts

“All right. I’m going in,” I announce to my husband.  Jay laughs, “Good luck!”

“Going in” refers to the now brave act of entering the room where my litter of nine kittens lay in wait, ready to attack. As soon as a human comes near, the meowing starts. If you stand still, they will start climbing your legs, like uncoordinated squirrels up a tree. Now is when I wish I had a laptop, so I wouldn’t have to enter the kitten cave just to get on the computer.

Kitten milk bottle, paper towels, bleach spray, trash bag, broom…all are my tools for keeping up with the Reindeer litter (Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen and Rudolph). When the kittens’ mother, Sunday, was pregnant, I expected at least 6 kittens as that was the size of her previous and first litter. Subsequent litters tend to be larger and she certainly looked larger. On December 7th, sure enough, we got nine live ones, no stillborns. It’s a litter that’s easy to divide into thirds by color and gender; two-thirds male and two-thirds shades of red. One-third red tabbies (one girl, two boys), one-third red-silver tabbies (also one girl, two boys), and one-third darker ones; brown tabby boy, solid black boy and smoke tortie girl.

When one of my Facebook followers suggested the reindeer theme, I hesitated as I didn’t expect all nine kittens to make it. I couldn’t very well have Santa’s reindeer without the whole team. I’ve never had a litter that large where all survived. I once before had a litter as large as nine, but only five kittens survived. With larger litters, sometimes the mother just doesn't have enough of her natural immunity to pass on equally.  Until this one, the largest surviving litter I’ve had is seven. I’ve had a few of seven, but four or five kittens are more common for Maine Coons.

Sunday is a small cat, but produces a ton of milk fortunately.  Her kittens gained as much, if not more than, kittens from smaller litters would.  I supplemented kitten formula once or twice daily to those kittens who would take a bottle.  About half of them refused the bottle, but I figured it gave Sunday a bit of a break in the demand.  And to answer the question that many have asked, there are typically eight stools at the feline milk bar, so someone always has to wait until a littermate falls off the stool, so to speak. 

There were a few bumps on the road, the scariest was when Sunday started vomiting and required veterinary intervention. Vomiting in a cat is not something I normally get alarmed about, but Sunday looked ill, and stories over the years of breeders losing queens due to infection, ruptures or calcium deficiency haunt me. Feeding such a large litter took its toll on Sunday’s immune system. Fortunately, Sunday responded to her treatment and was her ravenous self by the next day.  A couple of kittens stopped gaining and I had to tube feed them for a few days until they caught up since both refused to take the bottle. 

It’s the ravenous appetite which is quite trying right now that the kittens are five weeks old. Actually, “quite trying” is an understated description. The meowing, the leg-climbing, the poop on the floor…they’re a pain times nine. I keep telling myself this is temporary; they will grow out of this stage in about a week.

They have dry kitten food available at all time, plus I feed about five cans every day, and that’s just for the mother. Poor Sunday is doing her best, but as her team grows, mother’s milk isn’t enough. Some of them have learned to eat solid food, others just don’t get it yet. It may not help that I’ve been supplementing the kittens with two bottles daily since they were born so they equate me with food. The smell of my hand is very attractive to the little monsters now as they attempt to latch onto my fingers in search of food.

As I’m bottle-feeding one kitten, the others will climb into my lap, deafening me with their cries, and try to bite the bottle or the hand holding it. Their cute little needle-sharp teeth are in now, and pierce the skin quite easily.

I’m trying to teach the fuzzy piranhas by putting a small amount in their mewing mouths. Some like the meat taste, but prefer it only on my finger. Others just spit it out and keep yelling at me to feed them while still others climb up on my back, checking for food under my hair. Luckily each day another kitten has an “aha” moment when he/she discovers that solid food means self-feeding equals full tummy. At this rate, they may all be regular little pigs at the trough by next week.

Donner, the black boy, was originally a ravenous bottle drinker. He was one of the first to graduate to solid food, thank goodness. Last week, Donner stood in his plate of food and I added the remainder of the kitten formula to the food to entice him. He sniffed it, then squatted and peed.  A few of them stand in the food to eat, then climb in my lap afterwards, leaving canned food pawprints on my jeans.

Not only is this time period trying because the kittens are hungry and all of them don’t know how to eat on their own yet, but it’s also the messy time. Each day is a bit better, but experience has taught me that the larger litters tend to take longer to litter box train. Every morning entails wiping, scooping, disinfecting, and sweeping up after nine little butts who don’t understand staying IN the one of the boxes until they are completely finished. A few seem to believe that just because the litter box is in view, that counts.  This activity is repeated throughout the day.

One thing about having kittens who climb legs and stick to you like Velcro squirrels is that I am compelled to keep their claws clipped regularly. I can’t dull their needle teeth, but I can lessen the severity of the needle claws. As I was clipping claws the other day, I did the math. Each kitten has 18 claws (10 in front, 8 in back). Multiply 18 times nine (hang on here, I need the calculator) and you’re talking 162 individual little claws attached to a one-pound squirming ball of furr.

Of course, as I sit here itemizing my complaints, Dasher sits on my lap, purring loudly the minute I look at him, gently tasting my fingertips and looking angelic with his pearl-colored red-silver face and blue eyes. Cupid “draw back your bow” climbs up to join Dasher. Comet and Vixen play at my feet, Rudolph sleeps on the back of my calf. The others are napping. Nine healthy kittens, beautiful when they’re at peace, vampires when they’re hungry.



To be continued…

Birthing Creatures Great and Small

I've now had the opportunity to witness the miracle of birth in at least four different species; humans, cats, chickens and now horses.  Of course, most of my experience has been midwifing for my Maine Coons.  I've delivered over sixty litters of kittens since I started breeding Maine Coons almost nine years ago.  Doing so has given me the confidence to feel as though I could successfully assist with the birth of just about any domesticated land mammal (no whales or dolphins though). 

Boom Boom with her litter of seven in 2006

When a cat is in labor, her entire body is affected by the contractions.  She may push for an hour or more until the first kitten begins to present itself, usually looking like a white grape because the amniotic sac often protrudes initially.  The queen may be silent or she may scream when the going gets tough, not too unlike us humans.  I've often wished I could offer my cats an epidural to relieve the pain, remembering how much I enjoyed the benefits of the drug with the birth of my first child (after four days of dysfunctional labor, I was ready for major drugs).

With a hen, she sits in the nesting box for anywhere from 30 minutes to two hours to deliver her egg.  My hens' eggs aren't fertile, but the hens still go through labor to lay an egg three to seven times weekly, depending upon the season and the individual hen.  Right before the egg comes out, the hen will often stand up to push.  The egg drops out, slightly damp.  The hen may remain on the nest for a while, but often she jumps off and announces her achievement with a very raucous squawking for several minutes before running out to join the rest of the flock.  No cord to sever, no baby to clean up and make sure is breathing; chickens have it easy except for the fact that they deliver their "babies" almost daily.

I volunteer a couple of days a week at a horse rescue farm, Beech Brook Farm, in Mystic, Connecticut.  One of the rescued mares, Mia, arrived scrawny and with rain rot, a fungal infection of the skin.  Within a few weeks of being well fed, it became apparent that Mia was with foal.  Not knowing when she was bred or by whom (what if the sire was a donkey?), the farm has been on foal watch for the past month.  The foal predictor test which uses the mother's milk, indicated that the foal was due last week.  Unlike cats which have a very narrow window for premature or late delivery around their 65 days of gestation, horses can deliver a few weeks on either side of their average gestation of 340 days.  The owner, Deborah, set up a foal cam in the designated birthing shelter in an effort to be prepared.  She even camped outside overnight with Mia on the weekends.

Last Friday, March 18, was my regular day to volunteer.  I had checked the farm's Facebook page that morning to see if there was a birth announcement, but Deborah had just posted that the foal predictor test had changed color so fast that morning that it was bound to happen that night.  The owner was going by what people who were more experienced at birthing foals had told her, that the babies are usually born at night.  Yeah, right.  That's what they say about cats too.  Babies come when the mother's body is ready to deliver.  Anytime, day or night, full moon or half moon, good weather or bad. 

I knew as soon as I saw Mia that she was going to have her baby that day.  Normally very quiet and reserved, Mia was restless, milk was dripping from her udder.  She lay down, she got back up.  Nancy, the other woman who volunteers with me, said Mia had been behaving that way the day before also, but without the dripping milk.  Not concerned, Nancy left to clean up the upper paddocks and stalls.  I cleaned one stall and kept watch on Mia.  Mia laid back down in her muddy paddock, ignoring her shelter with all the nice clean straw bedding.  I walked across the pasture to take a look at her back end and sure enough, that foal was on its way.  Deborah was at work and couldn't leave, the vet on call was in surgery.  We were on our own for this.  Luckily, it was uncharacteristically warm and sunny for March in Connecticut and about sixty degrees. 

Like I said, I was pretty confident about midwifing, but foals have these long legs and necks which can cause problems if they are presented incorrectly.  They are supposed to arrive in diving position; front feet first, head laying on top of the legs.  I had read all the James Herriott books and horse books years ago about how to reach in and turn babies around if necessary, but I hoped I wouldn't have to do anything like that.  Mia stretched out her front legs, half-sitting up at times to push.  She grunted a little, but otherwise Mia was very stoic.  Fortunately, the birth was textbook perfect.  The foal emerged feet and head first.  We had been instructed not to interfere at all, but I went ahead and broke the amniotic sac which contained the foal like a thin, translucent latex balloon so she could breathe and quickly wiped out her nostrils with a towel.  Mia's delivery went rapidly.  Although I'm sure she was in labor when I arrived at 9:45 am, she started really pushing at 10:30 and the foal was born at 10:45. 

Born on the muddy ground, Mia's foal with her amniotic sac still on her back, hind legs not out yet

Unlike cats, horses can't reach around to watch what's happening back there, nor can they easily clean up their new baby without standing up.  Mia didn't seem to want to stand while she felt something still hanging out of her so the baby stayed with her hind legs still submerged inside her mother for several minutes, wet and trying to maneuver her front legs under her body.  Mia actually looked pleasantly surprised when she sat up enough to look behind her and saw a pretty little Mini-Mia.  She nickered her excitement and tried to reach her baby from her lying down position.  If this were a kitten, the mother cat would be feverishly cleaning it and herself, severing the cord, probably eating the placenta (unless I take it away first) and preparing for the next kitten to arrive while the recently born searches for the milk bar.  Like all the hooved animals, foals have to be independently mobile quickly in order to keep up with the herd.  Born with her eyes open, Mia's foal was standing within 30 minutes.  The umbilical cord broke on its own and the amniotic sac remained hanging out of the mare until the placenta was delivered an hour later.  The foal fell a few times, but somehow managed to get her incredibly long legs under her and working.   In contrast, kittens are more needy at first, don't open their eyes and ears for about a week, standing and running at around 4 weeks.

Standing for the first time

With cats, the placenta follows the kitten within several minutes.  With horses, it can take one or two hours.  The vet arrived about an hour later to check out the new foal and shortly after, Mia lay back down to deliver the placenta.  Of course, it's all in proportion and I later picked up the placenta mass with a pitchfork, its job of nourishing life in the womb over.  Mia seemed relieved that she didn't have to worry about what to do with it.  Eating a placenta must be really gross for a vegetarian, but in the wild, that's what the mothers often do to keep from attracting predators. 

The vet gave mother and foal a shot of penicillin and did a quick exam of both, declaring the foal strong and healthy.  He agreed with me that we had a girl and that sexing kittens is infinitely more difficult than foals or puppies.  I'm still floating with the excitement of being able to watch a foal come into the world, happy that it all worked so well. The foal's back comes up to my hip, to give you an idea of her size.  The farm is having a contest to name the baby and raise funds on their Facebook page if you'd like more information and to participate. 

Mother and Daughter

Feline Frenzy or Cat Breeding 101

Since I've blogged at length about animal excrement and being a cat sex therapist, I figured it was time to push the envelope to the next level and post a video. 

Downy, the black silver mackerel male I purchased from the Luckypaws cattery in Florida, has finally come of age.  His heart was echoed and declared healthy by veterinary cardiologist Dr. Mark Stamoulis a couple of weeks ago, he's over a year old, and he is now interested in girls.  Whether or not he's fertile is yet to be proven (I had a stud cat a couple of years ago who was interested in girls at a very young age, but didn't manage to get any of them pregnant until he was almost two years old.  Very frustrating for me, but he enjoyed trying). 

Downy's girlfriend this week is Lucy, a brown tabby and white who was born here last year (she's Trifle and Bugger's daughter) and now lives with my friend and fellow Maine Coon breeder Jo-Ann Benedetti in upstate New York.  Lucy is a year old and recently had her heart screened also.  Both cats have super affectionate, outgoing personalities and nice physical attributes, but neither has the strong chin we'd like to see.  However, since Lucy needs to be bred or risk getting pyometra (a uterine infection) and Downy is the non-related male easily available, we're going ahead with the idea that the kittens will probably be pet quality.  By the time Lucy is ready to breed again, my 8-month-old male, Colonel Bates, should be ready to do the deed and Jo-Ann may get a keeper out of that.

When Lucy arrived at my house, I put her here in the computer/kitten room.  She was happy to be out of her carrier, exploring her surroundings, chirping and rubbing up against my legs.  Then I introduced her to her betrothed.  Poor Lucy!  Feeling defensive and scared at seeing a whole male for the first time in the same room with her, she did what any girl with raging hormones would do; she became a bitch.  Downy was confused.  He smelled "Yes, yes!", but he got "No, no!"  If he looked at or tried to sweet-talk Lucy, he was met with growling, hissing, and swinging claws.  So like any girl-whipped guy (you know what word I mean here), Downy waited.  He waited safely under the desk where she couldn't get to him easily, making himself as small as possible and calling out to her once in a while to let her know how desirable she was and that he was sorry for whatever it was he'd done to make her hate him. 

Before I went to bed that evening, I stroked Lucy's back to see if she was exhibiting any signs of being in heat.  Nope.  Oh well, the darkness of night brings out the beast in most cats so I went upstairs to bed.  Sure enough, by morning Lucy was smiling like Scarlett O'Hara after Rhett Butler carried her up to the bedroom and it was obvious that they had worked out their differences.  Downy is proving to be a sex-obsessed teenager, not even giving Lucy the opportunity to eat without jumping on her.  After witnessing three breedings within about an hour, I took Downy out of the room so Lucy could get some rest.  Since my web cam has mostly been used by daughter Kelsey, I decided to see what I could do with it while Downy and Lucy "did the nasty".  Fortunately for the viewers, I did manage to edit out the first 3 minutes.  Assuming Lucy is pregnant, she is expected to deliver mid-May.

Thanksgiving Day Kittens

I knew Cassie could have kittens any day last week, with Day 63 of gestation falling on November 24th, Thanksgiving Eve. Historically, Cassie has been my least reliable breeder so the fact that she was even pregnant was momentous for me.  She is a cat that never seemed to cycle, but managed to go into heat when I sent her out to a friend's stud just to see if anything happened.  In the beginning, I would room her with Bugger, in case she was having silent heats, figuring he would be able to detect what I couldn't see or hear from a normal cat in heat.  Not all cats howl when in heat, but an experienced eye notices behaviors like increased vocalization, affection, and the tell-tale sign of her rear in the air, tail to the side (did you notice I used three different spellings of the same word in that sentence?).  If unsure, normally stroking her near the base of the tail brings forth the posturing known as lordosis behavior in which her back becomes concave.  This is kind of like the effect that high heels have on an upright mammal trying to look sexy.  A woman wears her FMP's*, looks good, her rear sticks out, she can't walk very fast and her feet hurt, but the men come a running just like a tom cat.

But I digress.  Normally I wouldn't keep a cat like Cassie in my breeding  program, but her personality and type (meaning a good physical example of the Maine Coon standard) are something I'd like to reproduce, especially her personality.  I've blogged before about Cassie and have declared from the time I got her that she would always stay with us, if not as a breeder, then as a pet.  She has only had one viable litter and Cassie is three-years-old.  In order to keep my numbers down, all other females who retire from breeding are placed in pet homes after being spayed.  Cassie is so demonstrative with her affection that she will jump from the floor into the arms of strangers, she reaches up to be picked up like a small child, she is just....special.   Her only fault is that she gets terribly carsick so her show career got cut short after I spent an hour cleaning poop out of her fur at a show.  Her other fault is that she has had a hard time conceiving kittens. 

This Thanksgiving, the kids were at their dad's house so Jay and I had invited friends over to celebrate.  We couldn't go anywhere because of Cassie's expected delivery.  I slept little the night before Thanksgiving, waking up every couple of hours to make sure Cassie wasn't in labor.  That morning, she acted like she was content to stay pregnant forever, ate breakfast and tried to sneak out of our bedroom several times.  Jay and I got busy cleaning and cooking.  An hour or so later, I came into our room to find Cassie and her newly delivered kitten on the rug. 

I yelled out the door to Jay, "We're having kittens!" so he'd know why I suddenly disappeared.  Of course I should thank Cassie for getting me out of the bulk of the cleaning as Jay finished it.  That's right ladies, my husband finished cleaning the house, changed the litter boxes and cooked the turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes while I sat on the floor and waited for kittens. 

The first three kittens arrived quickly then labor seemed to stop.  She had looked like she was carrying five so I expected more.  I palpated Cassie's sides and felt at least one head.  After an hour, I suspected we may have a stillborn as a dead kitten doesn't release the natural oxytocin to stimulate contractions.  I gave Cassie a shot of oxytocin to help things along, something I'd never do unless a cat had already delivered a kitten so I knew her cervix was fully dilated.  Some breeders think that when it takes a kitten a long time to deliver and the result is a dead kitten that it was killed by the delay in the birth canal.  My vet explains it differently.  The birth canal is very short, shorter than the length of the kitten. The delay in birth is more likely caused by the lack of enough oxytocin necessary to produce strong contractions.  Obviously, all the kittens need to come out or the mother could develop an infection.  Sure enough, the fourth kitten was stillborn, its cause of death was gastroschism, an unfortunately occasional birth defect we see when the abdominal wall doesn't completely close up before birth. 

I still felt another hard head yet to be delivered and Cassie's contractions were sporadic and unproductive.  Fearing the worst, I gave her another shot of oxytocin after waiting 30 minutes.  Nothing.  Contractions every 5 minutes or so, but that's not frequent enough to produce a kitten.  Not wanting to push the man-made oxytocin, I decided to help Jay downstairs and revisit Cassie in another hour.  I considered calling my vet, but hesitated because I didn't want to disrupt her Thanksgiving preparation.  My guests were on their way and received regular play-by-play on the delivery.  They were hoping to watch the birth and the way things were going, they may just get that opportunity.  I should mention that my guests were also cat breeders and Cassie fans so they were naturally intrigued.  Only cat breeders and midwives can talk placentas and amniotic fluid while eating and not lose their appetites. 

After peeling the sweet potatoes and putting them into the Crockpot, I checked on Cassie.  Bingo!  She had just delivered another kitten on her own and she was a live squirmy little thing, born about 2 hours after the rest of her littermates.  Further palpatation revealed that Cassie was finished with the hard part.

Now that I knew we had four live babies, I could critique them.  Cassie is a ticked torbie, meaning she lacks the classic or mackeral stripes on her body like the traditional Maine Coon.  I'm not crazy about the ticked pattern, but it does look pretty on a silver or a red as the cats resemble a fox's coloring.  To me, most of the brown ticked tabbies look like mud.  Well, the whole litter is ticked.  With the exception of the blue ticked girl, their coloring is akin to watered down chocolate, like a Yoohoo chocolate drink.  As their coats come in, these kittens should be beautiful warm brown ticked tabbies.  See the Maine Coon Breeders and Fanciers site for examples of the ticked tabby Maine Coons in different colors.  My current plan is keep a female, ticked or not, so I at least have a Cassie daughter to carry on that winning personality. 

Thanksgiving Day Litter

Coming up with call names for a litter born on Thanksgiving Day, names like Pilgrim, Pocahontas, Chief Powhatan, John Smith, etc. were suggested.  However, most of them sounded masculine and I had 3 girls to name.  So I focused on the word "thanks" and my guests helped with the translation into various foreign languages; Spasibo (Russian) for the one male, Gracias (Spanish), Danke (German), and Merci (French) for the girls.  

Cassie Cleans Up Her New Kittens

*FMP - initials for F... Me Pumps