No, that is not a National Enquirer headline. My stepmother, sometimes genially known as the Serpent Woman for her collection of ornamental snakes, also keeps a sizable clan of cats and feels that life is a bit empty if she has fewer than four. She has lost a couple in the past year, to old age and characteristic cat diseases, and said something wistful about missing her white kitty to a friend right about the time someone was looking for a home for a white kitty.
Typical, sad story that makes you want to spay humans wholesale instead of cats: some house full of meth-heads had this cat, the cat had a litter, they reportedly “sold” the kittens, one day in view of witnesses the door of the house opened, and human hands tossed the cat out onto the pavement before slamming it shut again. One witness, anyway; the woman who saw this happen scooped the cat up, and told someone who told someone and eventually Serpent Woman ended up with a cat.
She was affectionate, and hungry. Very hungry. Serpent Woman fed her up and made a spay date. The vet was back to her via cell phone before she could go three miles: “Well, we can spay her, but we’d have to abort the litter, what are your feelings on that?”
White Cat seemed to have three kittens in process, at least from a count of tiny skeletons visible by x-ray. Serpent Woman decided to go for broke.
About a week ago White Cat went into labor in the early dawn hours and, shortly, produced one enormous, chunky male tuxedo kitten and some biological material that had failed to turn into his siblings. I don’t know if this is a prelude to The Dark Half: Part II or just another day in the life of a cat rescuer.
She tells me that at a week, the boy kitten looks more like he’s a month old and is thriving. What the hell, even if he turns out to be Eerie Cat with phantom twin siblings that materialize at night, he’s a higher form of life than those meth-heads.