Two things you should know about me:
1. I am not good at taking pictures.
2. I am crappy at focusing pictures.
At first blush, you’d think that the two are part and parcel of the same thing, but, they really are two separate issues. The first is a composition problem, the second is a visual problem. I can’t seem to get the right things to focus. Believe it or not, I do better with an SLR where I’m focusing, cuz then I can make sure to focus on the subject, but with autofocus, it’s anyone’s guess as to what I’ll actually get to come out clearly.
So with that disclaimer, I will share with you a few of the first pix of the kittens.
Oh, and as further disclaimer, Chuck has the digital camera with the autoflash with him in Bumfuck, Montana, and since the kittens are in the back of the closet I had to make do with a flashlight for a light source.
This is Nina. (Think Pinta and Santa Maria.) She’s the most adventurous of the litter.
This is Wanda. My finger is there to give you a little perspective on just how tiny these babies are.
This is a slightly better picture of Wanda:
Alas Professor Cosmo Mewsalot was in the back corner fast asleep, so no pix of him yet.
All I can say, is thank goodness we didn’t get some of those not cute kittens you hear so much about these days.
Oh, and by way of an update, Sparkle and the babies have been happily living in the bottom of my closet all week. She is extremely devoted to them and patient with them. Zoe has stopped “organizing” them. All seems right in the pet world.
So Miss Sparkle spent most of this past weekend sleeping, eating, and sleeping some more. Pretty much sounds like my last weekend of pregnancy.
Right before I went to bed Sunday night I couldn’t find her, but then, we all know she goes out because this is how she got in this condition in the first place. I didn’t see her before I went to work Monday morning either. But again…not unusual….see her delicate condition for proof of that.
When Zoe and I came home Monday night and I saw Sparkle saunter out of my closet, as trim as she ever was, I knew the jig was up. The only problem was, after a brief inspection of the immediately viewable household, no kittens were to be seen.
So I called Chuck. In Missoula, Montana. Because it seemed like a thing to do. (OK, reality check here–the man can’t find his wallet if it’s underneath a receipt and I was apparently expecting him to intuit, from half way across the country, where the freakin kittens were. In my defense, I will say my hair is more blonde than usual from two weeks in the Caribbean.)
To make a long story short, after two frantic hours of searching and fretting, the kittens were located. In a pile. Under a pair of silk pants that had fallen off the hanger. On the bottom of my closet.
There are three of them: one white, one black, and one gray.
And to answer the question on everyone’s lips: yes, they are very very cute.
After we found the kittens Zoe and I put them in the designated birthing box and put the box in the bottom of Zoe’s closet. We showed Sparkle where the box was and she climbed in with the babies. The next morning Zoe asked me (frantically) if I had moved the babies. I had not. Sparkle had. Back to the bottom of my closet.
So this is where they will stay.
I put a litter box, food and water in my bathroom. During the day I close my bedroom door and Sparkle and babies have full use of the master suite. With this arrangment I don’t have to worry that Sparkle has moved the babies to a new place, nor do I have to worry that the dogs have found the babies and something horrible has happened.
It’s too dark in the bottom of my closet to get a pic with my phone, and Chuck has the digital camera in Montana. Photos will be posted as soon as possible.
Momma and babies are doing great.
And as an aside to those of you (in either my comments and private e-mail) urging me to get my cat fixed: I am an enormously responsible pet owner. Every single one of my pets are rescues. I responsibly spay/newter. Sparkle will be fixed with it is medically safe and appropriate to do so.
I made a choice to let this kitten have kittens. I decided it would be a once in a lifetime experience for my eight year old daughter. I have more homes for these babies than I have babies.
I made a choice. I stand by it.
In re-reading my last entry I am now wondering if I am a gay man.
Comedy: Carson Kressley’s comment: toasted pumpkin is the new black. Were truer words ever spoken?
Tragedy: Jennifer Hudson voted off American Idol. What the fuck were you thinking America?
Sparkle is in a family way. Gestation for cats is 62 days. Since we don’t know exactly when conception occured, it’s anyone’s guess when the kittens will actually arrive, but from the looks of her it’s imminent. Her tummy gets bigger and rounder by the day.
Zoe put a box in her room with towels on the bottom and has written Mom at Work all over it. If you ask me, it’s cuter than hell. Chuck, I’m certain, is of another opinion.
Since this wasn’t exactly a “planned” pregnancy there has been much speculation between me and Chuck as to exactly what the kittens are going to look like. And since there can be several fathers for one litter it’s really anyone’s guess as to what we’re gonna end up with.
Lately we have noticed a wide assortment of neighborhood tom cats lurking around our front door. I now refer to them all collectively as Sparkle’s Baby Daddy.
Today is day four back at work. I’m still waiting for my brain function to return. It’s not that I’m unhappy with my current state of residual vacation bliss, it’s just that I’m having a really hard time getting anything accomplished.
Here’s a little-known fact about my husband: pretty much wherever he goes (whether it’s business related or vacation related) my husband wants to move.
A few weeks ago he wanted to move to Missoula, Montana. Apparently someone with no authority whatsoever at the radio station he’s going to work at said there might be a job opening. Chuck practically had his bags packed. He spent the better part of an afternoon sending me links to property for sale.
Mountain woman I am not. As with moving to Chicago (that was back in Janurary), my list of demands started with a brand spankin new Range Rover and a full length sheared beaver coat.
The best thing one can say about Missoula, Montana is that it’s only 250 miles from Spokane, Washington, and frankly in my mind, that’s not a whole lot.
So it came as no surprise to me when I opened an e-mail from my husband this morning with this link.
Looks like we’re moving to the Cayman Islands.