Кроха - Dedication

There were clean soft towels stacked outside the box, that John Firetti had asked Wilma to provide. Everything was ready. But as perfect as was her nest, Dulcie couldn’t stop creeping into dark corners, turning around and around and then hurrying out again into space and light—and then returning to her box. She didn’t know what she wanted; she was eager and scared. She felt ravenous, but the sight of food made her ill. She wanted Joe Grey, but she didn’t want him until the ordeal was over. Where was he, why wasn’t he there with her? She returned to the kitchen, longing to race outside, but Wilma, after futile attempts to reason with her, had fetched the electric drill and screwed her cat door closed.

And now suddenly as she paced and fussed, the front doorbell rang. Wilma picked her up to keep her from running out. She opened the door to the Firettis, they stepped in quickly, and Mary deftly shut the door behind them. Even a sentient, speaking cat could behave foolishly when she was about to give birth. The minute Dulcie saw John, she relaxed. The minute Joe Grey wound in behind John’s ankles, Dulcie hissed and spat at him. Why was she behaving like this?

She let John take her from Wilma’s arms; as she laid her head against him, trust in the good doctor filled her. She quit spitting at Joe and she felt easier. It was then that Charlie arrived. Dulcie heard the Blazer pulling up, heard the kitchen door open and close. Charlie came through the house, reached gently to stroke Dulcie, then put her arm around Wilma. “I thought you might like a little more moral support?”

Wilma smiled and hugged her niece. At their feet Joe Grey was quiet, watching their friends gathered around Dulcie. Dulcie didn’t want to spit at him now. And now, for a moment, a brightness filled the room, glowing around them, and she could hear Misto’s whisper, the faintest breath, You will be all right, the babies are strong, they will be just fine. The glow hung a moment, then was gone, Misto’s warm, familiar voice gone. But his love remained.

In Wilma’s bedroom, John lifted Dulcie down into the kittening box. She settled at once, she didn’t fight him, she didn’t try to run away now. She put a paw up, she wanted him near, she didn’t want him to leave her. John waited, sitting on a low bedroom chair beside the box. She felt restless but then lay quiet. Her purr rumbled stronger, a purr of anticipation and of fear waiting for the pains that would come. She heard from the living room a bold scratching at the door, heard the door open, heard Kit’s mewl, Wilma’s voice and then Pan’s, and she was glad they were there: a loving entourage waiting—filled with kindness but leaving her to her privacy.

It was a long time before the first pain hit her, then soon another, and another. Soon they were coming faster than John had told her they would. She murmured once. Another pain and she strained and mewled softly. She cried loudly only once, pushing hard when the pains were sharpest. The rhythm of the contractions carried her as if on a huge wave, soon so close together she thought she couldn’t breathe; this first kitten was eager, was clamoring to get out.

In the living room where Charlie held Joe Grey, he tried to leap away when he heard Dulcie cry, tried to go to her. Charlie grabbed the nape of his neck. “Don’t, Joe. Don’t go in and upset her, let her be, John is with her.” She scowled down at him. “You have to be patient.”

He didn’t feel patient, he wanted to be with Dulcie. He hissed at Charlie and raised a bristling paw. She held him hard, held him until he eased off and settled once more on her lap, only faintly snarling. Dulcie was hurting. His lady was in there crying out and maybe in danger. Birthing kittens was frightening and perilous, why hadn’t he realized that? He butted his head against Charlie, shaken with fear.

Across the room Kit and Pan snuggled close to Wilma in her soft chair, Kit shivering but Pan stoic and calm, hoping to calm his own lady. They heard Dulcie’s whimpers and her single yowl, they watched Joe Grey flinch and strike at Charlie, saw Charlie’s green eyes widen as she settled him once more. They heard the back door open, watched Kate and the Greenlaws slip through. Dulcie’s patient but nervous attendants filled the living room, looking quietly at each other, waiting. These were not ordinary kittens, these were miracle kittens, and their friends waited nervously.

Only Ryan and Clyde were absent. How could they leave their guests to attend such an ordinary occurrence as the birth of kittens? So many folks had already rushed out. The Damens didn’t need more puzzled questions—but Joe Grey wished they were there. Clyde to bolster his courage, Ryan, like Charlie, to soothe and mother him.

“Sometimes,” Charlie said, stroking him, “it’s harder on the father.”

Joe Grey glared up at her. How could that be true?

“Do you remember,” Charlie asked him, “how proud you were when Dulcie told you? Proud and shy and excited?”

Joe remembered. “Kittens?” he’d cried. “Our kittens?” He remembered backing away from Dulcie, perplexed and amazed, racing away across the rooftops, then flying around her, skidding nose to nose with her. “Kittens?”

It was late evening. The three kittens had been born safe and strong. Dulcie had cleaned them up and was resting, the tiny little ones nursing against her when Joe Grey slipped into the room. John Firetti, kneeling over the box, looked up and nodded.

“Come, Joe Grey. Come see your babies.” John and Mary and Wilma had just cleaned the kittening box, Mary sliding the soiled newspapers out from under as John and Wilma gently lifted Dulcie and the kittens. Deftly Mary had slipped a thick warm blanket in, and John had settled mother and babies back onto their nest. Joe Grey entered warily, nearly electrified with shyness.

He crept up onto Wilma’s bed where he could look down into the box. He crouched there very still, looking at their new family. He was, for an instant, fearful of how he might respond. He was too aware of the ancient instinct of some tomcats to ravage their own young. Would this age-old urge surface in him now, would emotions he detested hit him suddenly? Looking down into the box, he was ready to turn and run before he hurt his tiny, helpless babies.

But no. Watching Dulcie and their three beautiful kittens, Joe Grey knew only wonder.

Only when Dulcie lifted her eyes to him did he see for an instant the female’s equally primitive response, the inborn ferocity of a mother cat to protect her young. But then her look softened, her gaze matched his own contentment. They looked at each other and at their babies, and they knew they had made a fine family. Three kittens so beautiful that Joe couldn’t resist slipping carefully down next to the box, next to the door where he could reach his nose in, could breathe in their sweet kitten scent.

“Courtney,” Dulcie said, licking the swirl-marked calico female. Joe thought about names for the two boys but nothing seemed to fit; the two pale buff kittens were still so small, how could one know what kind of cats they would be?

Lucinda and Pedric and Kate slipped into the bedroom, having removed their shoes. They looked down into the box at the three tiny kittens and pronounced them the most beautiful babies ever born. Charlie was enchanted by them. She came again the next morning wearing freshly laundered jeans and shirt, removing her shoes outside the back door, washing her hands at the kitchen sink. Not until the kittens had their several shots would the “germ vigil,” as Wilma called it, ease off and the little family be free from isolation. John Firetti, indeed, worried over the rare little newborns.

Now everyone, humans and cats, would wait impatiently the two weeks or more for the kittens’ eyes and ears to open, for their curiosity to brighten. Wait for them to crowd to the door of their kitten box, peering out, for the boy kittens to reach for the wider world. Courtney needed no encouragement; she was already pawing at every new stir of air, mewling at every small change that occurred around her.