On the birth of a litter of Bombays

Matilda plus some of her kittens just after birth

"Mummy" (Adentsh Black Nistara, Matilda)		Two-Day Old Bombay Kittens
		A new face in the world

Saturday 4th March, 2000

Our Bombay Matilda, aka Adentsh Black Nistarah, has just produced beautiful black kittens. She spent Christmas in Shepperton with Rosie Alger-Street's Typha Black Pantha and came back looking very perky. She's only a small cat and we were thrilled to see all the signs of a healthy pregnancy — and quite impressed as she grew larger and larger.

Our delight was slightly tempered on Monday when she decided that 8 pm was just perfect to go into the very first stages of labour. I've never had kittens before and my partner has had Siamese — who pretty much took care of themselves. Matilda was quite different. She became anxious if even one of us left the room — particularly so if it was me. Knowing that it can take some time for the kittens to put on an appearance, cooking was put on hold, a home delivery take-away ordered and the duvet brought into the nursery room (otherwise known as the spare bedroom).

Having shown all the signs of imminent birth, Matilda proceeded to ignore them and was quite intent on clambering around on the spare bed only visiting her box from time to time. If she was able to creep in under the book I was reading to stave off anxiety, she would. I was beginning to worry about her attempting to give birth on my lap rather than the cosy nest we'd lovingly prepared.

After several hours and no action we reread the books which advised us not to be too anxious about time, queens often wander around in stage one labour (prior to contractions) and timing is less important than the process as a whole. We bedded ourselves down under a duvet and proceeded to "light doze". I slipped back into consciousness to check on her every hour or so.

At four a.m. I heard strange sounds and awoke to find Matilda looking confused. One amniotic sac was visible — but she quickly wrapped her tail firmly over it as if to say "I'm not ready for this". When we looked more closely it was obvious that she wasn't having contractions. We pulled on jumpers, coats and shoes against the cold night air, bundled Matilda and a warm water bottle into her cat carrier and piled our sleepy selves into the car. The one good thing is that there's very little traffic in east London at four thirty in the morning.

The night vet at the Wanstead Veterinary Hospital was not quite as displeased to see us as I'd imagined. She was concerned but practical. After trying hormone injections to no avail the only option was to consent to a caesarian section. I gulped at the idea of a general anaesthetic — not to mention the cost (obviously not training to be a vet had been a poor career move). But she said that cat caesarians were one of the nicest things you can expect to do if you're a night vet. We said good bye to Matilda and went home. We didn't want to sit digging our nails into our palms for two hours in Wanstead. And without saying so, I don't think the vet was particularly keen on it either.

At 7.20 the phone rang. Matilda was fine. And the kittens — three boys and three girls. All alive (although our immensely pragmatic vet thought one was not off the danger list and might not make it). Six kittens is a lot for a cat who weighs less than three kilos under ordinary circumstances.

Later that morning I drove to Wanstead armed with hot water bottles, duvets and blankets; the front seat turned into an extraordinary incubator. Matilda was already the star of the surgery with a whole team of nurses in attendance. They handed over a box whose contents I hardly hoped to see.

Matilda looking bemused but herself. Around, under and over her was a pulsating mass which pulled on her fur with strange talon-clawed paws far too big for the bundles of fluff that owned them. Their round heads had tiny screwed-up faces and quivering button noses and were latched firmly to nipples. These funny almost flaccid things writhed into life if you picked them up — and bellowed for the warmth, the familiar smell and the food you had removed them from.

I have never had kittens before, and never imagined quite how they would fill me with wonder. There are a few photographs here, although they are not a bright as they could be, since it is not easy taking photographs of black cats in boxes — certainly no flash could be used under the circumstances and anyway, Matilda has become quite stern about interference with her brood and a flash would merit much scolding! All the kittens are feeding well and gaining weight, although of course we won't know their final colours yet. There's still a way to go but they look like they've got a good chance of making it.

Matilda herself was born at the end of August 1998; one of Ian Bell's, she is my first Bombay and only my second cat. My partner Graeme has had an Asian chocolate self and many years ago a couple of litters of Siamese (in the days before Asians were an established breed) but this is my first ever litter of kittens. Our other cat at the moment is a rather beautiful ginger girl cat passed onto us by a neighbour who was moving on.

Bombay Kittens

Ten Day Old Bombay Kitten		A Little Older
I don't know where we're going, but let's get there quickly!

Saturday 29th April, 2000

The kittens are 8 weeks old now and some are busy exploring more of the world around them, while others have better things to do — like sleeping.

Matilda plus some of her kittens at rest and play

Matilda watches....		the kittens explore...
shall I get up...		no, I'll sleep some more!

Saturday 3rd June, 2000

From their unusual entry into the world onwards, the kittens were beyond my wildest dreams. As the incredulity at their arrival and survival faded, I started see them — not just as a furry suckling mass, but in detail. Their huge taloned paws at the end of scrawny legs and their inscrutable closed faces weren't appealing in the usual way. They were fascinating and I would rush home from work at lunch times to check that they were still there.

Matilda — belly shaven and discomfited — was bemused. She would potter out of their box, with sucklers still attached. An unbelievable bellow was emitted as the tenacious kitten inevitably slipped off. Despite being blind and barely mobile, they embodied life force. Nothing would deny them — as evidenced by the scratches inflicted on their siblings in the constant undulating rotation from nipple to nipple. At six days the smallest opened her brown goblin eyes on the world. Kittens' eyes at this age are unformed dark. They look all knowing but cannot be other than completely unseeing. The larger kittens, perhaps confident that they didn't need the advantage of sight followed up to five days later.

Once Matilda had got her bearings — during the first few days her motherhood instinct was notably absent and kitten droppings were allowed to fester but for assistance — she decided that the box kindly provided was simply not up to the luxury to which she was accustomed. Kittens, now plump little bundles of perhaps six ounces, were lugged up onto the spare bed. There she presided over the room and the first adventures of the kittens. We got in one evening to find that the hive had learned to hiss. All at once six heads turned towards us and in unison drew them back, opened their mouths and emitted a silent breath. We were impressed and told them that they were suitably terrifying.

As they reached their third week it was clear that they were a bit too mobile to be situated on a bed with nothing to stop them dropping onto the floor. Matilda was not keen on leaving them whilst being sociable and would drag us to sit with her whilst she trapped them under the duvet to prevent escape. As an easy solution we moved them into an open trunk in our room where we could listen to music and relax with Matilda whilst she knew the kittens weren't out and about. It didn't last long.

On their twenty first day number one — the little girl whose eyes had opened so promptly — scrambled up the side of the box and out onto Graeme's daughter's adjoining knee. We were impressed. Kate immediately chose her kitten. Matilda looked appalled. As Kate said "like a mother whose children have gone clubbing for the first time". The others were to take a little longer to manage independent travel but all were out and about by four weeks.

It was not long before six pairs of eyes would greet us from the top of the stairs when we arrived home. They were much slower at learning to eat — showing no interest in mashed up kitten food mixed with veterinary cat milk. Eventually one little girl launched straight into eating dry kitten pellets whilst simultaneously emitting a joyous warbling. This warbling still persists when they have a particularly delicious treat.

At about this time I woke in the middle of the night to find two kittens missing. I searched the house. Eventually, cursing, I checked our front room. This is no normal room. It contains intricately piled junk and home renovation materials that will remain there whilst the incremental renovations take place. My first clue was the strange position of a pink toy — a kind of dumb bell raffia object with feathers and bells attached which can function as a yo-yo. It was too big for the kittens to carry down, but its presence was unusual. I peered behind the stacked boards, through the legs of a folded drawing board. Kitten one — the small boy we'd called Fergus was not too displeased to see me and let me move him back. Kitten two — a bigger boy we'd called Maurice obediently followed. Maurice's other defining characteristic was an astounding capacity for observation. Sometimes he looked so hard that he would forget about the angle he was at and fall over backwards.

Over the next few weeks we noted that Matilda tended to carry the pink toy around the house whilst calling the kittens to be fed. She'd clearly been trying to retrieve the escapees. We were more careful with shutting doors — and Matilda was not to be out foxed again. Our nights were full of the bumps of retrieved kittens being dragged back to their box by the scruffs of their necks.

Once they were six weeks old, and I had to start thinking about new homes for them, I took them to visit the Bombay and Asian Self Breed Club committee. It meant quite a drive from Hackney to Middlesex. The kittens arrived in better form than I did and were quickly ingratiating themselves with the committee members. They kindly picked me a little girl to keep — helping to point out the better features to my inexperienced eye. With difficulty — having become so attached to them — I put them on the kitten list. I also put a note on the Cat World website and in Loot. There were two people waiting for Bombay kittens known to the Bombay and Asian Self Breed Club.

The kittens were quite pragmatic about their new owners. Each time one kitten would detach itself and flop down on the visitor's lap — quite clearly indicating "you're mine". There was only one disaster. A lady who had come rather a long way without an A to Z and was clearly in a hurry. She didn't sit down — and the little boy she had been interested in decided to play dead. "I can't quite see if his eyes are as bright as a kitten's should be," she said, peering at Fergus. Of course not — his eyes were sealed tightly shut. Within seconds of her leaving, Fergus was bounding round the room. If I hadn't seen it myself, I wouldn't have believed it.

The same kitten decided on a couple that came for one kitten. In the end they took two — his sister is a terrible flirt and had turned her enormous copper eyes on the girl whilst Fergus was flopped in familiar choosing mode on the boy.

The last few weeks before collection were fun. The kittens large enough to chase and be chased by our other cat, Serendipity. She was determined to teach them how to be proper cats. They still climbed our legs at lightening speed and stood on our shoulders bellowing triumph and fighting off all usurpers. For evening games they would gather in a semi-circle around Graeme waiting for him to produce the latest game. Retrieve the mouse (toy of course) or lunge at the sock (thoughtfully carried downstairs by one of their number) were firm favourites.

Then there was the evening Bernid saw a ghost. She stood arch-back, bristling, mewing and trembling whilst staring down the hallway. No stroking would calm her. We followed her line of sight. It extended up towards the ceiling in the hallway — where Serendipity was poking her head through the banisters in the dark. As soon as we took her up and showed her the real living breathing cat, Bernid broke into loud purrs and virtually danced around Dipity. She'd clearly seen the disembodied head as something beyond her understanding and was delighted to have the universe fit back into its rightful place.

As our brood have departed to their new homes, we cried the odd tear — just a little jealous that they will be entertaining new people who will have the pleasure of seeing them grow bigger and stronger and (even) more individual. We can however, enjoy the fact that our Matilda is turning back from being mumsy to the cat she was before this adventure began, watch our remaining kitten grow and, most importantly, buy new socks.

Until next time.