In what must surely be a freak of nature, the kitten is pregnant. Ok not quite kitten, very young cat, she’s only 9 months old.
First the rabbits now the cat, there must be an invisible fertility ring running the perimeter of our property, I’m afraid to step outside of the door.
Who knew you had to get a cat speyed (nasty onomatopoeic word) at six months? Everyone apparently.
So into a chaotic household that is bursting at the seams with post-toddler rages, pre-teen hormones and male angst we now must add an unexpected litter of kittens.
In the back of my mind there had been some suspicions, the all night absences, the increased appetite, the general air of loafing.
It took my daughter’s best friend, a keen animal lover who informed us that the rabbit was in the family way last year, to take one look at the cat and pronounce: “she’s pregnant,’ with her expert, 10 year old eye.
I have no idea what this means. How far do we have to go with the whole hot water and towels home delivery routine? I’m assuming since she very quickly and efficiently got herself up the duff she can deliver her litter of kittens as well, a teenage super-mum in the making.
An email SOS to the friend who bestowed the kitten on us last year (after her cat unexpectedly got caught up in the whole spring time rising sap thing).
‘Sorry, we’re abroad, can’t help,’ she mails from Italy in her smug, cat-free existence. ‘My advice is to embrace it.’
So we have. Panic, shock and denial is morphing into excitement.The children have doctored a huge cardboard box (see the amazing trap door and felt tip interior decoration). The four year old seems well up for a bit of delivery. From my hasty scrabbled research – typing ‘cat pregnancy’ into Google – I reckon she’s due in about five days. So this year the Easter bunny is off message and we’re doing Easter kittens instead.
And next Spring, it's chastity belts for the whole household, animal or otherwise.