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Several weeks ago, just before we moved into our new house, a friend of mine asked for a favor. She had been feeding a young cat who was the sole survivor of a litter that some heartless cretin had thrown into the creek behind her house. She noticed that this kitty, smaller than the other ferals she was feeding, seemed to be picked on quite a bit by the other cats. She also seemed more tame, and my friend was able to coax her into being touched. "Can you take this kitty and find a home for her?" my friend asked. I said I would try, and the next day she brought the kitty to my office. The first thing I noticed about the kitty was that she was absolutely gorgeous, with fluffy, solid black fur and huge gold eyes. The next thing I noticed, a short time later, was that my new rescue kitty was pregnant.

It is possible to spay a pregnant queen, but I just can't bring myself to do it. And so we watched as the kitty got bigger every week. We named her Snoopy, since she never met a cabinet or closet that did not need exploring. Snoopy's little belly grew to the point that it nearly brushed the floor, and it had to be as big around as she was long. I began to worry, since she is a small kitty and I have had petite queens who had difficulty delivering their kittens. But I underestimated this kitty.

Saturday night, Snoopy started acting like she was ready to deliver. She meowed frequently, and her meows had a different quality than her usual soft voice. She tried desperately to open the closet door in my dressing room. Ready for a long night, I took a pillow and blanket into the dressing room and prepared for a kittening vigil. I managed to stay awake until four a.m., but nothing had happened yet, and I fell asleep. It was seven thirty when I jolted up, looking for Snoopy. I found her in my closet, two kittens nursing, and a third, still encased in the amniotic sac, cold as ice. I was devastated; I had left her, and a kitten had died as a result. I picked up the cold kitten, wrapped it in a wash cloth and held it, with the intention of burying it later. But to my shock, the dead kitty let out a meow! I pulled the membranes away and ran a sink of warm water, and then immersed the cold kitten in the water up to its neck. After a couple minutes in the warm water, the kitty began to move. I dried him and placed him with his mother, who started licking his face, as if to say, "Oh, I thought you were gone! Glad to see you, son!"

I watched and helped, when I could, as Snoopy delivered two more kittens. I had been concerned about her young age and inexperience, but she cared for her babies expertly, as if she were an older, more experienced queen. I was thankful that I'd acquired her early, and that she'd had time to know me. She trusted me completely, and only became agitated when anyone other than myself or my husband entered the dressing room.

As I write, the kittens are two days old and thriving. Snoopy dislikes the isolation, having become accustomed to sleeping with us at night and having a morning cuddle before we left for work, and so I visit her for a cuddle-time as often as I can. She is a wonderful mama, and her babies promise to be every bit as beautiful as she is. When they are old enough, they will be up for adoption, as will Snoopy. Alas, I can't keep them all, and when they are adopted, I will be doing a lot of crying. But that is part of pet rescue. As a rescuer, we go into it knowing that we cannot keep every foster that we care for, and that with every one who is adopted goes a little piece of our heart. But still, we do it, always with the hope that the families who adopt our babies will love them as much as we do.

Stay tuned for updates, and more photos of Snoopy and her babies.