It’s ridiculous how happy I am about this.

Uno, our lion in repose.

Boxcat usually sits exclusively on Lucian, but I discovered that if I put a large fluffy pillow in my lap she will consider me as a viable seating option.

Boxcat and Tuli.

Uno falling deeper, and deeper, and deeper into the depths of cat sleep.

This is how I write my posts: sitting on the sofa, legs stretched out, cats everywhere. Best job ever.

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Someone asked me a while back what I do in the cold part of the year. I’m a cat warmer, I said. It’s an important occupation. It’s not all I do, but whatever else I’m doing, reading, writing, I almost always have a cat in my lap. Or two cats. Or three. Being a cat warmer is a seasonal occupation. From the first cool days of fall through late spring, I am covered in cats and fur. For this reason, I favor clothing that matches my cats. I keep lint rollers in several places throughout the house. I love my cat warmer job in every way, except for the Summer Cat Recess, when they retreat from laps and lie in various sunny places.

Until the kittens, Uno and Tuli, were about a year old, they were in my lap or next to my head or embedded in my side all day and all night. I loved it. I had never known cats who liked to sit on their humans as much as they do. When they hop into my lap and unfurl I instantly relax, and whatever is bothering me floats away.

If I am reading the news with cats in my lap, the news seems suddenly not quite as bad. Everything is solvable, or at least not as dire.

It was quite a shock when the kittens suddenly abandoned me that first year. As the days got longer they began to spend all their time in the cat room.

The cat room is where the kittens were born, and where Gracie and Boxcat both spent time in isolation right after they were adopted. They seem to know it’s their room.

It has windows on three sides, so it’s flooded with light, and during warm weather, it is full of four sprawling cats stretched out in the sun like teenagers on Spring Break.

Even though it happens every spring, it still startles me. One day, after a whole winter of luxuriously lounging in my lap, the cats seem to lose interest in me.

I’ve adjusted. I visit them in the cat room, take pictures, pet each of them gently on the head. They purr and look at me with half-open eyes and then go back to sleep. They’re cats. They do what they want to do.

But now I know they’ll be back in September. I will once again be immobilized by their warm furry bodies. I will be immersed in the deep calm meditative state brought on by the weight of cats.

Every morning I will have to ask Lucian to bring me my second cup of coffee because I am trapped by cats, and he will because he understands that to me, being a cat warmer is sacred work.

My feet will fall asleep and I won’t care. I will be so covered with cat hair that I look like a flocked Christmas tree. The whole world will look brighter. Everything is going to be all right.

If you enjoy my posts, please let me know by clicking the like button, the restack button, sending my posts to your friends, recommending my Substack, and becoming a free or paid subscriber. I don’t use a paywall because I want my posts to be free for everyone to read, but I am immensely grateful to those of you who become paid subscribers. Your five bucks a month makes it possible for me to keep writing this column.

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It’s 1963, and I am five years old. There’s no date on the photo but I know the year and my age because I’m holding my kitten Topsy, the first cat who was truly my own. She sits calmly on my knees in her black fur and luxuriant plume of a tail.

We found each other in an alley. She was alone and tiny and started screaming at me the moment our eyes met. As soon as I picked her up and held her to my chest, she sought out my earlobe and started sucking on it. She’d been separated from her mother too soon, said my dad when I came home with the kitten attached to my ear. We went back to search the alley but could not find any other cats.

I carried her constantly. At night she slept on my chest or draped over my head. When I got out of bed in the morning she waited for me to pick her up and take her to the kitchen to feed her. We’d go through the whole day, every day, with her cradled in my arms.

She is still alive for me. I see her in every cat I’ve known since.

It’s my birthday on Monday, so Lucian and I are taking the rest of the weekend off to relax and celebrate. If you feel like giving me a birthday present, click the like and restack buttons; I would be especially delighted if you decide to become a paid subscriber!

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Behold the Kitten Igloo, AKA the Kitten Washing Machine! Originally a hut for Boxcat, this boiled-wool igloo was taken over by Gracie’s kittens, who turned it into a concave jungle gym.

Remember my column from a few weeks ago, Stills From from the Kitten Washing Machine? If you haven’t read it, take a look now to see stills from the video, like this one:

I love Tuli’s expression of wild glee.

Here’s Ruby trying to figure out how to play with baby Uno.

The manic play-scramble continues.

Now that the grownup kittens have abandoned the igloo, Boxcat has been happily reunited with her cat cave, and can be found curled up in it most afternoons.

If you enjoy my posts, please let me know by clicking the like button and the restack button, sending my posts to your friends, recommending me, and becoming a free or paid subscriber. I don’t use a paywall because I want my posts to be free for everyone to read, but I am immensely grateful to those of you who become paid subscribers! Your five bucks a month makes it possible for me to keep writing this column.

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If you live with animals, you will never dine alone.

Our cats have permanent box seats on the kitchen island, so they’re a built-in audience when we cook. Lucian is the chef. I’m the sous chef. My most important job is keeping tails out of sauces.

Rice noodles, Lucian, and Uno.

Caprese salad. Boxcat has supervised a wide variety of meals.

Boxcat with the makings of an avocado and dill omelet.

Boxcat watches as steam rises from a pan of Italian Wedding Soup.

It’s our custom to serve crackers with soup. This is of considerable interest to Boxcat, who has been known to try to climb into a box of saltines while it is still full of crackers.

I have no idea what we were making here, but doesn’t it look great with Boxcat’s eyes?

One of my many breakfasts with Boxcat.

Boxcat guarding a bagel.

Lucian usually has breakfast at his desk. Boxcat is always by his side.

This was one of baby Tuli’s first forays into kitchen island food observation. Here he oversees parts of a holiday meal with broccoli ready for the steamer and a fruit crumble about to go in the oven.

When Gracie and her kittens arrived on the scene, we added more cat viewing boxes to the kitchen island. Tuli and Uno took to them immediately. Gracie has not yet shown a predilection for meal supervision, but she climbs up on the barstool next to me while I’m prepping ingredients, then slinks into my lap and curls up to purr and rhythmically embed her nails into my thigh. This makes me very happy.

Uno and Boxcat watch the preparation of Thanksgiving yams with chipotle, sour cream, and a touch of maple syrup. They seemed fascinated with the food mill we used on the yams.

Not every dish captured cat attention. They slept through Lucian’s stuffed bell peppers.

Cheeseburgers were similarly shunned.

Noodle dishes attract a bit more attention.

Roast chicken with broccoli and potatoes. Uno seems more interested.

I often wonder what they’re thinking when we assemble dishes like this one, which we had tonight: orzo with zucchini and onions, topped with fresh mozzarella balls, cherry tomatoes, fresh basil and mint. The basil is growing on the kitchen windowsill and the mint is growing right outside along our driveway, where it has formed a fragrant shrub with purple flowers.

Tuli relaxes during a chopped salad construction.

Cashew curry rice with snowpeas, cilantro, carrots and lime. And Tuli and Uno.

Butternut squash ravioli with walnuts in a brown butter sauce. Our dining table is the living room coffee table, with a comfortable station for Boxcat.

Speaking of butter…attached to the tail behind Lucian is Uno, who has just found an uncovered butter dish. Uno has a thing for butter. He got his first contraband taste of it one time when we weren’t monitoring a naked stick of butter, and ever since then he has been a fiend for the stuff. After I took this photo I ran over and removed him from his prey.

Roasted chicken, bok choy, Boxcat and baby Uno.

Boxcat with an expression only she can make, and rigatoni with roasted red bell peppers and spinach.

Roast chicken, yukon gold potatoes, and broccoli rabe, Boxcat, Uno, and a NASCAR race Lucian was watching in the background.

Ruby casts longing looks at our meals but does not attempt to sit on the table as the cats do. I think this was a bean soup we picked up at a local deli.

Even their post-neuter cones didn’t keep Uno and Tuli from investigating our dinner prep.

Cooking with the cats became a family ritual without us even knowing it was happening.

Every day we can’t wait to see what they’re going to do next. Watching Tuli twist himself into a knot turns polishing silver from a chore into a delight.

If you enjoy my posts, please let me know by clicking the like button, the restack button, sending my posts to your friends, recommending me, and becoming a free or paid subscriber. I don’t use a paywall because I want my posts to be free for everyone to read, but I am immensely grateful to those of you who become paid subscribers. Your five bucks a month makes it possible for me to keep writing this column.

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Ruby is used to having her stuff stolen by cats. Toys, favorite vantage points, even her food have been snarfed up by cats and kittens. Uno will gobble Ruby’s kibble unless we guard it carefully. But Ruby knows how to deal with cat theft. She has always lived with cats, at least since I adopted her thirteen years ago. She dealt with the annexation of her toys by abandoning dog toys completely and switching her preference to cat toys. The only toys she’ll have anything to do with now are soft fleecy pastel-colored balls that make squeaky and chirpy sounds when they’re thrown. The box they come in is prominently labeled Cat Toys. Our cats ignore them as they ignore most commercial cat toys. They prefer cellophane wrappers, yogurt tops, and bottle caps. Ruby leaps after the fluffy cat balls and prances wildly around the house when I throw them for her after her evening walk. It’s become a Ruby ritual. She doesn’t just give in to cats; she adapts joyfully.

See the gray rumpled object on the floor to the right of the table? That’s Ruby’s bed, or it used to be until certain kittens noticed how comfy it was.

Here are two of those certain kittens, Uno and Olive, in the former bed of Ruby.

More kitten invaders.

Tuli and Elvis stretch out on their freshly purloined lounge.

There is much furling and unfurling of furry bodies.

Kittens pile up to the point of overflowing.

Ever-resourceful Ruby gave up her bed without protest and took to the sofa.

She is not alone for long. An interloper appears, a small sleeping heap of Elvis.

Elvis moves in closer and they both fall deeply into a nap.

Ruby is joined by Tuli and BoxCat. The cats are Ruby’s pack. They all hang out together, exchange sniffs, nuzzles, and head-butts, and fall asleep in close proximity. They’ve made a family, and we’re lucky to be part of it.

If you enjoy my posts, please let me know by clicking the like button, pressing the restack button, sending my posts to your friends, recommending me, and becoming a free or paid subscriber. I don’t use a paywall because I want my posts to be free for everyone to read, but I am immensely grateful to those of you who become paid subscribers. Your five bucks a month makes it possible for me to keep writing this column.

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When we adopted our first cat as a couple, Tazzy the Boxcat, Lucian and I had sworn that we would never have one of Those Things, meaning cat trees. They were huge and unsightly and didn’t belong in our house, we thought.

This was before the Cat Distribution System provided us with more cats than we were expecting, in the form of Gracie and her bonus prize stowaway kittens, and those cats became interested in climbing. We had given them many things to play with and scratch, innumerable toys, boxes, cardboard floor lounges, but they had loftier aspirations.

First they began to climb artwork, or rather, perform the jump and cling method of decor redesign. They would leap impossibly high, latch onto a hanging picture, dangle and scramble and swing back and forth, presumably in an attempt to scale to the highest point to catch a bug or balance on the top edge of the frame. We don’t know what exactly they were trying to do. There are no photos of these incidents because usually we would just hear frantic scratching and a crash. This is why we don’t have many things hung on our walls. There are a few of my big paintings on wood panels, but those are impossible to climb (so far) so they’ve stayed put. There are a number of naked picture hangers embedded in the walls- no picture, just the hanger. Cat-Induced Minimalism.

Eventually they noticed the drapes. We would find the mangled curtain rods in the morning wrapped in a shroud of curtains on the floor, sometimes proudly dragged through the house.

So we gave in and got a cat tree. It is eight feet tall and sits prominently in the foyer. It’s the first thing you see when you enter the front door. There are almost always cats in it, sleeping or looking very pleased with themselves. Here they are in all their treed glory:

Look at that Gracie.

Uno Belly!

Two furry scoundrels, Uno and Elvis.

Note the empty picture hanger and absence of curtains.

The three boys: Uno, Tuli, and Elvis.

Zelda, Uno and Elvis.

Boxcat hides from the kittens in the hammock.

Gentle Olive, just before she was adopted.

Our newest adoptee, Little.

We rehung the artwork on this wall. However, since this photo was taken it has been removed again. By cats.

The luxuriant Gracie luxuriates.

Uno hanging by a thread.

Maxed out cat tree.

Upside down Uno, a frequent sight on the cat tree.

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We had each silently arrived at this decision without mentioning it to each other. Somehow we both knew this was our kitten. All five were and are utterly adorable, and we grew to love them all fiercely, but from Tuli’s first moments we knew that he was going to live with us forever and be our cat, along with his mom Gracie and our Boxcat. And Ruby, of course. Oh, and then we gave in and kept Uno too.

We had given the kittens the temporary names of Uno, Dos, Tres, Quatro and Cinco, to note their birth order and to honor their emergence on Cinco de Mayo. Lucian announced one day that the name of Quatro, the brown tabby, absolutely needed to be Tuli, in honor of Lucian’s friend Tuli Kupferberg. I hadn’t known the original Tuli so I looked him up, and the more I read about him, the more the name seemed right.

Tuli Kupferberg was a poet, author, singer, songwriter, cartoonist, comic artist, and creator of newsprint poetry magazines he sold on the street for a dollar each.

In 1964, Tuli Kupferberg and Ed Sanders co-founded the folk-rock/ proto-punk band The Fugs.

The Fugs were, in the words of Village Voice critic Robert Christgau, “the lower East Side’s first true underground band.” They played “with a ramshackle glee that anticipated punk rock”. The Fugs dove into the Theatre of the Absurd as if it was a swimming pool in the middle of an East Village street.

People called Tuli “Mr. Rogers’ countercultural twin brother” and the father of Punk Protest. He was radically opposed to violence and war, and believed in Radical Love, “an all-encompassing, unconditional, and revolutionary commitment to care for oneself and others. It is given freely without expecting a reward, challenges unjust systems, and demands deep empathy.”

My very favorite of Tuli’s quotes: “Nobody who lived through the 50’s thought the 60’s could have existed. So there’s always hope.”

Here is my husband Lucian onstage with the Fugs at The Mudd Club in the early 80’s. He’s the handsome guy in the striped T-shirt. Behind him is Ed Sanders; Tuli isn’t in the photo because he was late to the gig that night. Lucian is doing Hambone, a style of percussion in which performers use their own bodies as a drum set, featuring rhythmic hand clapping, thigh slapping, and chest patting. I’ve seen him do it. He’s still got it.

Here is our Tuli at just a few days old, displaying his already well-developed Murder Mitten hardware. The sweet little needles shown here are now razor-sharp Wolverine-like blades. He could slice and dice us, but he does not. When he wants my attention he sits at my feet and fixes me with a soul-penetrating stare. Usually I notice and give him whatever he wants- food, play or petting. But if I’m absorbed in what I’m reading or writing, he waits a few minutes and gently places a paw on my knee. If I miss or ignore that cue, he extends one- only one- of his super sharp claws. He doesn’t draw blood but barely pricks my skin, just enough to make me yelp and drop what I’m doing and leap up to fulfill his request. Thus he is practicing patience and non-violence, in the spirit of his namesake.

Tuli, on the right, shows another example of his non-violent nature, attempting mediation instead of combat with his brother Uno. This usually does not work, and they end up rolling around on the kitchen island until one of them falls off.

A sleepy Tuli, dozing off in his creative handiwork, a masterpiece of punctured cardboard.

He moves through the house on black velvet pads. Even the webbing between his toes is black. Very punk.

Tuli in Lucian’s lap, practicing unconditional love.

Look at that beautiful face! And you should see his orange belly.

There it is, the orange belly.

The most playful of all our cats, he only stops playing to nap for twelve to sixteen hours. A day.

He also has exotic orange elbow fur, and crosses all sorts of conventional cat behaviour boundaries by relaxing in non-box environments.

The gorgeous sleeping face of Tuli.

Tuli sleeps next to my head almost every night.

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My dear friend Lynny in Dallas, who I’ve known for more than 40 years, sent me an early birthday present: a Ball Pit for the cats!

When it arrived, the Pit was vacuum packed and shrink-wrapped into the size of a small travel pillow. As soon as I sliced open the wrapper, it made a loud POOF and popped into shape. A cat jumped in. It was Uno, of course. He is the Alpha cat and immediately takes over all new things that enter the house.

Ruby and Gracie moved in to inspect the new object.

I removed Uno and added the balls. The animals watched with great interest.

Gracie, with her glorious mane, showed up to see what was going on.

Boxcat and Uno circled the pit of many balls.

Soon Boxcat took the plunge.

Fascination with the Ball Pit spread from cat to cat, helped along by the large handful of high-grade catnip I had spread on the Pit floor.

Ruby supervised the proceedings and executed a standard butt check.

Uno was the next to leap into the pile of balls.

Gracie approached the Pit with trepidation.

Tuli tested the shifting surface with his striped toes.

And then dove in all the way to the bottom.

He surfaced with his flakes of catnip all over his face.

The Ball Pit is now overseen by Uno. All who enter must seek his permission.

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The evening temperature is mild and we have homemade soup ready to heat for dinner on our (gas) stove and we’re enjoying the evening.

Milford is a quiet town. With no machines running, it’s really quiet. I can hear finches twittering and rustling around the bird feeder, and grackles splashing in the bird bath.

Our animals are oblivious to the electricity outage. They don’t seem to notice the swarm of extension cords running from the gas generator outside to our refrigerator. Most of the cats haven’t moved from their positions in boxes or other comfortable places.

Now for some photos of cats in boxes, mostly taken on days when the lights were working. Boxes are magic places for cats. On the day the cardboard box was invented, I’ll bet a cat took up residence in it.

Our front window is a jungle of houseplants in the winter, but in summer it’s a paradise for lounging cats, with an excellent view of the birdbath.

The same window, with Gracie, a sleepy Uno, and Boxcat. It must feel good to be in a box. Safe. Four walls snugly fitted to one’s body. A place to curl up and fall asleep.

Uno getting a forehead bath from Boxcat.

Elvis and Tuli in a deep box trance.

Tuli and Zelda co-dozing.

Gracie, Uno, and Boxcat.

Uno executes a belly pretzel.

Boxcat always goes for the smallest box.

One day Lucian brought home a produce box from the farmer’s market. We realized that if we clamshelled it with another box, it would make a great cat fort, so Lucian went back and got a second box. We taped the two together, cut some strategic entrances, exits, and spyholes, and the cats took possession.

It was very different from their usual peaceful boxes of rest. This was a box of play and attack.

A place to hide from assailants and contemplate assaults.

Each kitten found their own way to use the box. It seemed to me that they were making up play-stories about it.

Multiple storylines running at once.

I think Boxcat loved it most of all.

The power came back on while I was writing this, along with the internet, so off goes tonight’s cat report, from our house to yours.

If you enjoy my posts, you can let me know by clicking the like button, restacking this post, sending a link to your friends, recommending my newsletter, and by becoming a free or paid subscriber. I don’t use a paywall because I want my posts to be free for everyone to read, but I am immensely grateful to those of you who become paid subscribers. Your five bucks a month makes it possible for me to keep writing this column.

If you enjoy my posts, please let me know by clicking the like button, the restack button, sharing my posts with your friends, recommending me, and becoming a free or paid subscriber. I don’t use a paywall because I want my posts to be available for everyone to read, but I am immensely grateful to those of you who become paid subscribers. Your five bucks a month makes it possible for me to keep writing this column.

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Uno and Tuli are the two kittens we kept from Gracies’s litter. Even though they are three years old now, their kitten characteristics are still present and highly apparent. I look at them and see the entirety of their Iives from the night they were born right up until the present.

It’s a form of time travel. There’s Tuli, a tangle of striped legs in a birth sac coming out of his mother Gracie. I see Uno flipped over onto his back on his first day, nursing upside down.

It is fascinating to watch their changes and see how different each cat or kitten is from the others. Even coming from the same mother, they have their own distinct personalities that are visible from the day they are born.

Uno was the Alpha kitten from the first moment. Bigger than the others, he would push all the other kittens out of the way and seize the choicest nipple. If he couldn’t find a nipple in the front, he’d crawl all the way around and climb up her back, dive bomb a nipple, latch on, flip over, land upside down and suck until he fell asleep.

Uno always went after the nipple closest to Gracie’s head, and he usually got it.

Here’s Uno and Tuli just as their eyes were starting to open. Uno is much larger than any of his siblings.

And he seemed to grow faster than the others.

Uno inherited this arm-over-the-head position from his mom.

He’s been very consistent with its usage.

He is almost always belly up. He may start out in the traditional cat-meatloaf position, but invariably flops over once he’s relaxed.

Belly in a box.

Mother and son, belly to belly.

Uno’s semi-twist belly display.

In keeping with his Alpha Cat role, Uno is fond of lounging atop his siblings. That’s Elvis beneath him.

A box already occupied with a cat is not another cat’s box to Uno. It is a box with a comfy fur cushion.

Uno quickly outgrew his favorite boxes.

Here he is lounging on Lucian’s lap in a freeform limb jumble.

Tuli and Uno pull off a Double-Reverse-Kitten-Salchow.

More cats and dogs and Milford lore coming up soon!

If you enjoy my posts, please let me know by clicking the like button, the restack button, sending my posts to your friends, recommendingme, and becoming a free or paid subscriber. I don’t use a paywall because I want my posts to be free for everyone to read, but I am immensely grateful to those of you who become paid subscribers. Your five bucks a month makes it possible for me to keep writing this column.

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Once upon a time, Boxcat was the only cat on the kitchen island.

She was also the only cat in the house.

Boxcat had boxes everywhere.

She was Queen of the realm. Even Ruby the dog deferred to her.

It was peaceful.

Everything was perfect.

Her snoozing was rarely interrupted, even when we temporarily invaded her island for cooking.

Objects came and went. Boxcat remained.

And then came Gracie’s kittens.

Boxcat was dubious.

Boxcat was not tremendously fond of change. Especially when it arrived on four tiny feet and had partners in crime.

But one by one, they grew on her.

Boxcat even stood guard occasionally.

The kittens copied her habits.

Love bloomed between the boxes.

Soon, she was treating them as if they were her own kittens.

They were, after all, occupying boxes that once were hers alone.

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The rain is coming down in buckets and thunder is booming. But we’re safe and dry inside with our animals, and the power is still on.

The kittens have taken over the house, of course. This chair is one of their favorites. Top to bottom: Tuli, Zelda, and Uno.

It was Boxcat’s chair, too.

A cat ballet in three acts…

Act II

Act III

Boxcat’s standoffishness with the kittens had completely melted.

Uno and Elvis.

Ruby with Zelda and Uno.

These boxes are attached to the kitchen island with museum putty to ensure non-sliding lounge boxes. They are almost always stuffed with cats in various states of consciousness.

Zelda being squashed by Uno.

Sofa lounge cats, Zelda and Uno.

Tuli and Elvis.

Gracie in a rare moment free of hungry offspring.

Tuli and Zelda, collapsed after playing.

Kittens piled onto our bed.

Their purring is profoundly comforting.

And to all a good night!

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Here is the Kitten Washing Machine before kittens have been added. It was originally purchased as a bed for the very grown-up Boxcat before the kittens came on the scene.

At first they just climbed on top of it, squashing down the dome and defeating its purpose.

The squashed shape did not lend itself to the addition of multiple kittens.

We re-plumped the dome. They began to stuff themselves inside.

Small squeaks could be heard as they committed acts of minor mayhem on each other.

It was difficult to tell how many of them were in there.

It was also difficult to tell whose arms and legs belonged to who.

Every imaginable kitten emotion was on display. Joy! Terror! Confusion!

Peeking out while spinning!

They tumbled and rumbled together in The Great Kitten Washing Machine!

Paws were wildly flying!

And then they fell asleep.

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Olive, the essence of kittenhood at its finest. She would be the first to be adopted —right out of her first new-kitten checkup at the vet—by one of the vet technicians. Her new mom absolutely dotes on her.

Zelda, Elvis, Uno, Olive and Tuli.

Uno almost always lies on his back, providing a view of his exquisite belly patterns. Tuli and Olive are next to him.

Now that the kittens had the run of the house, nursing took place anywhere they could tackle their mom Gracie.

Tuli was the first kitten we decided to keep. He is named after poet/ musician Tuli Kupferburg, co-founder of the proto-punk band The Fugs. Lucian was friends with Tuli (The Fug, not the kitten) and performed with The Fugs at the Mudd Club.

Queen Gracie on her Escape From Parental Duties chair.

Elvis, who soon began to sleep on my pillow every night.

Uno is on his back in the foreground, of course, with Zelda, Elvis and Tuli. That’s Olive under the table.

Gracie looking over her brood. Notice that they are rapidly approaching their mom’s size.

Tuli and Uno exhibiting astounding stretchiness.

Queen Gracie, with kittens still lined up in a row from nursing.

Clockwise from lower left: Tuli, Elvis, Uno, and Zelda. Every new arrangement they’d form entranced me. It was like having a kaleidoscope of kittens.

Lucian and Tuli in the kitchen.

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Up until they were three weeks old, all the kittens knew of the world was the cozy box where they had been born. But that was about to change.

They suddenly became aware that there was an interesting world beyond the box. Tuli, the chocolate-striped tiger, was the first to notice the opening where their mother Gracie went in and out.

And then it was as if all they could think about was Getting Out of The Box. So many fascinating things on the other side of those four corrugated walls! Shiny things! Things to climb on!

New things to eat! Tuli was not only the first kitten out of the box, but also the first to sample his mom Gracie’s food, a delicious slurry named “ Mother and Babycat Queen Ultra Soft Mousse in Sauce”. Yum.

But most of the kittens were not ready to abandon their customary dining habits.

Look how large they’re getting.

Sometimes it was all a bit much for Gracie, who would jump up on a chair for a moment of peace.

When tired of playing, the kittens tended to stack themselves in a compact formation.

We got a baby gate for the cat room door, so the kittens could roam freely inside. But they soon learned to scale it. This time, Zelda was the first to reach the top.

The kittens seemed to have inexhaustible energy. Now that they’d figured out how to get over the baby gate, we needed a way to safely corral them.

So we set up a collapsible playpen in the living room. This worked for a few days.

Boxcat introduced herself to the kittens and even groomed them.

The playpen didn’t contain them for long. That’s Olive at the top of the pen.

Ruby watched with alarm as Olive walked all the way around the top of the playpen.

The rest of the kittens soon followed. They spilled over the edge of the playpen and became officially loose in the house, having new experiences and learning new skills, such as being a lap cat…

…interacting with a somewhat overbearing Aunt Boxcat…

…rolling and lolling on an entirely new carpet…

…noticing one’s back foot for the very first time…

…watching tv with mom…

…hanging out on the sofa with Ruby…

…investigating the mysterious caves under furniture…

…invading Boxcat’s wool igloo, which we renamed The Kitten Washing Machine…

…napping in a sibling-heap in random locations…

…playing under the supervision of Aunt Ruby…

…and frequently ambushing mom for a snack. Notice the rapid growth of the kittens, especially Uno in the foreground.

They would get bigger. And Bigger. And Bigger!

Stay tuned!

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Cats will save the world, said one of my esteemed readers the other day. I would amend that to “Cats and Dogs Will Save the World”, and you could add rabbits and possums and turtles and emus and your animal of choice.

It’s a whole world of bad news right now. Every day, my husband Lucian and I spend a great deal of time completely immersed in the news. We read it, watch it, listen to it, talk about it. Lucian writes about it, we read and edit his column together and discuss it even more.

The state of the world is draining, and it’s sad. We do everything we can, but change is going to take a long time.

So how do we keep sane, here on Ann Street in Milford? We are completely engaged in the wonderful, fascinating, often thrilling lives of our dog and five cats. We see their thoughts in their actions, and we carry on a running commentary about them all day long. They save us.

Stay tuned for more about Gracie and her kittens in “Wildlife in Milford, Part Six”, coming up soon!

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Nothing could have prepared me for the experience of being a cat Birth Doula. After staying up all night during Gracie’s labor, I almost felt like I’d given birth to the kittens myself. And then I didn’t want to go to bed. All I wanted to do was watch them.

I never got tired of watching them.

After about a week, their eyes began to open. They had been crawling around like little zombies, bumping into each other. Now they began to move with purpose.

And yawn with purpose.

I started gently handling the kittens from their first days to socialize them. I had learned from my preparatory cat research that it’s important to wash your hands thoroughly before touching newborn kittens.

We figured out later that Gracie was a kitten herself, only a few months old, at the time she gave birth. Cats can get pregnant when they’re as young as four months old. But she flawlessly knew what to do and was an excellent mother.

While Gracie was pregnant and nursing I fed her small frequent meals of high-calorie canned kitten food. In late pregnancy, cats need up to 50% more calories. Nursing mothers need three to five times their usual calorie intake. They also need lots of water, so we kept a pet water fountain close to the kitten enclosure.

New kittens need a very warm environment, because they can’t regulate their own body temperatures. Their nest has to be 85 to 90 degrees Fahrenheit for the first few weeks. It was still chilly here in Milford in early May, so our vet advised that we mount a heat lamp above their box. We also had a heating pad on the lowest setting underneath their bedding, and a space heater on standby duty. We didn’t have a room thermometer, so Lucian got a digital meat thermometer from the kitchen to keep track of the ambient temperature. It worked.

Snuggling in a pile of furry siblings is also a good way to stay warm.

Gracie took much needed R&R breaks several times a day…

…while Ruby stood guard. Ruby loved those kittens.

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Gracie went into labor around midnight, while she was lying in my lap. I had been reading, watching TV, and petting the hugely pregnant Gracie when I felt a rolling movement in her abdomen, quite different from the usual nudges of fetal kicks. Every few minutes I’d feel the same undulation again. I called Lucian, who was upstairs, and said you’d better come down, we’re about to have kittens. Lucian carried her into the cat room where her birthing box was all set up: a fine sturdy enclosure lined with soft cotton t-shirts and old but clean down vests.

I had never personally given birth or witnessed a birth, human or animal, but I had researched how to be a feline midwife. The online consensus was: stand back. She will not want humans in the same room with her. She won’t need you.

This did not seem to be the case with Gracie. When I left the cat room for a few minutes, I heard loud frantic yowling. It stopped the moment I returned.

Lucian and I sat by her side waiting for hours. Then Gracie gave one sharp shriek, and the first kitten was born. Gray with a bit of white trim, just like his mom. He seemed like an enormous kitten, especially considering how small Gracie was.

The second and third kittens came a few minutes apart. They were also gray, and smaller than the first. Then there was a long pause, more than an hour, and it seemed that the process was over, and that we had a litter of three kittens. But I thought I had seen more than three skulls on the X-ray.

By then it was two a.m. Lucian was exhausted and said goodnight. Gracie looked exhausted too.

I brought her water and wet kitten food, both of which she lapped up when I held the bowls under her chin.

Suddenly another kitten appeared. I waited for her to bend towards it and start licking off the birth sac, as she had with the first three, but she made no move to do so. She had lain her head down, and was looking at me with half-closed eyes. I picked up the newborn and placed it close to her face, and she finally began to wash it with her tongue.

This kitten looked very different from the first three, with dramatic black and brown stripes. A tiny tiger.

The fifth and final kitten was completely black, and arrived at about five a.m.

It was May 5, 2023, Cinco de Mayo. We gave the kittens temporary names of Uno, Dos, Tres, Quatro and Cinco, in order of birth. Only Uno stuck.

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