Kitten Nuances: Sibling Suckling, Vet Visits, and Why the Girls Are Winning
By Ashley Schausten
Today I loaded four kittens into a carrier and took them to the vet. Yes, I am aware I have become the helicopter mom I once made fun of. I have made my peace with it.
First, the news: everyone is healthy. Growing, gaining, thriving — all four are doing exactly what they should be doing, and hearing that is worth every gray hair. I needed to hear it, because when you're raising kittens by hand, every sneeze is a crisis and every quiet hour is a reason to go check that they're still breathing.
Here's what I'm learning, though: kittens are weird, and there is a whole vocabulary of kitten nuances nobody hands you a manual for. Take the dreaded sibling suckling — one kitten nursing on a sibling's ear, or tail, or, ahem, other parts. It looks alarming. It's actually a comfort behavior, a leftover from missing their mama, and it's mostly harmless as long as nobody's getting sore. But it will absolutely make you do a double take the first time you witness it.
Then there's the developmental scoreboard, which the girls are currently winning. Daphne and Velma figured out play — the pouncing, the batting, the wrestling — noticeably faster than the boys. Girls, apparently, are just quicker on the uptake. Shaggy and Freddy are catching on, though, and today Shaggy had a real breakthrough: he discovered the toy mice. He spent the rest of the vet visit darting around the exam table with one in his mouth, looking so proud of himself I nearly cried. Freddy will get there. Freddy is busy being Freddy.
And I know what's coming. I always know what's coming, and I still let myself fall for them every single time. One day — sooner than I want — these four will be ready, someone wonderful will come meet them, and I'll hand them over, and it will be a hard, hard day for me. Bittersweet is the only word for it. It's the part of foster life that never makes the cute photos: the goodbye.
But here's what I've decided about that. If all I get is the time I have with them right now — the bottle feedings, the pile of warm tabbies, the toy mouse victory lap — then I'll take it. Every single time. That's the deal, and it's a good one.
For now, they're healthy, they're loved, and Shaggy still has his mouse.
