We've brought in a large cage to keep the kittens
safe from themselves. These babies have the courage of lions and the common sense of a loaf of white bread.
They peer through the wire at the three big cats who register as toys in the kitten brain. Bad plan. Once released from their cage, kittens rush to their new playmates. Ock, the senior cat, loses air in a mighty hiss whenever he sees them. He escapes after slapping whoever is in his way.
The teen cats alternate between tentative play and streaking over the barrier closing off the living room. If either of the teens is cornered by a baby, she explodes into a hissing ball of fur. Hissing means little to these kittens.
They stand on their toes, puff up, and skitter around, crashing into big cats, each other, and furniture.
Everything is amazing to a kitten. Things tower above babies barely six inches tall. Mysterious things call . There's always a pair of hands snatching a kitten down from the top of something.The hands lock them into the boring cage to recharge for the next outing.
The bottle is retired and cat crunchers are almost the best thing invented. One of them will hustle to the food dish, throw an arm over it and start gobbling. The other two come up and get batted with the protective arm, while the busy jaws don't miss a single chomp. Bring in a dish of goat's milk, the supreme food of the universe, and the process repeats. Milk is harder to protect than crunchers; it can't be scraped up into a pile and laid upon. Kittens can growl while drinking, but yowling comes out bubbly. Whacking and slashing still works, but milk flies everywhere.
Once the kittens are out of the cage full time, the goat's milk will be discontinued. We're not feeding six cats on milk that's more expensive than the milk Art and I drink. There are limits to my generosity as the Mother of All Animals. Limits exist even for animals that get cuter every day.