Only days ago the kitten was blind, following the milky scent to her mother, wriggling next to her siblings in the warm spring sunshine. I've got to hand it to Cleo, she picked a fine place to birth them. It's a kind of alcove behind our cottage, maybe once it was for keeping firewood dry. Now though it has an old couch in it, sticking up on one end with one side to the elements. All in all it's sheltered, cozy and close to home. I've sat here cross legged for too many hours already, balancing my chemistry books on my knee - hoping to see them come out. Then after what seems like forever Cleo comes out looking perfect as ever, somehow cats seem to roll with having multiple babies in a way we humans can't. Or maybe she's tired? How would you tell with a cat? I jump. Behind her comes a kitten, trotting out on legs shorter than matchsticks, yowling after its mother. Cleo turns and picks it up in her mouth, returning it to her "nest" and then she returns. When she almost reaches me for her cuddles we both hear another newborn yowl. Now two, no three, no four kittens are trotting after her, moving over the short grass like it's an un-mown prairie. This time Cleo is faster, but each time she takes in a kitten another tumbles out. Then finally she gives up and instead walks around them while they explore the back yard. This isn't "Cleo the relaxed," Cleo who lies for hours in front of the fire or on my bed, the is "Cleo the new mother" and I guess this is her version of "new mother stress."

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 28, 2015.