All of my good intentions of moving my bedtime to a more reasonable hour flew out the window last night, as I watched Calypso in labor on livestream. It took her days of dithering before she finally went into active labor, struggling to push out the first kitten. Somewhere well past midnight, a very tiny kitten emerged, smaller than usual, and the foster mom immediately knew there was a problem. The baby had a congenital deformity, and was stillborn. It was heartbreaking, listening to the pain in the foster mom's voice, as she came to terms with it. But there was little time to dwell on it, as the mama cat started pushing again only a few minutes later. There was great relief, all around the world, among the 2500 or so of us watching, when a healthy female tuxedo kitten came along. I tried so hard to stay awake to see the rest of Calypso's giant belly empty, but I couldn't do it. I fell asleep on the couch, waking only enough to close the computer screen an hour or so later. If there were more Tiny Dancer kittens at that point, I wasn't alert enough to know it. I woke again at dawn, and checked back to see the very last birth, what appears to be a dark tortie. I missed a solid black kitten, another dark tortie, and two ginger boys. It surprises me how easy it is to get emotionally invested in a litter of kittens over 3,000 miles away, but I find that I am. This is now the safest way for me to "raise" kittens--virtually. No mess, no fuss. I have plenty of mess and enough fussiness to last a lifetime here already.
I love the early spring here. I get to have beautiful colors and outside time months ahead of most of the country. I had my hanging baskets up on the deck by the beginning of March. There's a cost associated with this. While the rest of the country is just starting to plant outside, and Colorado is learning a whole new vocabulary of curse words for snow in mid-May, I'm already running the a/c on high, and the cats miss having the back door open so they can go in and out at will. Those first flowers I planted in March are starting to burn up, as summer temperatures make an early appearance. I have to pull out a few that didn't make it, and put in some fresh flowers that love heat. A line of thunderstorms is due to blow through tomorrow, and bring back seasonal temps afterward, so I will wait until Friday to make the swap. While I'm out, I will throw another cupful of acidifying fertilizer under the hydrangeas. The blooms are still more white than blue. This won't do. The oak leaf hydrangea will provide plenty of white flowers. I need blue.
The dogs got to go visit their favorite home away from home. Like any child, my little red-headed dog embarrasses me in public. He can't set foot in the vet clinic or the kennel side without barking like a fool, especially when he catches sight of his girlfriend, the main kennel tech. We saw her twice during this trip, once when we went for the kennel cough vaccine, and again when we persuaded her to trim both dogs' nails. (The professional eater was rocking a Wolverine look.) I don't know why she puts up with these doofy dogs. I have a sneaking suspicion that the red-headed dog barks non-stop from the time I drop them off to the time I pick them up, every time I go out of town. I wouldn't be able to stand it.
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