“Daddy, how about the bottom wardrobe drawer?”
“Perfect! Pile everything on a bunk. Pad it. Use my hunting jacket. Duke, rig a frame to support a blanket; she’ll want a little cave she’ll feel safe in. You know.”
“Of course we know,” Karen chided. “Quit jittering, Daddy. This isn’t our first litter.”
“Sorry, baby. We are about to have a kitten. See that, Joe?” Fur rippled from the cat’s middle down toward the tail, then did so again.
Karen hurriedly threw everything out of the lowest wardrobe drawer, placed it against the wall and put the hunting jacket in it, rushed back. “Did I miss it?”
“No,” Hugh assured her. “But right now!”
Doe stopped panting to give one wail and was delivered of a kitten in two quick convulsions.
“Why, it’s wrapped in cellophane,” Barbara said wonderingly.
“Didn’t you know?” asked Karen. “Daddy, it’s gray! Doe, where have you been? Though maybe I shouldn’t bring that up.”
Neither Hugh nor Dr. Livingstone answered. The mother cat started vigorously licking her offspring, broke the covering, and tiny ratlike arms and legs waved helplessly. A squeak so thin and high as to be almost inaudible announced its opinion of the world. Doe bit the cord and went on licking, cleaning off blood and mucus and purring loudly at the same time. The baby didn’t like it and again vented almost silent protest.
“Boss,” demanded Joe, “what’s wrong with it? It’s so skinny and little.”
“Its a fine kitten. It’s a pretty baby, Doe. He’s a bachelor, he doesn’t know.” Hugh spoke cooingly and rubbed the eat between her ears. He went on in normal tones, “And the worst ease of bar sinister I ever saw-smooth-haired, tiger-striped, and gray.”
Doe looked up reprovingly, gave a shudder and delivered the afterbirth, began chewing the bloody mass. Barbara gulped and rushed to the door, fumbled at a bolt. Karen went after her, opened it and steadied her while she threw up.
“Duke!” Hugh snapped. “Bear guard!”
Duke followed them, stuck his head out. Karen said, “Go ‘way! We’re safe. Bright moonlight.”
“Well. . . leave the door open.” He withdrew.
Karen said, “I thought you weren’t having morning sickness?”
“I’m not. Oh!” Retching again hit her. “It was what Doe did.”
“Oh, that. Cats always do that. Let me wipe your mouth, dear.”
“It’s awful.”
“It’s normal. Good for them. Hormones, or something; you can ask Hugh. All right now?”
“I think so. Karen! We don’t have to do that? Do we? I won’t, I won’t!”
“Huh? Oh! Never thought of it. Oh, I know we don’t-or they would have told us in Smut One.”
“Lots of things they don’t mention in Smut One,” Barbara said darkly. “When I had to take it, it was taught by an old maid. But I won’t. I’ll resign first, not have this baby.”
“Comrade,” Karen said grimly, “that’s something we both should have thought of earlier. Stand aside, it’s my turn to heave.”
Presently they went inside, pale but steady. Dr. Livingstone had three more kittens and Barbara managed to watch without further rushes for the door. Of the other birthings only the third was notable: a tiny tomcat but large in its tininess. He was a breech presentation, the skull did not pass easily, and Doe in her pain clamped down.
Hugh was busy at once, pulling gently on the little body with his whole hand and sweating like a surgeon. Doe wailed and bit his thumb. He did not let it stop him nor hurry him.
Suddenly the kitten came free; he bent over and blew in its mouth, was rewarded with a thin, indignant squeak. He put the baby down, let Dr. Livingstone clean it. “That was close,” he said shakily.
“Old Doe didn’t mean to,” Joe said softly.
“Of course not. Which of you girls feels like fixing this for me?”
Barbara dressed the wound, while telling herself that she must not, must not, bite when her own time came.
The kittens were, in order, smooth-haired gray, fluffy white, midnight black with white jabot and mittens, and calico. After much argument between Karen and Joe, they were named: Happy New Year, Snow Princess Magnificent, Dr. Ebony Midnight, and Patchwork Girl of Oz-Happy, Maggie, Midnight, and Patches.