kitten rearing details

the kittens, my veritable children, who i have raised from wee two-week-old squirmy screamers into teenaged pre-cats, are about five months old now.  they get into lots of trouble and have an almost disturbingly keen ability to seek out and destroy any and all plastic bags (and their contents).  tonight, on the eve of what may be their five-month birthday (what would be a bigger deal if a) celebrating (cat) birthdays every month wasn't insane and b) we knew when exactly they were born), i took a shower, which i can longer do with the door closed because abe goes absolutely ballistic outside a closed door if i'm behind it.  while i showered, abe sat on top of the toilet lid frantically howling, despite being able to see me, as if he thought a giant loud, wet, glass-shielded monster was trying to eat the very sweet, loving girl who had gently hand-raised him and his brother since before they could see.  this incredible outpouring of pure kitten devotion made me think that perhaps i should make some note of their notable anniversary, because they'd do it for me (if they had opposable thumbs and access to computers).

here are abe and huck, in baby form, with a phone (for scale, of course):

this, i believe, was taken on the first day we had the boys - just after they were delivered to us from the desert where luke's brother found them in a carport.  they were so frightening.  they were so small and fragile and not having human children, i'd never before experienced the absolute horror that comes with the realization that these new living things were totally dependent on me.  i like to joke about it now that i've gotten past it, but last october, when i took a leave of absence from my job for a "care-taking emergency," i spent lots and lots of time crying hysterically by myself in the apartment, sure i was going to overfeed or underfeed the kittens or, worst of all, not keep precise enough notes on how many times i was able to get them to "eliminate" (one of the banes of my existence was holding their tiny, wailing little bodies over the equally tiny litter box, q-tip in hand, to try to stimulate them to poo).  i initially fudged a little to get out of working in order to stay home to provide constant care to the cats (i'm sure my boss thought i was taking care of people), but as i slowly slipped into an insanity bred of stress and cabin fever, my weeks off from work became just as much about dealing with my post-college graduation/new kitten mother anxiety as they were about nursing the little orphans back to health.  i started snapping out of it with each independent thing the kittens were able to do.  when they used the litter box by themselves or began to lap milk from a dish (and later to eat solid food) or started to lope around like little hobbits on their wobbly legs, i felt better and better.  i literally cried when they learned how to run, because i knew they were on their way to self-sufficiency.  now, several months and a much better job later, i'm fine.  and i can appreciate how adorable they are.  plus, i think we're bonded for life, after the harrowing experience of raising (and being raised by) a member of another species.  they sleep on my face at night and are like little shadows that trail me around the house.  i've actually started feeling sorry for our two older cats, who could never get as much attention, if only because they're respectful enough not to try to suffocate me while i'm in bed.

never in my life did i think i'd be a cat person.  but i also never thought i'd feed little clawed babies milk replacement formula in miniature bottles while checking the consistency of their excrement, so i guess anything's possible.