The birth of my first child was an intense, frightening experience. Babs was 4 days overdue, and having gained over 60 pounds in my pregnancy (which we found out later was due to untreated medical issues) I was a quivering blob of uncomfortable fat. I begged my doctor to induce me to end my suffering. After 12 hours of labor and 3 hours of pushing, I was spent. I couldn’t go on. The baby hadn’t moved an inch, and she had gone into distress several times. We decided to do a C-section. My recovery was difficult, to say the least. My body was so drained from the unsuccessful labor, that it had no reserves left to heal from major surgery. I was in a lot of pain, taking some major drugs for the pain, and barely able to care for myself let alone this tiny new baby.

The morning that I went in to be induced, I was not the only one about to have a baby. My cat and I had been pregnant at the same time, and as we left to go to the hospital, she had already had three of her five kitten litter. I was worried about her all that day, and during my stay at the hospital I had my mom and husband drive to my house several times to check on her. She was a first-time mother, just like me.

When I was finally able to come home, I was struck by how the mewling of her little kittens sounded remarkably like the squeaks my own child made. My cat and I both took to parenting with tentative ease, both of us constantly hovering over our babies and jumping to tend to their every need. We struggled to master our new roles as mothers, nursing and bathing our babies, and trying to take care of our own sore bodies. While Babs thrived, however, my cat’s babies grew steadily weaker. Three of them stopped eating completely, and their pitiful cries (sounding so much like little Babs’) were more than I could bear.

A woman from my church had been coming over regularly since the birth of my baby, bringing me meals and helping with the housework. Before she had her own children, she had worked as an assistant at a veterinarian’s office, and she recognized the kittens’ sudden decline as Fading Kitten Syndrome. She came over at least once a day to help me try to get the kittens to eat, and then to bury the first two that passed away. She held Babs while I sobbed uncontrollably at the sight of my cat searching the entire house for her two missing babies. When it was clear that the little black and white kitten was too weak to nurse from his mother, she took him home with her so I wouldn’t have to hear his suffering cries. She tried to feed him kitten formula with a tiny bottle, and warmed him on a heating pad on her lap until with one last shuddering breath, he finally let go. She called me to break the sad news gently, comforting me with kind reminders that he was no longer in pain and that it was meant to be.

With the sick kittens gone, the remaining two had enough milk and their mother’s attention to slowly regain their strength. A few weeks later, they were healthy and strong enough to go to their new homes.

I will never forget the kindness this woman showed me. She went above and beyond the bounds of our friendship, stepping in to fill a need I was unable to handle on my own. Her kind, unselfish, and insightful acts will live on in my heart forever.

By the way, the little tortoiseshell kitten with the fluffy tail now lives a spoiled, happy life with my friend and her family.