Can You Hear the Heat?

I can.

Foster cat thought to be pregnant is not. I thought all along she was not. But the vet said yes, the people at the shelter I work with said yes, so she (Nina) remained.

She's put on a fair amount of weight since arriving here. Her coat is glossy and her eyes are clear. But the weight is not widening, firm weight. It's squishy "I get feed when I'm hungry and I sleep on pillows" weight.

This weekend, as my sister Dianne and my brother Paul and I painted the new family room and moved the furniture in, Nina cried plaintively from her room.* Dianne thought she was lonely. I knew better.

She does what I call the "Butt Dance." All who approach are greeted by a view of her furry bottom and her twitching tail. The legs dance in a frenzied up and down motion as if she were tap dancing on a hot skillet.

Her cries, sad at first, are now loud and constant. Each female has her own song of abject horniness. Nina's is:

"Meow! Meow! Eck-burr! Eck-burrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

All day.

All night.

"Meow! Meow! Eck-burr! Eck-burrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

Save me.





She's isolated due to FIV.