PART III. THE LIFE CYCLE A tiny, unseeing kitten is born. Within weeks her mother imparts the lessons of adulthood. A hunter’s acute senses and perfectly engineered body develop. Graceful, inscrutable, playful and independent, the cat is a fine pet for understanding humans.

Chapter 8. Growing Up

The life expectancy of a cat is; about 12 years. Fifteen, however, is not unusual and an occasional stubborn old puss will hang on till 21 or 22. The popular notion is that one cat year is the equivalent of seven man years, but like so many human pronouncements about cats it is (1) interesting and (2) inaccurate. According to this scale the cat would be capable of bearing young at the equivalent of 3Vz years and of resisting time's ravages to the age of 154, neither of which have been accomplished by any humans lately, if ever.

The usual allotment of 12 years seems to be enough time for the cat to do all she might care, or reasonably expect, to do, and is quite long enough for her to become a fixture in human lives and for sadness to be felt at her departure.

The cat begins life as an appealingly helpless little critter, blind, deaf and toothless. Its four-inch body wears a first thin coat of fur, marked and colored in the pattern which will distinguish it as an adult. Its sleeping kitten face is oddly like a tiger's, principally because the prominent ears are, at this stage, very small, rounded rather than pointed, and set far back on the head.

For the first few days of its life the kitten rests, bunched up, in the dim light of the nesting place, or crawls feebly among its fellows, con­scious of nothing except its mother's warmth and the touch of the milk it eagerly and persistently sucks.

The kitten is soon able to smell and taste, and then hear. The eyes remain tightly closed, however; sight is still a week or so away. The kit­ten eats and sleeps—a completely self-centered existence, warm, soft and nourishing.

The opening eyes are blank and blue, and will be highly sensitive to strong light for some days to come. As a rule, the eyes open in any­where from eight days to two weeks, and are adaptable to extremes of light and

dark at a month or five weeks. But the timing in these devel­opments is subtle and very much up to the individual. Once it can see, the kitten naturally seems perkier, although it actually is still very lim­ited in its capacity to support itself and move around.

At a month the teeth begin to grow—a baby set which will be shed and replaced, as in humans.

And at five weeks the kitten enters the stage at which its charm is quite irresistible. It stands, staunch and rubber-legged, peering at the gigantic world with round, blue, button eyes. The inexperienced senses seek to translate the incredible events of each new day. The ears are up, the whiskers a-twitch, the ratty little tail held high.

The innocent face is humorous, the more so for its intense unaware-ness of the fact. The erect, exclamatory eyebrows and, often, the ran­dom accents of color create an expression of perpetual surprise. Alto­gether the kitten looks like a ferocious pansy.

Training for Adulthood

A litter of these small clowns is great sport to watch at this time. They are alert, lively, and however aimless their play may seem, seri­ously in training for the business of being cats. They wrestle mightily with each other, always seeking the underneath position and the oppor­tunity of raking the enemy's unprotected belly with their powerful hind claws. They pounce on anything that moves intriguingly, including the mother cat's tail. They tussle, tumble and dance. They dine ecstatically and sleep in a huddle.

Perhaps most delightful are the infant approximations of big-cat behavior. Each tiny back arches at the threat of danger. A dreadful grimace twists the baby face and from the pink mouth issues a soft warning hiss, sounding very much like the exhalations of a steam iron. Otherwise, for normal use, the voice of the kitten is high and squeaky-sounding like  "eeee" or "eee-you."

Each day, each week, is one of achievement. At six weeks the teeth are in. By seven or eight the unsteady legs are firm. By eight or nine, the kittens are big enough to be weaned, although it may take a fright­ening, unexpected snarl from mother, or a cuff from her paw to con­vince them of it.

By now, too, they will have become distinct personalities. Or, at least, one will have asserted itself as boss of the litter, stronger, rougher, first at the dinner table, always at the center of the bed. Very likely, too, this is the one which will learn the most, and learn it most quickly.

Kitten Becomes Cat

The kitten, of course, inevitably becomes cat and in the transition unfortunately loses its charm for many people. This is short-sighted in the extreme. For the young cat, sound of wind and limb, is about ready to enter a lifetime of service in the war on rodents. Whether in the city or the country, the cat is a valuable ally to have. (Not all cats—there are some shirkers. For reasons never satisfactorily explained, some cats, like some humans, never do a lick of work, although they dress well and are otherwise pleasant company. It's not necessarily a matter of home training, for other cats in the family may be excellent hunters. It may be that the gold bricks just don't like mice.)

At five months the kitten coat is shed and the coarser permanent fur comes in. The baby teeth usually go now, too (although maybe not until seven months), and the business-like adult set, numbering 28, ap­pears. This includes 12 incisors (six each in the upper and lower jaws), four canines, eight premolars and four molars. The incisors bite food into manageable pieces for chewing by the molars. The canines, long and slightly curved, are available to deliver piercing bites to mouse or rat.

By eight months the female cat is physically mature, and in nine to 12, the male. The kitten cuteness will have disappeared, but in its place will be the sleek efficiency of the young, wonderfully functional adult cat. From the tip of the sensitive stub nose to the tip of the flickering tail, she—or he—is a marvel of construction.

The skeleton is engineered to bear the stresses and strains of all movements, whether they involve a powerful, spring-legged leap or a swivel of the head to wash a spot in the middle of the back. The muscles are strung to allow great flexibility and agility. They are keenly respon­sive to the brain's command—as anyone knows who has watched a cat's broken-field running in pursuit of quarry or in flight from a dog. The curved, retractable claws, sheathed in repose, are capable of supporting the cat's weight in climbing or of dealing a raking slash to the face or body of an enemy. The skin is loose-fitting, making it difficult for a foe to seize more than a mouthful of fur and giving the cat maneuverability to twist and turn, even when held.

The senses are acute, particularly those of sight and hearing. While cats cannot see in complete darkness, they can see better than humans in dim light because their pupils dilate more and thus make better use of the available illumination. They are also aided in seeing by their whiskers, which are not a measure of the cat's width, as is often thought, but serve as feelers in determining the shape and location of objects.

As far as hearing goes, the cat is far superior to man. In fact, it's very likely that the cat's intent concentration on high-frequency sounds inaudible to man gave rise to the belief that cats could see ghosts and hear

spirit voices. Unless, of course, cats do in fact see ghosts and hear spirit voices but are too unimpressed to mention it.

The virtues of the young cat are many, her wants simple, her faults few. She is clean, tidy and odorless. She is quiet, graceful and well-man­nered, courteous to adults and kind to children. She appreciates good food, but is very adaptable and has been known to subsist on quite bi­zarre diets. She welcomes a place to sleep that is her own but is also content to make a nightly choice of chair, couch, or her owner's bed if this is all the household offers.

The flaws in her character and behavior are actually inherent in being cat and annoy only man. These are her—or his—urgent and un­abashed sexual performances and the howling attendant on them; the tormenting of captive rodents; and the inability to distinguish between the songbirds that inscrutable man cherishes (good birds) and the others (unimportant birds).

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