The kittens have all finally caught on to the whole process of nursing from a bottle. I think that they now recognize my scent and have associated it with food, because as soon as my hand goes into their nest box, the meowing begins. Theodore is the worst. He has a piercing Siamese meow, and he is more than willing to let me know that he is *not happy* when I choose one of his sisters for the first feeding. I am still concerned that he may be constipated, because his poor little anus looks redder than the others, and it seems to be protruding. I have tried stimulating him, but he has only peed for me so far.
All the kittens are gaining, and Shayla has regained her heavyweight title. Theodore has probably gained the greatest percentage, though. He is now above 6 oz.
I am particularly enjoying the time after they have been fed when they are fat, satisfied and cuddly. Shayla seems to love to curl up in my hand and purr. The knowledge that these kittens would have died if I had not taken responsibility for feeding them is rather overwhelming. I keep being reminded that I am actually making a difference. It's a really good feeling, particularly because there was a point just a few days ago where I was very frightened I would lose one or all of them. Seeing their little eyes opening, and the few tottering steps they are taking on their shaky legs reminds me daily of how precious they are to me.
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