Those clumsy, uncoordinated, frightened feral furballs I captured on Tuesday? Tiny, shivering, and as weak as the proverbial?
They learned to get down from the sofa yesterday. This morning, they learned to climb onto it. They haven't quite figured out what those spikey black plastic things are for, though pushing them down onto a sibling on the floor seems to be fun.
I had to upgrade their containment facility, first from the cardboard box to a large storage bin for more room, and then adding a rim at the top to discourage escape, as one of them, after the first night in the bin, started jumping-and-scrambling over what had seemed a perfectly adequate wall.
Shown with a random military artifact for scale.
Update: General impression at this point is that they were born sometime during Saturnalia week, and may even be Children of the Mayan Apocalypse.
Which means they don't get the neutrino conversion until about the end of February, and adoption has to wait until sometime in March.
Meanwhile, they have names. Sorting the cats by time of capture, and the bushes where they were hiding by distance from the shed, we have: Huckleberry (short-haired tabby), Top Hat (long-haired tabby with the hooked tail), and Southmoon (the Siamese-looking one).
Now that they've decided I'm not making kitten pie, they seem to appreciate being someplace warm and safe, with plenty of food and stuff to play with. It's probably time to put a kitten barrier in the hallway, though; having them wandering around in my office would be a bad idea, for a variety of reasons, so it's best if they don't wander beyond the living room.
Update 2, Sunday morning: ICF v2.1 didn't last so long. I figured I'd have another several days before Southmoon was big enough to jump out. Nope! After their morning romp, I put the tired little kitties back in their bin and set about gathering my laundry. On my way out the door with the gathered laundry, I paused to say bye-bye, and the kitten inventory was one short already.
Fortunately, a friend had dropped off a loaner cage, with cold iron bars all around, just in time for this eventuality.