The nursery diary

They arrived in the second week of September and the house has not been quiet since. At this age a kitten is not much more than a warm weight in the palm of your hand: eyes still shut, ears still folded down, entirely occupied with finding milk and staying close to somebody warm.

Both mothers are doing beautifully. The cream and cinnamon babies are already the noisy ones, and there is a black kitten in a mint collar who has worked out the fastest route to the front of the queue. We weigh everybody daily and write it all down, which is the least romantic and most important part of the whole job.