Did Not Survive by Ann Littlewood Read Free Book Online

camera had showed a restless Losa turning on her straw bed, standing up only to lie down again. Several minutes ago, we’d spotted a small gray lump on the straw. Now Losa was lying curled around the lump, pink tongue at work. The light was too low for details, but it was clear that she was finally delivering her cubs. Or cub.
    Linda had phoned me twice. I’d missed the first call and laid in bed half asleep trying to figure out who it could have been and what to do. But she’d dialed again immediately and this time I’d lunged before voice mail kicked in.
    â€œLosa’s pacing around. I think this is it. Bye, gotta call Dr. Reynolds.” And she’d hung up.
    Here we were, heads bumping as we leaned our faces to the monitor—me, Linda, Kayla, and Dr. Reynolds. Dr. Reynolds relaxed on her chair as though this was exactly what she expected. Kayla fidgeted on a stool. Linda and I acted as though this were the first clouded leopard birth in the history of the planet.
    After several minutes of watching Losa alternate between licking her offspring and quietly panting, I stood up and started a pot of coffee. I’d brought some bananas and Linda had a bag of vegan oatmeal cookies, so I figured we would survive the morning’s drama.
    The clouded leopard coat pattern is irregular blotches—“clouds”—outlined in black and tan. They have gorgeous pelts and live in southeast Asia, in forests that are fast succumbing to loggers. It follows that they are at risk of extinction from hunting and habitat loss. They are not all that common in zoos, and it was a tribute to Wallace’s wheeling and dealing that we’d gotten a pair.
    In the next thirty minutes the cub managed to orient toward its mother’s belly and possibly suckled a little. We cheered its success and wondered if this chapter was over. Perhaps one cub was the allotment for this mating and pregnancy. I discovered I was rubbing my belly, unconsciously trying to include my inhabitant in our delight. Losa now knew more than I did about birth and nursing.
    Linda gnawed a cookie, never taking her eyes off the monitor.
    Kayla stood and stretched. “You guys look like you just won the lottery.” She sat back down and sighed.
    After a quiet period, I said, “What I keep thinking about is Wallace. Clouded leopards were such a big deal for him.”
    Linda said, “He asked me about them almost every day.”
    Dr. Reynolds looked interested.
    â€œHe spent most of a year trying to get a pair, while I was feline keeper,” I told her. “It was Christmas and Fourth of July when he found out Losa was available. Cubs were huge for him. Is he awake enough that we could tell him? Might cheer him up.”
    Dr. Reynold’s shoulders rounded forward. “I tried to visit him last night—earlier this night. He’s in ICU and I couldn’t get in. The nurses are circumspect, but my impression is that he’s still unconscious.”
    â€œIs that another one?” Linda’s voice cut through my concern.
    We stared even harder and muttered—“Did that dark bit to the left move?” “Is that a head?” “What’s that behind her leg?”—until we were all satisfied. Two cubs.
    â€œThey are so
cute
,” Kayla warbled. She had to be using mostly imagination given the low light level. “Is there anything cuter than baby kittens?”
    â€œCubs, not kittens,” Linda said absently. “Like lions.”
    Even though clouded leopards are technically “big cats,” classified with lions and tigers, they weigh only thirty to fifty pounds. Losa was toward the small end.
    Losa focused on the second baby while the first squirmed about randomly. Linda’s face looked as though she were about to ascend to a new level of existence well above our ordinary lives. “Two,” she breathed. “One more? How about one more?”
    I handed out