Yesterday was Mothers Day, which doesn’t have a lot of direct relevance in this household any more: all our parental units are all long gone, and we’ve no offspring of our own. We used to have kids, but got shut of them when the cats developed allergies. They never write, they never call. At least the cats bring us animal parts, some still moving.
One of our cats — Cammy — is a mother. In a moment of lunacy, we adopted her and two of her five kittens, the first and last born. She was a very good mom, keeping them fed, clean, and protected, until they grew independent. Five years later, it’s like she doesn’t know who they are and couldn’t give a damn. The two little ones, who used to chase each other and roll around playfully for hours, pass within inches of one another as if each were invisible. They don’t remember Mama, either.
Cats. Sentimental as seaweed.
Pictured here is Cammy the Mammy, doing on Mothers Day what she does best: sleeping on strange perches. This time it’s Guido’s abandoned worm farm/composter. It sort of gives a new meaning to the expression, “dirt nap.”
Obalesque 
I assume you had Cammy neutered, and that was her final litter?
Correct. That didn’t stem the flow entirely, though: we brought another 2 cats in afterwards. The count stands at 7 now, and holding.
No, Babs, we did not neuter Cammy. You neuter males. Females you spay; and yes we had Cammy spayed even before she stopped nursing.