Little rats on the floor

I'm staying with my bff's mother- Marilyn- for the summer. This small piece of information will help immensely with the rest of the story.

Anywhozers, Marilyn's spastic cat Snowball, appropriately named as she is stark white, was totes prego recently. I was on kitty watch, seeing as how Marilyn's and I's work schedule was different. She'd watch her when she could, vise versa.
One day I was coming home from work, walked in and saw a bloodbath and a small rat on the linoleum in the kitchen, Fig sniffing at it. "What the eff did you do this time Fig?" I asked my pear-shaped kitty. She was known for terrorizing things.  I called Marilyn, asking what towels were okay to use to clean up such a disaster.
"A rat? How did a rat get in the house?" She asked. I heard a small cry. Oh shit. I looked at the rat on the ground. No movement. "You don't think Snowball gave birth, do ya?" Ohhh shit batman.  I look at Fig, she looks at me. I look over to the one-eyed cat Cupcake, she looks at me and runs, as she always did. I look at Snowball on the couch. She looks at me. I get closer. She looks at me. " I don't think so, she's just sitting on the couch." I go back to the rat on the floor, looking a bit beyond it and seeing a large pool of blood on the top of the stairs. I hear the small noise again.
    I get really close to the thing on the floor- it MEWS AT ME! OH SHIT BATMAN! "Marilyn, the rat on the floor is a baby! The crazy bitch shit a baby in the kitchen!" I say. "Oh no! I'm coming home now!" I call the boyfriend- expert on cats and such. " TAKATAKATAKA! THERE'S A BABY ON THE FLOOR! SNOWBALL HAD HER BABIES! THERE'S A CRUSTED BABY ON THE FLOOR!"
To which he replies calmly, as he does, " Well, poor a little warm water on it, not hot, and pick it up with a towel, give it to Snowball and see what she does." I do the following, as soon as the water hits the baby, I see now that it is lively and noisy. I bring it to Snowball on the couch, she looks at it, licks it, and starts vigorously cleaning it as it looks to feed. I notice something black in her fur - it's another baby. Crazy bitch already picked a favourite child. "Tak, there's two babies!"
"Two? " He says, " Only two? There should be at least eight."
Oh shit.
"You're telling me I have to go hunting for babies?"
"Yes, check everywhere- under beds, behind couches, under tables..."
What the hell. To all prego cat owners out there, if you know that your cat is gonna be popping babies, for the love of God, pen her up. Just shove her in a cage for a few weeks.
I started my voyage checking upstairs, then went back to the blood spot above the stairs- I started down the stairs only to be stopped by another blood-crusted baby on the second step!
"WHAT THE EFF?! SHE'S A TERRIBLE MOTHER! TAKA THERE'S A BABY ON THE STAIRS! THE STAIRS DUDE!!"
He calmly replies, "Well, do the same thing with it, give it to Snowball." So I do.
Again, she decides NOW to be a mother, and takes the child.
"Awwww look at the babies!" Blah blah blah, freakin out on the phone
*FAST FORWARD*
Marilyn comes home-
"Oh my God!" She exclaims as I tell the tale of the baby hunt.
We get the blood cleaned up, I'm sitting on the couch opposite Snowball and her starving minions, when all of a sudden she jumps out of her little  square home thing, sniffs at her twaa, licks some blood, Marilyn says " Oh I think she's just cleaning herself." BAM. She shits out another baby, and leaves it to go back to her square home thing with the other babies! We act quickly and put the baby with the others.
"Oh they're all so cute!" She says. "That one is Tiffany! The lightest. That one can be taka! Since he's the cat master and knew what the heck was going on!" She was ecstatic.
*FAST FORWARD*
The next evening, driving home from work (20 minute drive) Marilyn calls- "Are you off work?"
"Yes coming home now did you need something?"
"They're dying! All the babies are dying! Snowball has faulty tits!"
WHAT THE EFF SNOWBALL!!
I get a baby bottle and some formula for the little day-old things, and speed 90 or so home. Get there, find out that they don't even know how to bottle feed until 5 weeks old. So what do we do? Hold Snowball down and let the -last- baby feed.
Three died before I got home. "Maybe they're just really tired?" I say with hope.
Marilyn stared me down. "Tiffany, they're dead."
Heart break.

Moral of the story? I was serious, cage those pregnant bastards!