Everybody Wants to Be a Cat

Lately I've been missing my cat -- or to be more precise, my sister's cat. Charlene died in March this year while my parents were in the Dominican Republic celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary.

We've always been cat people: my parents had two cats in the earlier stages of their relationship, Ginger and Twinkle (Ginger, the black "mutt" type, was so named because she and her brother Fred used to "dance," like Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers). They also had a German shepherd named Heidi who was of less-than-average intelligence, even for a dog. She died before I was around, having eaten a raw chicken.

Since then, my parents have been cats-only, and my sister and I grew up with cats. Twinkle, the sweet, older-than-dirt seal point Siamese, was fairly tolerant of us as kids. Ginger hated us (well, we were kids; we wanted to hold and pet). They both passed when we were 7-8 and 5-6. Twinkle was 21.

Charlene and Snowpaws were giveaway kittens from my dad's route (he worked for the post office, delivering mail until he retired almost 5 years ago) -- someone who didn't spay their female cat. So my dad brought two replacement cats home in a cardboard box: Charlene, a skinny black cat who clearly had tiger stripes when she sat in the sun, and Snowpaws, her black-with-white-chest-and-feet, Maine Coon-looking brother. Snowpaws ran away after about three years. We put up signs and hoped and prayed, but eventually figured someone else was feeding him, because he never came back.

A few years later we got a chocolate-point apple-head Siamese, Coco Puff. Appleheads, as you can see from the photo, are built more like typical American Shorthairs, not super-skinny with angular features like wedgehead Siamese cats -- that's what Twinkle was.

So Sara and I grew up with mainly Charlene and Coco, who (like many cats) loved to sit in the windows. Even when it was cold, they still sat on the backs of chairs to get a good look at what was going on outside -- especially at the living room window in front. Charlene loved that window, and would sit there every year during Beggars' Night. It was really uncanny.

Once I moved out and into an apartment of my own with my (now) husband, I got cats of my own, Trouble and Tiger (you can probably guess what he looks like; I'll just say he's orange rather than grey). Adam even loves them. Well, really, he loves all kitties. He gets excited every time he sees one, even if it's ours that he sees every day.

But I've still come home to my childhood cats and they're still my cats. I even think of my sister-in-law's cat as somewhat my cat, because the in-laws are my family now too, and family cats belong to everyone in the family. Plus, Griffin loves me. (Then again, so do most of the strays in the neighborhood -- we have a ton of those. Must just be my animal magnetism. That and my secret desire to adopt them all.)

After Adam was born, I didn't cry much. I cried all the time when I was pregnant, and really I cried a lot even before that. I suffer from chronic clinical depression, and I've been on and off of medications for the past seven years. But somehow, after we brought the baby home from the hospital, I only expressed negative feelings with anger and frustration; I never cried. So when Charlene died, my sister cried for a whole week. Me? I cried when I found out that she died in her sleep. But then I didn't cry again. Not until I read a really sad blog.

Now Halloween is drawing closer once again. I've been thinking about how for 15 years, Charlene sat in that window, and I bragged to my friends that I had a cat content enough to be part of the decorations. I love my current cats, of course.

But I still miss my kitty.





This post was written for Parent Bloggers Network as part of a sweepstakes sponsored by Burger King Corp. If you'd like to participate (and be entered for a chance to win a $250 VISA gift card!), write your own post about your pets by midnight tonight (Pacific Time). Click on the PBN link above for details.

Also, sorry for the depressing nature of this particular post. I promise my next post will be lighter.

Haiku Friday #2: Crappy week

Husband is busy
Baby refuses to sleep
These make me grouchy

Bureaucrat bullshit
Three days ago, then next day
A speeding ticket

How can my sister
Cry her way out of one?
It's happened twice now.

Yet another job
That might as well be performed
By ruthless robots

For all the pity
And compassion I receive
From each cop I've met.

Today was better
Until my husband came home
(Just kidding, sweetheart).

Oh, well, at least I got a break while my mom watched the baby today. He took three naps today! But they each lasted 25, 35, then 15 minutes. Look at the time of this post. He literally went down 10 minutes ago. And that after staying up late last night. Grrrr. Argh. (Points if you know what that's from.)

But blogging always makes me feel better after he's gone to sleep (actually, they both are -- Brandon has another sub job in the morning), especially because the kitties take advantage of my empty lap.

Haiku Friday is fun, people! Look how much I saved on therapy this week. :) But really, come and play. Check out more haiku at Christina's blog, leave comments, click around archives, spread the bloggy love!



Oh, and on a completely unrelated note, I am looking for a new blog design (not that I don't like this one, but it's a little dull for me). I may be experimenting with these in the next week or so. Be sure to stop by early and often and let me know what you think!

Nap time

Monday was great! Or so I thought....

It was a normal day, at first. I woke up, got ready for the day, Adam woke up, and a few hours later was about ready for a nap. Now, he is a short napper. I count myself lucky if he sleeps for an hour or more. Typically, he naps for 30 to 45 minutes, but sometimes he wakes up after 20 minutes with that "Hi, Mom! I'm awake now" smile and I know I'm screwed.

But lately I've been trying to encourage longer naptimes. I usually wait until I hear him crying (or talking to himself) to go in, to make sure he's not just "sleep whimpering," and instead of picking him up and assuming he's done sleeping, I offer to nurse him a little. If he still needs to finish his nap, he'll go back to sleep within five or ten minutes. That usually ensures a total nap time of an hour or two.

So I put him down as usual, and half an hour later, he started to fuss. I put him back to sleep, and he continued to nap for another two and a half hours! I was ecstatic! Too bad I didn't take advantage of it and get some laundry done. Instead, I sat on my tush and read blogs. Bad mommy. I did go in to check on him, just to make sure he was still breathing -- just look what I found!

I figured he wouldn't need another nap that day and maybe even go to bed early. He didn't need a second nap, but he went to bed around an hour later than usual. But that wasn't the worst part. He woke up five hours after he went to bed, and didn't go back to sleep at all until a nap late Tuesday afternoon. We went to the pool with some friends, and he usually gets tired with the sun and the heat, and he didn't even fall asleep in his stroller this week.

I felt better after talking to Kendra, my aunt-in-law. Apparently her daughter Zoe (almost 18 months) was a terror the other day after not getting the nap she needed until 3 or 4 hours later. They had to get pictures taken for passports because they're taking a trip to Canada (am I the only person who thinks the need for a passport to get into Canada is ridiculous?).

He had a two and a half hour nap today. Hopefully he won't wake up super-de-duper early again tomorrow. I have a job interview in the morning and need those precious last two hours or so of sleep. Of course, if I'm tired in the morning, it will be my fault, because I'm sitting here typing instead of having gone to bed an hour ago (or more).

Eh. I think I'll remedy that.