The Heaviest of Kittens

Today I journeyed into the rain with two of the sweetest friends I’ve ever had.  I carried them in a plastic box, balanced to my side awkwardly like a five gallon bucket of slop in danger of spilling.  When we reached our destination, I learned why it was such a struggle to walk with them in tow:  Willie is a fattie.

The vet expressed some concern over the size of his belly, which to me appears quite normal, and even sveldt, compared to his brother.  When I look at my Little Willie, I see a slim-faced kitten whose giant paws still give him a lanky and awkward baby-ish presence.  But lo and behold, the scale told a startling truth:  he outweighs his “big” brother by nearly two pounds.  My baby is giant.  I never would have noticed.

In my eyes, Little Willie will always be my baby, just as Biscuit will always be a puppy (though I never knew him as one) and Carter will live forever.  I love him just the same after today, but the rose-colored glasses have been wrenched from my eyes by a stone-faced doctor who sees only the objective reality in front of him.  I am now forced to view Willie as he is:  a big cat, and getting bigger in an unhealthy manner.  In a way, it is good that I see him today as a big boy.  It is time for a new baby to take his place.

 There are many things I’ve wanted to say over the past few weeks.  I’ve remained silent out of fear of judgment and consequences; out of concern for myself and my friend; and at times, out of sheer speechlessness.  Though I still suffer from a lack of eloquence and clarity of thought, I know that the time has come for me to face in words what has been racing through my head for the past fortnight:  I am carrying a poppy-seed sized miracle inside my belly.  That’s right, People:  the Zoo is welcoming a new wee one, and God willing, it won’t be covered with fur.

Until recently, I wasn’t interested in motherhood, at least not in any way other than from the end of a leash.  My attentions were best spent on beings whose need for speech and interaction were limited, and whose expectations were low.  Adding Little Willie and Katie to my brood last year almost seemed like too much, and I wondered whether I could deal with the new stress of so many voices calling for me on a daily basis.  At times, I have found myself yelling in frustration at sweet-faced dogs whose only crime was following me around the house and looking as though they wanted something from me.  In many moments, I haven’t felt as though I had anything to give.

But now a human baby will come with its own expectations and demands, and I will have to find a way to meet them.  To be honest, I’m terrified.  For the first couple of weeks, I thought I’d have a partner in this new adventure, and I was comforted to know that all the pressure wouldn’t rest solely on my shoulders.  Now I am again alone–alone, but with four furry friends–and full of trepidation.  How can a woman who never noticed her own cat becoming seriously overweight be expected to smell a dirty diaper?  How can someone who sleeps through hours worth of wailing, hungry Carter find it in her to get up out of bed and comfort a baby?

I’m not sure what this says about me, but I’ll share my number one concern of the past two weeks:  My biggest fear–more than the pain of labor, more than the cost of childcare, more than my probable genetic lack of maternal instinct–is that when the baby comes, I will no longer be able to be a good mother to Katie.  She will go too long between walks, suffer from attention starvation, even go without water as I fail to notice.  How will a 9-months-prego Meenadirtqueena stoop to fill her dish?  How will I gather her up and carry her to the shower for a bath when I am busy carrying a whole person inside me?  And how will I manage the two dogs at once when I am waddling like a giant, overweight penguin?

I know that Carter was distressed when we first brought Biscuit home.  He eventually got over it.  He didn’t care for Wyatt, who quickly had to go live with Patrick.  He absolutely HATES Katie, and has never adapted to her presence.  How will he adapt to a screaming, shitting, squirming little baby?  And am I disturbed in some way, that this is my number one concern?

I have spent so much time mothering my animals, that I wonder whether I’m capable of seeing them as secondary to an actual child.  And I’m not sure I want to.  When I asked my Baby’ Daddy what in the world I would do if Katie became possessive or territorial about the baby, he replied that we would have to get rid of her.  He might as well have suggested p0pping my own eyeball out with a spoon.  I would sooner remove my own leg at the knee with a butter knife than give up my dog.  I told him I would drive to California and drag Cesar Milan back by the ear before I would consider such a thing.  And I meant it.  When I adopted each of my pets, I adopted for life.

No one would dare to suggest I give up my human baby if things were to become unpleasant or unmanageable.  Why do people view pets any differently?  Shelters are full of unwanted animals whose human companions lost their motivation and drive to love their pets unconditionally.  I am not one of those people.  Those people are assholes.  So I suppose I will have to learn to see this new being as an addition to my pack, one whose presence at first will be disruptive and difficult.  Over time, we will all adapt to him or her.  We will find a way to meet the needs of the pack while welcoming the little bundle of joy into it.

Little Willie’s diet will be scaled back in the coming months as we shrink his fourteen-pounds-plus body to a reasonable kitten size.  I will learn to see him as he is, and will watch his belly grow smaller as my own grows larger.  It is part of being a good cat mother that I should do this for him.  As I do so, hopefully I will learn a thing or two about being a good people-mother.  My poppy seed requires it.