I have these two little cats, Ingrid and Galactus. They are still kittens, about seven months old and they are sisters. Every day I’m learning so much about life and love from these furry monsters.
The other day Ingrid took a giant shit right in the window alcove. She looked right at me while she was doing it, and I got so mad. After furiously cleaning up the mess I grabbed her by the scruff of her neck and told her exactly how I felt about what she’d done. She looked at me with her cat face, and I was confronted with her non-human-ness. I let go and she ran under the couch. I don’t know what she understood from that moment, but I felt immediately bad for yelling at her. A few minutes later she was rubbing her little head under my hand and purring.
They teach me that they will still love me if I get mad at them. That as soon as one moment is over the next moment has begun. They are a handful, but there are ten thousand moments of joy at their existence to match each moment of “UGH WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
They love me all the time. They knock stuff over, jump into the sink while I’m washing dishes, run like crazy around the apartment, scratch things, jump into every bag they see, but also cuddle and purr and look at me with blinking eyes and sleep in my arms, on my shoulders, in my lap, curled against my side.
I texted Greg to tell him about the Ingrid pooping situation and he wrote back: Remember I love you and pretty soon we will have a actual human pooping everywhere so it’s just good practice.
No (calm down Grandma) I am not pregnant. But someday soon I will be. Cats are not practice for human children but maybe they are. They are making me more patient and expanding my sense of humor. So is Greg. So is life.