Cat React

Few things are more special than the bond between a girl and her cats. The chasing. The laughter. The growling. The crying.

We have two cats, both of which entered our home before Abbie did. I’d hoped that would give them an opportunity to adjust to the children gradually, to experience and celebrate their growth as I do while admitting them into their lives. They might eventually curl up with the children at night, sleeping with them on their beds since we don’t allow pets on our bed at night due to the dog’s tendency to hog the bed and the cats’ tendency to fight all night.

Instead, they’re all aloof jerks that want the house back for themselves. They cats hide from the children most of day. That’s a shame because Abbie loves the cats so much that she hasn’t realized why they only come out when they think everyone is napping.

Charlie, our fat, anti-social cat, hides in the basement all day behind the safety of the baby gate. He emerges as soon as he hears the sleep time routine begin, and always looks startled when he sees that Abbie hasn’t been locked up yet. Abbie is always excited to see him, and chases after him yelling “ih-ee”* while furiously signing, “cat.”

Charlie waddles away to the basement gate before huddling in the doorway. He could hop the gate and return to the stairway’s safety, but he’s already hoisted his considerable girth over the gate once in the past few minutes, and isn’t about to exert that much energy again so soon. Instead, he gives her the kitty death stare, followed by growling and hissing. It might get worse than that, but I always intervene before she gets too close. I always know when she’s chasing the cat due to Abbie’s telltale sounds of stomping feet, “ih-ee,” and the occasional growling and guttural hissing. We could be in trouble when her future preschool teacher asks what sound a cat makes, and Abbie answers with “khkhkhkhkhkhkhkhkh.”

Cleo, our soft cat, prefers hiding upstairs. She may be more social, enjoying human interaction from a safe distance, or she may just want to stay upstairs where it’s warm. She likes to perch on the back of the couch, staring out the window and soaking up sun. This gives her a good vantage point to watch people when she’s bored enough, plus she can rest inside the kitty-groove she’s worn into the cushion.

The children can see Cleo much of the day, so she’s not as much of a novelty and they usually ignore her. The boys like her, but she’s far beyond their reach. Abbie can climb up to reach her after she tires of climbing on the entertainment center, but only after giving a few warning bounces on the cushions.

When approached, Cleo will also hiss, but she’ll bat at an outreach hand as well. She can’t hurt the kids with her paws, though, since she’s declawed.** After a couple harmless bats with those soft, marshmallow paws, she runs away, darting between the boys who may be on the floor, and the dog who’s been waiting for something to chase.

If our bedroom is open, Cleo will run onto our bed to curl up. I’ll oblige and shut the door to keep the kids out so I don’t have to worry about anyone stalking kitties. Otherwise, she runs downstairs. I assume she huddles with Charlie for warmth down there, moving only after Charlie disrupts their rest after hearing me implore Abbie to give her brothers good nap kisses.

* Translation: “Kitty.”
** We saved our children from potentially traumatic physical harm by putting our cats through definite physical harm, and we’re glad we did it.