Here Kitty
We have a new addition to the naptime routine. This one comes at the end, at the point when I’m as desperate to leave the room as she is to find a way to extend the routine. I carry Abbie into her room, dump her on the bed, wish her a good nap, and watch her walk out the door. She wants to see the kitties one last time before drifting quasi-quietly off to sleep.
Our cats hide most of the day. They hate the kids, possibly because, as the dog has discovered, they like to pull fur. They spend most of the day in the basement or behind closed doors avoiding their ever-evolving pincher grasps. They only emerge during naptime, so desperate for sunlight they’re willing to tolerate adult human contact.
Mostly, the cats want me to turn on the bathtub faucet so they can play in the trickle of water that flows forth and drink from a source that hasn’t been contaminated with dog. They want to play in the bathtub so badly that they’ll start camping out in front of the bathroom door about the time I start reading to the kids. The reading happens at least five minutes before I put the kids down for their nap, maybe ten minutes if they cooperate by throwing three books at me simultaneously.
While the cats wait for the kids to go down, I finish reading and deposit the boys in their cribs. Then, I move Abbie through the rest of her routine with the singing, the carrying, and the depositing. Just as the cats have figured out when the kids go to bed, though, Abbie has figured out when the cats come out of hiding. She always runs out of her room as soon as I break contact with her, and goes kitty hunting.
She usually doesn’t have to look far since the bathroom door is right outside the bedroom door. At least one cat is usually lying in front of the door with a facial expression reflecting hopefulness and utter terror. I’m not sure why the cats can’t figure out to wait until a count of 100 after I shut the bedroom door before emerging, but there they lie looking for water and a place to hide.
Abbie, who is just starting to get the hang of this talking thing, will exclaim the cat’s name with an exuberance that exclaims she never expected to see it there. “Shhhharlie!” she yells in her toddler tongue, never mind that only one of our kitties is named “Charlie.”
Abbie looks excited, the cat looks panicked, and I look for a way to get Abbie to bed. I’ll let her pin the cat against the door since the cat is so desperate for water that he’ll tolerate toddler contact as long as it gets him in the bathroom. Abbie will pet him a couple times, hopefully with her hand and not her foot like she’s been trying to do, and maybe kiss him. The cat will look alarmed, but not so much so that he’s willing to increase the distance between him and the bathtub.
After Abbie sufficiently traumatizes the cat, I’ll open the door, turn on the faucet, and return Abbie to bed. This time I make sure to tickle her a few times and maybe wrap a blanket around her to slow her down as I run to the door. I’m not letting her in the wet bathtub to say one last kitty goodbye.
Our cats hide most of the day. They hate the kids, possibly because, as the dog has discovered, they like to pull fur. They spend most of the day in the basement or behind closed doors avoiding their ever-evolving pincher grasps. They only emerge during naptime, so desperate for sunlight they’re willing to tolerate adult human contact.
Mostly, the cats want me to turn on the bathtub faucet so they can play in the trickle of water that flows forth and drink from a source that hasn’t been contaminated with dog. They want to play in the bathtub so badly that they’ll start camping out in front of the bathroom door about the time I start reading to the kids. The reading happens at least five minutes before I put the kids down for their nap, maybe ten minutes if they cooperate by throwing three books at me simultaneously.
While the cats wait for the kids to go down, I finish reading and deposit the boys in their cribs. Then, I move Abbie through the rest of her routine with the singing, the carrying, and the depositing. Just as the cats have figured out when the kids go to bed, though, Abbie has figured out when the cats come out of hiding. She always runs out of her room as soon as I break contact with her, and goes kitty hunting.
She usually doesn’t have to look far since the bathroom door is right outside the bedroom door. At least one cat is usually lying in front of the door with a facial expression reflecting hopefulness and utter terror. I’m not sure why the cats can’t figure out to wait until a count of 100 after I shut the bedroom door before emerging, but there they lie looking for water and a place to hide.
Abbie, who is just starting to get the hang of this talking thing, will exclaim the cat’s name with an exuberance that exclaims she never expected to see it there. “Shhhharlie!” she yells in her toddler tongue, never mind that only one of our kitties is named “Charlie.”
Abbie looks excited, the cat looks panicked, and I look for a way to get Abbie to bed. I’ll let her pin the cat against the door since the cat is so desperate for water that he’ll tolerate toddler contact as long as it gets him in the bathroom. Abbie will pet him a couple times, hopefully with her hand and not her foot like she’s been trying to do, and maybe kiss him. The cat will look alarmed, but not so much so that he’s willing to increase the distance between him and the bathtub.
After Abbie sufficiently traumatizes the cat, I’ll open the door, turn on the faucet, and return Abbie to bed. This time I make sure to tickle her a few times and maybe wrap a blanket around her to slow her down as I run to the door. I’m not letting her in the wet bathtub to say one last kitty goodbye.
posted by Matt at
11:37 PM
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