Ways My Baby is Like Having a Cat

When Alice was just shy of being a month old, we stopped by my friend, The Pastor’s Wife’s, house to drop of a couple things. I went around lunch time, and when I popped in, The Pastor (our pastor, actually) was sitting at the counter eating his lunch–a bowl of sugary cereal.

“Where’s Alice?” he quickly asked. The Pastor is known for his love of babies.

I laughed. “She is in her car seat. No one was supposed to be home; I was just popping in for a sec.”

He put his bowl in the sink and followed me out to the car to sneak a peak of Alice before walking back to church for the afternoon. He asked if she was sleeping, and he made this gesture that was supposed to represent a sleeping baby, but it looked like he was a cat with its paws up by its face.

I laughed again. “She’s a baby, not a cat!”

I’ve been thinking about that interaction, and you know what? After thinking about my now-deceased cat, Louis, I realized she may as well be a cat! Her behavior and mannerisms are not that unlike a feline.

She likes to be warm.
Alice could live in a sunbeam. She much prefers warm spots and extra layers to even the hint of being chilly. When she was still tiny, I could place her Rock n Play near the window where she could feel the warm sun. She loved it! Louis always did the same thing. Our house faces south with a very large picture window in the living room. Louis used to actually move with the sunbeam in the afternoon.

She prefers to be held.
I know most babies love to be held, but she would rather sleep on one of us than anywhere else. Anyone who has ever met a cat knows that they prefer to be on a lap…especially the laps of people who do not love cats.

She has the most energy after she poops.
We always knew when Louis had used the litter box for poops because he would come tearing up the stairs and jump all over the furniture so fast we thought he had snorted something. Alice is maybe not quite as manic, but she is definitely most energetic after a BM–all happy and wiggly and kicky.

She bats at things you hold in front of her face.
This is the newest trick up her sleeve, but if you hold something in front of her, she will reach for it. If it’s something with a rattle, she will keep batting at it. Then she will ignore it for a minute, and then go right back to batting it. Seriously, I think if she could, she would bat it and chase it around the floor.

She cries for food.
I mean, duh, right? But in case you don’t know cats…or at least my cat…Louis was a Siamese. He cried about everything–especially food. He also cried if you were behind a closed door–also something Alice does. He cried if he was bored–also something Alice has been known to do. So I guess it’s better to say she is about as needy as a Siamese. Or maybe Siamese are as needy as babies. Because babies are supposed to be needy…they are babies. Seventeen year-old cats are just ornery and stuck in their ways.

I am not one to call pets “my babies,” but Louis was the first creature that was my responsibility. He has been gone for about three-and-a-half years now, and I miss having a little creature curl up on me. Maybe that is part of why I love the baby stage so much; they are completely dependent on you. Alice finds her comfort and joy in my arms.

I will miss that as she grows up and gains independence from needing to be held all the time.

And Cortney says no more cats.

But since we can’t have anymore babies, maybe he will give in to the cat thing…eventually.