Our cat doesn’t hate people. She just hates people who don’t have the last name Brennan, and who don’t live under the same roof. We’ve had friends with kids over before Jamie was born. Some of these experiences frequently ended with her hissing, or swatting at them, or otherwise acting out. They rarely ended well.
To say that we were nervous about her cohabitating around a newborn was an egregious understatement. We brought Jamie home from the hospital, and our home life was not what we expected.
She sniffed the infant carrier, and showed a strong indifference to everything. She never even seemed too upset at our attention being poured into the new addition to our household. She didn’t hate him. She simply chose not to care about any of the changes occurring around her. Victory for all.
As Jamie became a little more aware of his surroundings, his infatuation with the cat grew. My mom made a book with photos of everyone in the family. The picture of the cat elicits the strongest reaction. He tries to pet the picture and lets out a sigh.
He’s now becoming a much faster crawler, and the cat’s tranquil existence is being called into jeopardy every moment of every day. Jamie hasn’t quite grasped the idea of stealth as he chases after the cat. The grunts and other various noises he makes give the cat plenty of lead time on the ensuing approach.
When he does find her, the pursuit begins innocent enough. He’ll pet her softly, with his miniature digits. Then, it goes downhill. He’ll grab a tuft of her fur, pulling. At that point, my wife and I try to teach him the word gentle as we show him by patting her on the back softly.
To her credit, she still hasn’t so much as hissed at him. I’m not sure when or where our cat was switched out for a more child-friendly model, but I’ll take it. We’re to the point that if she reacts negatively to him, he probably did something to deserve it. It’s the perfect cause and effect lesson.
Jamie has a way of getting what he wants, especially when it’s troublesome, and even as we’re watching him closely. I’m waiting for him to yank a tuft of hair and eat it. For a little guy that barely knows the words “Da Da” and “Ma Ma,” the word “gentle” still seems a bit off in the distance.
For now, the cat can sit on the other side of our baby gate, and mockingly stare. It’s the only sanctuary she has.
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