One of my cats doesn’t like me very much.
Her name is Molly.
Before I “rescued” Molly, she lived in a garage where men hung out. She likes men. And my mom.
Just not me.
She’d rather I hadn’t brought her home with me; I’m certain of it.
Alas, I did. I thought I was doing something good and nice.
She doesn’t like when I pet her, even though her fur is as soft a substance as I’ve ever touched. Sometimes, she’ll allow me one swipe before she bites me. Sometimes, she swipes me back and hisses.
When I’m pregnant, Molly changes her tune. She still doesn’t allow me to pet her much, but she comes over and sits on me. She purrs and naps on my pregnant belly.
She did it with Grace, and she does it now with our new baby. She naps and purrs on my belly.
Before Grace was born, Molly slept in her crib all the time. Worried new parents, we shut the nursery door at night, afraid that cat would lay on and accidentally injure the baby.
The cat didn’t want the baby to touch her, either. She would jump into the crib with the sleeping baby, but lie at the far end.
Since those early days, Molly has wanted to be near Grace – as long as Grace was sleeping. When Grace would wake up, the cat would jump down and be gone, off to find a more quiet napping spot.
It’s never stopped.
After Grace goes to bed at night, Molly sneaks in to her bedroom and lies at the foot of her bed. She doesn’t touch Grace, lying next to her, on top of the covers.
When Grace naps on the couch with me, things get a little complicated. Grace is usually lying against my belly, where Molly wants to be. So, Molly settles in on my legs or feet, and the three of us relax and snooze on the couch.
These days are short-lived. Before long, Grace will be too big to take a nap. The baby will be born, and Molly will no longer be interested in being near me.
I’m enjoying her affection while it lasts.
© 2010, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.