His Sprout-ness

“So I heard you got a cat.”

I smiled when I heard Brother’s voice. It surprises me still – that he’s an adult, his deep voice matching the maturity of some of his thoughts. His grace under pressure, the kindness with which he treats the elderly people he serves at work. How he’s married. Has a child. The kid grew up at some point. I wonder how I missed it.

“Yes. I do have a cat. It was sort of an accident though.” So I told him the story, listened to him laugh at the right parts, express understanding at others.

“Mom called me today.” He noted after I was done. “Asked about Little One and told me you had another child as well.”

I closed my eyes briefly at that. I wished my own little one was playing and babbling in the background as we talked. That I could achieve what the rest of the family seemed to easily accomplish. Settle on someone to love – a man who would love me in return. Ease into moderate professional success that was secondary to family life. Laugh and argue and share stories. Watch cartoons with my children and push them on the swing set my parents purchased at dramatic savings. Teach them to pet Sprout gently and not to tug on Chienne’s ears. Maybe it’s not meant to be. I try not to dwell on it, but there are moments where it’s a startling pain.

“Would you like a cat?” I asked. “Little One likes kitties.”

“We’re good.” He said quickly. “Between the dog that won’t quit fetching stuff (and she really will chase a ball for hours on end. It's impressive.) and Little One, I don’t think we need another creature right now. Is he a nice cat? How old?”

“He is a nice cat. About 5 months old and very friendly. Well, not with Chienne – she just wants to chase him and he just wants to hiss at her. But he’s a sweet animal – very loving.”

“How do you litter train them?”

“Don’t know. He just knew. He had a family too – I really thought they’d ask for his return. But it didn’t happen. So now he’s mine.”

I talked to the Little One – she got a pumpkin bag at school and is quite fond of this new word. I thought it was "pumpkin" she was saying, but was grateful for Brother’s confirmation in the background. “Are you telling Aunt Katie about your pumpkin?” It helped me out.

Then, as her parents both do, she said, “Love you.” and went to hang up the phone before Brother said, “Wait! I wasn’t done!” So we talked for a few more minutes – work is going well for him, one event he planned was particularly successful, Little One and Brother’s Wife are getting over colds and doing well now.

I told Mom – via email – that I had a cat just last night. Asked that she not be critical because I didn’t mean to get a cat. It just sort of happened. And I didn’t feel like dealing with her and Dad telling me all the reasons another pet was a bad idea.

Then I sent her email at work this morning, thanking her for being so supportive in her original response to my news. She’s a good mom. I love her a great deal. It was likely silly to put off telling her for so long, worrying about her opinion.

So I went down to play with and pet the Sprout. He is a sweet cat, and very pretty besides. After some focused attention, I opened the door, Chinne got up from her sprawl on the floor, and sat politely while I stood guard at the door between them. She set one paw over my leg while Sprout was on the bed, sniffed at his scratching toy. He came over and despite my gentle warnings to play nice, swatted at her paw so she’d remove it from his room. Then he tried to sneak past her as she blocked the exit to his room.

She didn’t lunge – sat quietly and let me scratch her neck, moved her nose closer to him to smell.

And he looked up at her, took one step closer, and swatted her nose with his claws.

At which point I gasped with indignation and scolded him. So he scampered to his corner, put his ears back and glared at me. So I’ll take advice here, but my first loyalty is to the dog. That cat made an unprovoked attack! He’s certainly entitled to protect his room, but I also see her point in guarding her hallway. I’m not sure what to do here – she’s getting better as he’s getting worse. And the likelihood of her playing some passive-aggressive game with him is pretty high – I just haven’t seen evidence of it yet.

It – like so many other things – is a freaking process. Takes time. Plus, Mom’s not going to tell Dad about the cat yet. She has to work up her nerve to share the news and explain that he can’t offer negative opinions. So… this too shall pass. I guess. In the meantime, I guess the lesson is that Sprout doesn't screw around. Perhaps he's irritable lately too.