Desperate Kitties

Everyone told me it would happen, and I refused to believe it. "I love my kitties!" I'd defiantly protest. "They're my babies - I'd never treat them any differently."

And then the baby came.

I was exhausted, frustrated, stressed, and felt as if every last ounce of love I had to give was being poured into Asher. And it was. Sadly, it appeared everyone was right - the cats had become just cats. No longer did I yearn for the cats to come up and curl up next to me on the bed at night - instead, I'd find myself pushing them off the bed because they were taking up too much space, or keeping me awake during the precious few hours I had in which to sleep. Sophie's constant meowing and begging for attention no longer I found endearing; rather, it became so annoying. And the noisy galloping playtime Sam and Charlie would have turned from hilarious and adorable into just plain inconsiderate behavior. Don't they know they could easily wake the baby that I just spent an hour trying to put down for a nap?

So the cats are desperate for attention. Desperate to reclaim the owner they once had. The owner who practically worshipped them, who annoyed the crap out of them by following them around doling out attention, who consistently fed them three times a day. Their current owner they want gone. The one who scolds them for meowing too loudly, or jumping on her lap while she's trying to feed the baby, or being underfoot, or jumping in the crib. The one who easily forgets to feed them.

I do believe their plan of action is to fool me into believing they are, in fact, babies, too. Sophie has taken to sleeping in the bassinet when it's empty. Charlie climbs all over the baby's clothes when I'm folding them. Both Sophie and Sam can be found from time to time hanging out in the crib. Usually, they only climb in it when it's empty, but notice in the above picture there's a little baby lying in the crib behind the Sammy Cat. He's pulling out all the guns now - I think he's trying to develop an alliance against me with the baby.

It's slowly getting better, though. I'm forcing myself to check their food dishes more regularly throughout the day. I'm making a conscious effort to start talking to them again - you know, in ways other than yelling at them - and paying them more attention. I figure they don't deserve to have their lifestyles totally disrupted just because ours is. That was our decision, not theirs.

However, if Sophie keeps using the crib as her butt cleansing room and the rocking chair as her own personal scratching post, she may find herself living in the garage.

Just kidding. Kind of.