These days I sometimes feel like I might want to have a baby. Don’t worry, nothing’s going to be born in the next nine months and I don’t intend to get pregnant in the nearby future either. But we would be able to handle it right now, financially and emotionally. In addition, I’m absolutely positive Matt would make a great dad. Even though I’m not saying I want to actively breed one right now, if I was to become pregnant accidentally at this point, I think we would probably decide to keep it.

Scrrrrrraaaattchhhhhhhhh…

A curious sound stops me in my writing. Followed by a sliding sound. Then a crash. And a ‘meow?’. I feel my eyebrows and forehead fold in a slightly annoyed facial expression. I get up from behind my laptop and walk into the living room, only to find our kitten of four months has trashed one of our plants.

I sigh.

“Puss, why did you do that? You know plants aren’t meant to be destroyed!”
“Meow?”
“Don’t look so surprised. If you can’t behave then you better stay in the hallway for a while.”
I pick up the disobedient cat, which instantly tries to bribe me with disappointed and shameful eyes. However, I know better these days and lock her up in the hallway where she has nothing to trash but cat food and the litter box.

No need to tell this wasn’t the first time.

For the past two months, our new member of the family has shown nothing but shear determination to explore every single inch of her new home. This includes the bottom of flower pots, the inside of the couch, the curtains and even the ceiling. In a hopeful but perhaps vain attempt to raise the kitten into a less monstrous pet, I have been constantly reacting on every sound, every bump, every disaster. It feels almost like a real maternal instinct. I somehow feel the need to see everything and want to be aware of the cat’s every move. I simply can’t accept it mentally having the cat either hurting itself or breaking something else. Nevertheless, it does become quite exhausting when it means you have to abandon your work at least fifteen times a day.

At times I felt like I was going crazy.

One of my rewards can be found in the sweet compliments I get from Matt. Every now and then he tells me that I would be such a good mother. According to him I have the right voice and the right perseverance to be consistent in my attempts to correct the kitten’s behaviour. This consistency, or so I’m taught by television shows like Supernanny, is very important in the upbringing of a child. Uhm, cat in this case.

Unfortunately, Matt is also the typical father. When he comes home from work I expect him to take over supervision for a while. However, somehow he just doesn’t hear or see the warning signs prior to the cat’s misbehaving. Consequently, the meowing monster will have ripped at least three items before Matt gets up to do something about it. It appears that the upbringing of our little kitten has made us take on these very stereotypical roles. Another sign we might draw nearer to the point of deciding to add a baby to our family. Our very 50’s family, that is.

When this kitten is already such a pain in the ass and incredibly tiring… Let’s not forget that a kitten is a relatively easy thing to raise compared to a human child! It doesn’t need to be breastfed by me. It doesn’t get dirty diapers. It even cleans itself. Furthermore, it doesn’t cry. And, thank god, it only takes a year or so before it is grown up and old enough to be a less demolishing, less demanding kitty.

Maybe a baby is not such a good idea just yet.

Then I hear another noise. A soft but distinctive purring sound emerges from behind my laptop. It’s our other cat, our five year old black and white dim-witted but sophisticated tomcat. He looks so happy, so content, so very well grown up and nurtured…

I feel a twinge inside. A happy feeling with a dash of pride and a hint of satisfaction fills my stomach. I smile. Suddenly I feel why mums love their children so much.

Column published by Cecile on Monday, March 10th, 2008.

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