Parenting without the kids: Get a cat
A very good friend of mine is entering her Cat Lady years.
She told me a dash of something like loneliness and a sense of needing a purpose led her to attend one of those animal-shelter open houses, where lots of abandoned pets meet lots of prospective new owners.
While there, she picked herself up two wee kittens to add to her brood of several other kitties (it’s hard to keep count when there’s a lot of them — you know what they say about herding cats).
Did I mention she also has two dogs, one a curmudgeonly little guy and the other a glorious Collie that looks not only like Lassie but a living ottoman?
The kittens put her over the limit for total number of animals allowed in a household in this city, but she’s not over on the number of dogs and, despite all the fur balls, her house does not yet smell of cat urine, so I’m hopeful that even if the authorities were to glean who she is from these scant sentences, they would let her off with just a warning and a friendly pat on the head.
This is what becomes of us, we single women, we spinsters, as we grow older. We accumulate — pounds, stuff, pets — and we share too much information about it all.
How terrifying it must be to be a parent, and to know how you can inadvertently imprint the wee one who depends so absolutely on you.
In fact, I would feel bad about giving you the news of the kittens.
But I have sat through many an hour being regaled with details of toilet training and the clever, wise aphorisms of the toddler set — one child once told my hungover self that my outfit was showy in a fake way, which I did take to be wisdom of some sort — and so you will just have to bear with me.
Those of us without children often do default to adding animals to our households, indeed to save us from loneliness and to give us a sense of purpose.
And, by osmosis, these creatures take on our unspoken hopes, dreams and characteristics, no matter how hard we try to give them a better path.
I can only imagine this is a shadow of what it’s like to be a parent.
I am currently in charge of the life of a small puppy, who started out cheerful and loving — way too cheerful and loving if you ask me.
She was thrilled to see, well, anyone and was delighted to meet strangers and other dogs alike. This seemed a little disloyal and was a huge shift from what I was used to with my beloved Pomeranian, Bear, who ferociously disliked any living creature other than me.
I take Blossom to daycare now, because I’m a good parent and that’s where we take our young while we work all day, and consult with the staff at the end of every day to see how she’s progressing at school.
Apparently Bloss is getting “better.” A worrying phrase you will admit, and close questioning reveals that Blossom, left on her own after several months of one-on-one quality time with me, throws herself at dogs who don’t want to be her friend. She’s struggling to make friends at school! Oh Blossom, you sweet little petal, my heart breaks.
But how far from the tree is this? Not very — I’ve often hurled myself at those (men, mostly) who would prefer to do without me. I think she picked up this trait from me. Oh dear. She’s becoming me!
This is A-OK in a dog, I suppose. But how terrifying it must be to be a parent, and to know how you can inadvertently imprint the wee one who depends so absolutely on you.
Terrifying and revealing. By her very existence my dog has banished loneliness, yes, as maybe the kittens have for my friend.
She’s also introduced me to someone I didn’t know so well before. She’s a new puppy, but I’ve learned a lot about my own life from Blossom already. Tracy Nesdoly can be reached at tn@tncommunicate.com