2

The Baby

I think the baby is the source of our problems.

I have not mentioned the baby yet. He is the newest member of our family. We had a good life before the baby came.

This is a big, old, drafty house. When I sit by a window, I feel a cold wind leaking right through the wall. I like playing in the dusty corners and padding up the creaky stairs. At night, there is often a blazing fire in the fireplace, and there is nothing I love more than sitting on a pillow placed near the hearth.

Before that baby arrived, we often enjoyed quiet evenings in the living room, with the TV playing. I found it amusing to watch Man sneak in and tickle my siblings from behind, reaching over the couch. Even though they are older children, as tall as he is, they would laugh and shriek.

“Nooooo, cut it out,” my sister begged, doubling over while giggling. “Daddy, stop!”

“You scared the crap out of me,” my brother would yelp, jumping away with a grin. “I’ll get you for this. I’m too fast for you, Pops. You’d better watch your back.”

When she was here, Mother liked to sit apart from the others, and as much as I loved the warmth of the fire, I often joined her. I could see how she valued me above the rest of the family, but they pretended not to notice. I was always Mother’s favorite. She preferred being with me to being with the humans.

I realized something was different about Mother when I noticed how slowly she waddled around the kitchen. I thought perhaps she was putting on weight due to the fact that she rarely left the house. I have put on extra pounds over time myself. So that alone wasn’t a cause for concern.

I cuddled with her at night as she grew, and her expanding belly gave me a nice pocket of warmth to snuggle into, right by her chest. I didn’t think about it too much, until one night something in her stomach jabbed me in the ribs. It hit me all at once.

Of course, a baby! She was pregnant. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out earlier.

Mother has always taken comfort in my purring, but she began hugging me in bed tighter than ever. I was happy to help out.

At the same time, I was a little confused, because my brother and sister are much older. I guess I just wasn’t expecting another sibling. I thought I would always be the baby of the family.

Around the time I recognized Mother was pregnant, Man began acting erratically. He seemed excited and eager to make preparations for the baby. While sprawled out on the wood floor, taking an afternoon catnap, I watched him pull down the attic door. He made many trips up the ladder, sweat coating his face. He worked hard carrying down all sorts of strange things, including a giant, ridiculous baby cage. Man was up half the night, banging and cursing and putting the thing together. But his energy was interesting to watch.

Mother, on the other hand, grew very still. She stayed in bed, even during the day. It seemed difficult for her to get up or roll over. Brother and Sister came to her with all sorts of complaints. I scowled at them, and hissed when they flew at her too quickly. I didn’t like them bothering Mother when she was tired.

Most worrisome, sometimes Mother didn’t even have the energy to lift her head. I was so worried about her. As much as I loved to lie with her, I started to wonder if something was seriously wrong.

In fact, the only thing that consistently got Mother out of bed was my dinnertime. She padded her way downstairs and filled my bowls. Once in a while she would feed the other children, but not always. I was flattered and grateful, but also puzzled.

I could see sorrow and disappointment in the faces of my siblings as they watched our mother head back upstairs. I felt sorry for them.

But I also thought that perhaps the humans just didn’t understand what Mother was going through. I decided that maybe she was sick, and needed a doctor. I tried to get everyone’s attention, but I am limited in what I can communicate. I wanted to ask, Why aren’t you helping her?

When I meowed, Not a Cat would bark and try to play with me. Sister would talk to me and pet my head. But I was upset and not playful.

When I was desperate, I got right up near my brother’s big machine and pushed my head into his elbow. I licked and groomed his bare arm, tasting the salt on his skin. I yowled as loud as I could. But Brother seemed to think I was looking for attention. “Hey, Boo,” he said to me. “You’re a good girl. You’re a sweetie pie. You’re a big, fat meatball of lovey-dovey fluff.” He scratched my neck and kissed my head, but that wasn’t what I wanted at all.

I wanted him to help Mother.

I grew frantic, and wondered if I could get Mother to help herself. I jumped up to Mother’s bed and pawed at her hand, then pushed the blanket down with my head. She did not get up, but she did eventually stroke my back, and I purred as loud as I could to show her how much I appreciated it.

Man didn’t have much luck with Mother either when he tried to comfort her. He seemed to sense, as I did, that she was in some measure of distress. Man would lie behind her and try to put his arm over her, but she pushed him away. At one point, she began slapping his hand, as if his touch burned her skin.

“But Carrie, I just want—”

“No.” She cursed and railed at him: “Stop. Leave me alone, Tommy.”

I could see she blamed him for the whole situation.

One night, when Mother’s belly was enormous, she had a bad fight with Man. They were on the couch in the living room, with Mother sitting up but slumped over as if she was having trouble staying awake. I lay on the floor, watching.

Man spoke to her very intensely. He grabbed her arms and forced her to look at him. “Carrie,” he begged her. “Please. Listen to me. You can’t lie down all day. It’s not good for you, or the baby. Just try to get up once in a while and eat something.” More talking and more talking. I could see Mother was sick of it, but he just kept on talking. It amazes me what Man does not see and does not understand. I guess he is proud and strong and thinks he knows best. He kept it up even when she winced and hung her head in exhaustion. Man kissed her cheeks and forehead, and tried to hold her, but she just squirmed and protested and turned her face away. I could see she had had enough. Enough of him, enough of the pregnancy. Mother is my best friend, and I could see how she felt about things.

Eventually Man left the room. Good riddance, I thought. I jumped right up to comfort poor Mother.

Sister was good at distracting Mother in those final weeks. She’d come in and sit on the bed, talking excitedly, filling Mother in on what was clearly very important information. “Ma,” she’d start, flipping her hair over her shoulder, “you will never believe what happened to Sarah today at the beach. You know Ted, who works at the snack bar? He’s the cute one, whose older brother is a lifeguard. . . .”

Mother listened patiently, up to a point, but eventually waved her away. “Okay, honey,” she’d say with a sigh. “Let me rest now.”

Sister often carried me to her room during this time, which is no easy task. I am heavy and floppy and quite large, but she’d get one hand under my haunches and squeeze me to her body with her other bony arm.

She held me up to her poster. I came to realize that the boys on the poster must represent a religion, or a cult. Holding me in one arm, she placed my paw up to the face of one of the boys on her poster and made me tap him repeatedly. She chanted, “Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry.” I found this boring every time, and eventually meowed to be let go.

But I never scratched my sister. As I mentioned, I am very tolerant of the humans.

My sister is fourteen years old. I know this because she had a big party that she planned and talked about for weeks. It got a little out of hand. Man had expected Mother to help him with the party, but she didn’t feel well that night so she didn’t come downstairs. He had to roar ferociously to get all of those kids out of our house at the end of the evening.

Brother liked to come into the bedroom and put a hand, or his ear, to Mother’s big stomach. He did this for long stretches of time, eager to feel or hear something, his mouth open as if just waiting to be surprised. I was glad he took time away from his machine to visit her. But every visit ended in a plea for Mother to do something—make him food, usually. “Ma. Can you please just get up and make me a grilled cheese? I’m freaking starving.” Even though he is my oldest sibling, my brother seems incapable of fixing his own meals.

As am I. So I am sympathetic.

Once in a while, he brought her the “funnies” from the crinkly newspaper, and Mother would smile. Sometimes my brother carried me away with him to his own room, calling me “Big Fat Crookshanks” or “Minerva McGonagall,” and Mother would even laugh.

I don’t know what’s so funny about that.

When the weather grew warmer and the days were long, it was finally time for the baby to be born. The day came when Mother began to moan and breathe heavily, and two strange women came to the house to help deliver the baby. I hid away from the noise and bustle. When it was done, these women left. And Man put the crying baby into the crib.

Mother did not always respond to that baby. I snuggled up to Mother to make her feel better. She was very, very tired. Man urged her to get up. Sometimes she did, sometimes she did not. Even during the day when Man was out, there were times when the baby screamed and Mother didn’t get up from the bed.

It was the height of our short summer, that brief time of year when the children come in and out of the house with bare feet and it gets humid during the day. The humans were sweaty and cranky most of the time. The baby seemed uncomfortable too, even when Man turned on the big floor fan that he placed in the nursery.

Mother still caressed my head and smoothed out my fur and held me tight against her. I never loved her more than in those times when she needed me so much.

One day I thought I’d try to help out. I jumped into the baby’s cage from a high dresser. I snuggled down near the baby and purred. The baby shook spastically from screaming, but eventually slept.

When the sun went down, Man came home. I could hear him downstairs tromping around. After a few minutes, he came into the baby’s room. I was half-asleep but sensed him sneaking in, and then saw him looking down at us in the darkness. I was right up against the baby, my fur covering his little head and face. I was doing my best, trying to keep the baby quiet so he wouldn’t bother Mother. But Man’s eyes grew very hard. I did not understand what I was doing wrong, but I could see he was very angry.

I did not expect it: Man grabbed me up with his big hands, as if I were a pile of trash, and threw me down onto the rug. It was the only time Man was purposely violent against me, and he is very lucky I am both so nimble and so fat! I came away with just a few sore spots.

I might have fared worse. But for all he was mad at me, he was more angry at her.

“Care, Care, Care,” he raged against Mother. “Goddamnit. You have to pay more attention.” The baby screamed, but still, Mother didn’t get up. Sister was upset and ran into her room with Not a Cat. I heard her start to cry. Brother slunk away and stayed out of sight. I hid under the bed most of the night.

I will tell you this. I don’t know anything about babies, but something I could sense—even before I got into his crib—was that something was wrong with the baby boy. He cried too much and his reactions were not right.

And I came to see that even though the pregnancy was over, something was still troubling Mother, and getting worse.