An Update on Cat-Baby Relations

It's going better than expected

First of all, the cat is fine. She didn’t die. She’s not sick. I feel like I should preface any story of my extremely old cat with that caveat. She lives. Long may she reign, etc.

Okay. As most people who have ever spoken to me (even in passing) know, in 2007, I “rescued” a two-year-old tailless brown tabby.

I put “rescued” in quotes when I talk about my cat because it’s not like I stopped several lanes of freeway traffic to scoop her from the path of an approaching semi truck, or noticed that she appeared too drunk to stand and prevented her from being ushered into a departing Uber by a date with bad intentions. She came from an animal shelter across the street from the Rock N’ Roll McDonald's in Chicago, and she’s been with me ever since. She’s now nearly 18 years old. She could run for office if she wanted, and would probably make a better congresswoman than half of the GOP caucus, even factoring in her irritating habit of pissing on clothing left on the floor when she’s mad.

Her name is Eleanor.

When I was pregnant, I was worried that Eleanor and the eventual baby would have an adversarial relationship. She (the cat) didn’t even notice my pregnancy. She didn’t seem to care that my body shape was changing drastically, and as long as I kept putting food in her bowl and allowing her to colonize one of the pillows on the bed, she was content.

I know that she was content because when she is not content, she does this thing where her pupils get enormous and she stands a little too close to me while making sustained eye contact, and then an angry little ridge of fur raises like a gamecock’s hackles, and then she attacks me.

To me, she’s the best cat of all time, but objectively speaking she’s not a great cat.

On the night we took Juniper home, my husband parked our car at the base of the staircase that led to our little house. He unlatched the baby’s car seat and carried her up the fifty stairs to our front door like he was carrying a Fabergé egg. He set the baby down on the coffee table in front of the couch as I gingerly lowered myself to a seated position.

The cat was drawn to the commotion, jumping onto the couch next to me and rubbing her face against my arm. She turned to the new thing in front of us.

The cat was terrified. Her pupils got enormous. Eleanor moved closer to the baby. Her fur stood up. She made a guttural sound, a danger sound, a sick cat sound. Tentatively, she smelled Juniper’s foot. She recoiled as if responding to danger and ran away into the office, never to come out for the rest of the night.

Every subsequent encounter between Juniper and Eleanor has been exponentially more friendly. After that rough first meeting, Eleanor entered a phase where she wanted to be around me but still wasn’t sure about the baby. That lasted for a few weeks.

Next, Eleanor wanted to be around the baby, but on her terms. She’d jump into bed with me while I was holding Juniper, or jump into the chair where I was feeding her, and want to cuddle up beside me.

In the ensuing months, she started acting as though Juniper was actually her baby. When Juniper would be in the bed with me, she’d jump onto my pillow. When Juniper learned how to sit up, Eleanor would greet her by rubbing her face on Juniper’s back. Juniper squeals when she sees Eleanor. Eleanor is not afraid of Juniper's grabby baby hands.

I was worried that Juniper’s advancing ability to hit and pinch would lead to a disastrous encounter with the cat, but the cat has demonstrated a surprising amount of patience with the baby. When Juniper and I are sitting on her play mat, Eleanor comes to join, purring. When Juniper is a little too rough with the cat, Eleanor makes a wide circle around her for a reset and returns.

I’m baffled by the care and gentleness Eleanor shows my tiny chaotic child. The cat hates all other animals and only tolerates our dog because our dog is completely deferential to her, and even under those circumstances she’s a huge bitch to him. The other day I witnessed Eleanor get a few inches from Juniper’s face, Juniper hitting Eleanor with both hands, and Eleanor responding by taking two steps back and lying down. I'm not sure what I'm witnessing, but it feels special.

There have been times I’ve set the baby down on her play mat and when I’ve returned, the cat is seated right next to her, content to just be close to Juniper. It’s sweet.

It turns out, I had spun my wheels into a mud puddle of anxiety about how my first pet would react to my child for no reason. The cat loves the baby. The baby loves the cat. It’s adorable.

On the day that I adopted Eleanor, there was a moment when I looked over at her in a carrier on my passenger seat, and thought: this animal’s natural life span pretty much corresponds with my fertile years. She will probably meet my child one day, if I have one. If I am a good cat owner she will live until I'm 40.

I'm a year shy of 40. She's still alive. She hasn't tried to maim my offspring. I consider this a success.

Image via me/ Juniper and Eleanor, August 5th