Emma is our very pregnant cat. She thinks she’s a house cat, but really she’s not. I can’t count the times somebody has come to the door for something, and when I open it she races inside. It’s, extremely, extremely, oh so very, annoying.
Last night at bed time I was putting some laundry away in our bedroom and straightening up a bit. I hung a dress up in the closet and as I was doing that, I heard an unmistakable, “meow, meow”. Tiny newborn kittens, IN MY CLOSET.
Now if you’re wondering what kind of ship I run, I can assure you it’s not a very tight one, since a cat can come inside, have a litter of six, and I’m oblivious.
It turns out, that when Gene came home from work yesterday, Emma slipped in, unbeknownst to me.
Now, a good mom would have seized the opportunity to show her children the miracle of life. It would have been the perfect opportunity for an impromptu Biology lesson. (Or is it Science? Or Nature?) Those ideas did not even register on my Richter scale, as I basically flipped out and forbade my children (and Josh & Danielle, who happened to be here) to enter the bedroom to have a look. Then I ran to the barn yelling for Gene to come and quick because it is a kitty emergency.
Then I huddled on the couch with Elena until Gene came inside. I’m not sure why, but the idea of a postpartum cat bonding with her newly born offspring, in my closet, totally and completely freaked me out. Also, I was worried about my new shoes from Target.
Fifteen minutes later, and the problem is solved. No shoe damage done. Instead, I discovered that she had picked my fuzzy blue bath robe to be her delivery room. I insisted on throwing it away, and Gene thought I was completely insane, but I know I will never wear it again.
Gene thinks this just proves what a smart cat Emma is, since she obviously planned to have her kittens in our house, the safest place for her. What can I say? Emma’s a smart cat. Tame. Nice Tempered. Gray and White. Good Mother. Anyone interested?