A Very Patient Kitty Cat
March 17, 2025 — 8:21pm
Dear Reese,
You have a very patient kitty cat. We’re in a little routine where after dinner I put you on your playmat in the living room while I clean the kitchen. You explore your toys and are typically content to entertain yourself for 5-10 minutes. I can hear you and see you . . . for the most part. The couch and coffee table give me partial vision depending on where you are so I pause and check on you when you go out of sight. Usually, you’re at the coffee table methodically pulling your books off the low shelf.
Anyway, we are in this little routine tonight and when I check on you you’re bee-lining it (putting that new crawling ability to use) for Merlin on his cat bed. We have hit full chasing kitty mode lately. I rush over, stop you from crawling on him, and put you on the other side of the living room. A minute later I’m back over and do the same thing.
I don’t know why I thought this would work. In my defense, you seem distracted by playing with the cat-free cat tree when I return to wiping down the counters.
The next time I look over, hearing your giggly grunts, you are fully on top of the cat.
I do the thing you’re not supposed to do and give a little shriek and rush over — hands full with a washcloth full of food and your honey bear water bottle. In the end, it’s my movement — not the full baby on top of him who is finally in the same weight class he is — that makes Merlin get up from his cat bed. I awkwardly pick you up and you cannot stop laughing. I mean, on and on. This might have been the funniest thing that’s ever happened to you and my heart fully stopped.
They say, darling, that parents are supposed to be very neutral in these moments. Big reactions inspire repeat performances.
But when you were six weeks old, Merlin scratched you, just a nick, and I have never forgotten it. It’s been seasons since then and he’s been very patient and good but he’s still a cat with teeth and claws and a sense of territory. But I get it, Reese, he’s basically like a big teddy bear and he follows both of us around, always wanting to be in the action. I want to hug him all the time too.
Not a minute after I pick you up he’s back in the cat bed, unperturbed. It really did look like he was going to let you crawl all over him before.
I hold you and lean against the kitchen counter and bury my face in your shoulder and you are still laughing.
You are nine months old today. It’s St. Patrick’s Day. Maybe it was your cute four-leaf clover tutu that gave you the luck you needed not to catch a cat claw in the face.
More likely, it’s because Merlin knows what he didn’t know when you were just six weeks old — you are his family. (We will still watch him though and practice gentle petting rather than full-on bear hugs.)
At bathtime, we continue your adventure. Last we left off, The Great Bullfrog had disappeared after your fight with The Fierce Croc. You look for your duck friend next, had thankfully he’s there, emerging from a corner with shaken feathers. He praises your amazing fight with the crocodile and comes with you to investigate the perch where The Great Bullfrog had been minutes before.
Was she angry you won the fight? Did she intend to honor her promise and grant you a gift to help your family? Or had something else happened?
As you get closer, you don’t find The Great Bullfrog but you do find a little firefly on the ground with its light gone out. You call out to it and gently touch its chest. As you do so the light flickers, flickers, lights up! (Your eyes light up too, as you listen mid-bath and I gesticulate wildly from my seat on the tile next to you). The firefly guard blearily opens his eyes and tells you that there was a shadow moving in the corner of his light, and then it all went dark.
You and the duck search the castle in the pond, finding more knocked-out firefly sentries that you revive — they all report seeing some moving shadows. It seems like The Great Bullfrog was kidnapped after all!
“We need to find her!” the duck says. “Without her, the magic of the pond will begin to fade. Already the fireflies look weak.”
“We will find her,” you promise. You go to search outside, determined to find a trail. It’s twilight now and as you step out of the castle you see a strange light hovering over a nearby cattail. It’s bigger than the light of the fireflies. You move closer and begin to climb the cattail for a better look.
As you draw near the light makes a sound. Bum. Bum. Bum. Like a gong ringing out over the pond. Each ring shakes the air and makes dread pool in your stomach. It vibrates the cattail you’re holding and you lose your grip and fall with a splash back into the water.
Then a voice, flat and cold. “The Great Bullfrog is mine. It’s time this pond was restored to its true power.”
You see a shape emerging from the reeds. A long twisted neck. Wide wings, blacker than the night, opening over the water’s surface. A black swan, charging right for you!
Love,
Mama