The interloper has returned.

These disgusting creatures sprung her from her cage AGAIN and gave her my spot in the bed, leaving me relegated to perching here on the bedpost, staring down at them disapprovingly. They probably won’t notice, or if they do they’ll make silly faces and try and pat my head like I’m some sort of domesticated critter here for their amusement.  A quick swipe will back them off – they never cut my claws so I can usually draw blood.  I’ll stay here for a while, and assuming my place remains taken, I’ll skulk off to the front door to continue my vigil awaiting the evil Black Cat of Doom.

It’s not fair, really.  After all, when the tiny one rouses from her sleep and starts her midnight mewing, I’m the first one to notice.  I’m the first one to do anything about it – they just lie there, hoping their offspring falls back asleep. I’m always right down there, in their face, informing them of the issue and imploring them to do something to silence the beast so that we can all get some rest.  Eventually I see them making hand gestures until one of them finally gets up to go investigate.  I usually try and keep their spot warm for them and lie down in the bed – and then I get roughly pushed out with nary a thanks.  Pffft.

Honestly, I don’t know why they stand for all her whimpering and late night howling.  And springing her from her permanent carrier just when she mews?  Ridiculous – I beg, plead, scratch and claw when they put me in one of those but they just ignore me, or worse try and placate me with fish flavored mush.  Fish flavored!  As if I couldn’t tell the difference between real fish and the “essence of fish.”  I’m not as stupid as my canine counterparts – I know that Beggin’ Strips ain’t bacon, and I’m smart enough to know that when a human tells you to do something, it’s best not to do it, and instead conserve your energy in case a rapid tail enlargement is needed to scare off the Black Cat of Doom.

Frankly though, I think the tiny one is actually the most dangerous of the lot.  The two tall ones pretty much bend to my desires, although I wish that they could serve something a bit more palatable than mystery meat and all-purpose gravy, or anything that isn’t brown.  But the little one – she knows no master.  When I make an appearance she makes a beeline for me, her little hands reaching to yank my fur, her eyes wild with excitement, a wide tooth-bespeckled grin dripping from her face.  I’m smart enough to get away as fast as I can, although this new maze of barriers and toys makes escape a harrowing affair.  At least that thing can’t get up on the dining room table yet, and I can find a small oasis upon which to lurk and observe her nefarious movements.

She’s better than that damn bunny though – that ball of fur scares the crap out of me, always chasing me when they let HER out of HER cage.   The humans get a hearty chuckle out of watching me scamper from that floppy eared hell-spawned thumping monster, blissfully unaware of the mortal danger we are all in every time they let that thing stalk about.

<Yawn>  But I digress.  The interloper appears to be fixed in place, and these tall ones have all but forgotten me as they fall into their noisy slumber.  I guess I’ll depart, and find somewhere else to rest, away from the likely coming screams of the little one, the glaring eyes of the demon rabbit, and a late night territory mark by the Black Cat of Doom.

On second thought, maybe I’ll stay and see if one of the humans rises to pee and take a swipe at them.

“Hey, what do you think the cat’s thinking about up there on that bedpost?” I asked.

“Who knows?” my wife replied, breastfeeding Justine to sleep.

I shrugged, and slowly drifted off to sleep, feeling strangely compelled to ignore the full bladder that addled me.  Sleep won’t come easily tonight…

- MWF -

Amazingly, it has already been over ten weeks since the birth of Justine. Of course, to you, faithful reader, we just arrived home from the hospital last week. Well, obviously I’m running behind schedule on the blog. I could make up elaborate excuses (the Phoenix foundation sent me on a much needed vacation where I was unfortunately stalked by my archnemesis Murdoch who i defeated with only my wits, plus 2 rubber bands and a thumbtack. He ended up falling off a cliff to his presumable yet highly unlikely death…) or even truthful ones, but the reality of the situation is that summer is the busy season for my company and so I spent what little free time I did have making faces at my newborn (and doing shots of Jager after she went to bed).

That leaves us here, with us a couple of months in the future, and yet the blog trapped solidly in the past. Well, let me sum it the bulk of parenting in the recent weeks into a short, simple statement, oft repeated when folks ask me about fatherhood and my baby daughter.

She’s a sleeper.

I think generally the stereotype of first time parents is to picture them pacing back and forth in a sleepy daze as they spend hour after hour in the middle of the night attempting to somehow, some way coddle their freshly minted baby to sleep. Instead, this new addition to an otherwise happy couple seems intent on ruining every minute of rest between the sunset and sunrise. The parents muddle through, walking about during the daylight hours in a haze, shells of the vibrant young go-getters they once were, while their baby sleeps all day long and screams all night.

Yeah, that hasn’t been our experience so far. With few exceptions, Justine sleeps most nights for 6-7 hours at a stretch, waking once to feed and then usually going right back down to sleep. Her ability to sleep has already been severely tested, with the aforementioned marathon doze in the ER, as well as sleeping through a late night air horn attack launched by friends and coworkers jealous of her abilities. Kim can run the vacuum while she sleeps, and I’ve even held meetings of the Jet Engine Audiophile Club of Central New York during her nap time. She’s either an amazing sleeper or a closet narcoleptic.

Overall, fatherhood is somewhat of a different beast them I had imagined. So far there has been a lot less pipe smoking, cardigan wearing, and Leave it To Beaver style lesson delivering than I had been originally led to believe.  In reality my experiences so far as a parent actually parallels eerily with my experiences as a cat owner. Consider the following:

1). The aforementioned sleeping. I’m convinced that Justine and the cats have napping contests. While I have no direct evidence for this, if you stare intently at Dory’s scratching post, you can almost make out a rudimentary scoreboard. I believe the cats are winning – but they do have a genetic advantage.

2). Love for milk – Cats sure do love milk, but it pales in comparison to Justine. She CRAVES milk so much in fact it’s all that she will eat. We’ve tried giving her everything from high fructose syrup to xanthum gum, but all she wants is the milk. The cats, on the other hand, will eat floss if you’d let them.

3) Pooping – Our cats poop excessively. To their credit they (generally) do so in (or around) their boxes. Justine has no such compunction, instead letting loose whenever and wherever she feels the need, often in spectacular aural (and occasionally visual) fashion. In my experience, she’ll either be happily playing and then suddenly stare off into space, followed by the “thunder,” or otherwise be “actively working it out” if you know what I mean. Regardless, as with the cats, it’s up to me and Kim to collect and dispose of her droppings. This is as elegant as it sounds.

4). Hunger alerts – the cats do this in a generally adorable fashion, following you around, mewing, rubbing up against your leg, grabbing the can and dropping it on your face while you sleep, etc. Justine is less subtle. We can usually determine her hungry cry by a combination of her face pallor (beet red) and frequency of tongue quiver (approx 45-55 hz). She also will attempt to eat her hand (difficult without teeth) and/or spew her pacifier a good distance (indicating “that” is not what she wants).  Occasionally she also snorts like a pig and/or blows bubbles.  If the cats did this we’d probably have to “ol’ Yeller” them – Justine does it and we’re all smitten with the liquid cuteness sprewing out of her mouth.

5) Entertainment – Both the cats and Justine are enormously (though briefly) amused by dangling shiny and/or stringy objects in their faces. The key difference being that the baby smiles and laughs toothlessly at this mundane activity, while the cats regard this as a minor threat to their existence and swat/bite at said object and indeed the hand holding it.

So am I saying that owning a cat prepares you for the rigors of parenthood? No not really. Cats may appear to be dependent on you, but in actuality were you to become incapacitated in the house, they’d be able to take care of themselves, probably by eating you. Children on the other hand, are entirely dependent on you for all aspects of their early lives. Leaving them home with a few bags of breastmilk and a straw while you jet to the Adirondacks for the weekend, like you might with the cats, is Ill-advised and most likely criminal. And think of the mess when you got back. No, babies require ridiculously more responsibility than cats.  Rabbits, on the other hand…

So that’s the story so far, ten weeks into phase two of this adventure. I’d say that I’ve consumed far less booze than I thought I would, I’m less disturbed by the diapers than I thought I’d be, and I’m thoroughly amazed at how much you can love something you only recently met. I also suddenly find Elmo compelling.

Next up for us is our first major trip as as a family. We’re headed out west in the old station wagon to Wally World, followed by a trip to Europe, a cozy staycation home for the holidays, and finally a low budget trip to Vegas. Then I start my brief career as a talk show host…