Brand Spankin' New Babies

Cat, appropriately, had kittens on Easter Sunday. Three, in fact - two completely white and one gray, just like her. She actually had them on the front porch on her bed in the middle of a family cook-out, so it was a big event. They fit in the palm of my hand and are not doing much besides sleeping and crawling all over each other in their house (also known as the recycling bin).

Normally this would be a fun thing - kittens are so cute. Adorable and cuddly...but. This. Is. Me. And the thought of new kittens? It makes me anxious.

I should start with how we came to have Cat in the first place. It was an accident, from start to finish. (I know that Cat isn't what you'd call an imaginative name for, well, a cat- but things didn't work out when I tried to actually give her a real title. I called her Scarlett [as in O'Hara]for days - a, she has amazing green eyes and b, she proved herself to be beautiful and strong -but Sean heard me call her Scarlett and I was thoroughly scolded. "Mommy, dat is not Scarwett. Her name is Cat. " Of course. Pardon me. Anyway - she has remained Cat. ) I found her underneath our front porch steps about a year and a half ago, barely more than a kitten and with an injury that looked permanent. Her entire back leg was just hanging on and much of her backside was just exposed muscle...she had been through a rough encounter with a car or a dog or something. We decided to feed her and make her comfortable until we found a place to take her...she wasn't scared of us and seemed happy as could be to have attention. And...almost two years later we are still feeding her. She lives on the front porch and follows us around outside like she's a puppy. I am still doing my best to not get attached to her (or, at least, to not acknowledge the fact that I'm attached to her).

Shall I explain? I will - but please don't judge me wholly upon the facts about to be revealed. I do not allow any of it to happen on purpose. I love animals, I really do.

But I'm not allowed to have pets. Let's talk about a little thing my family calls 'the curse'. To be fair, I have to warn you that some of the following facts are sad. And maybe even a bit PG-13. Okay, a few highlights of Christie's Pet History:

It started long ago. Like all children, there came a time when I wanted a pet. My mom has never been a big fan of fur-shedding animals in the house, so we started out with a simple goldfish.

24 hours. Fish, meet toilet bowl.

Now, I know what you're thinking. A fish is a fish. Fish die pretty easily. True enough.

Let's go on.The next animal we took in was a beautiful rabbit - black and white with the cutest tail. It had belonged to my friend Kristen, who had an array of animals at her place - rabbits, horses, dogs, etc., etc. I took it home and my dad made a wonderful home for it in the back yard - a large cage with plenty of room for Scamper.

One afternoon, I skipped to Scamper's cage to deliver dinner and water...it took a minute to register that part of the cage has been broken. When I looked inside, Scamper's head was lying oddly near her food dish...and the rest of her body was on the other side of the cage. She was decapitated. I have never run so fast in my life as I did that day...I think I screamed all the way back into our house.

So. Next. Cat. Ferocious dog next door. End of cat.

Another rabbit. We had to give this one away when we moved...my uncle took him and sadly informed us months later that he had been acting strangely and had some sort of tumor. He'd have to be put to sleep.

I'll fast forward to high school.My boyfriend gave me a kitten. She was gray and teeny...I named her Belle and let her sleep on my pillow. She arrived potty-trained (um, why can't we receive children that way?) and I loved having her around...however, my mother didn't appreciate kitten claws in her furniture. She was given the boot to the fenced in back yard.

I didn't take it well, and neither did she. She whined at the back door constantly, and I was all upset thinking about how confused and lonely she must have felt. So I decided to give her up.

What happened next was no one's fault...it was just one of those things that happen.To the absolute horror of those kind people who took her in, she 007'ed into the clothes dryer during a round of laundry. I'll leave the rest to your imagination.

Since I've moved out of the house, my family has tried the dog thing...they have come to sad ends, as well.

So those fragments of my history should prove why I'm shocked that Cat is still around and why I'm so nervous about these babies. I really need to find a shelter that will take them after they're weaned...perhaps some nice folks can adopt them.

I'm trying to enjoy them while I'm here, but I'm sort of reminding myself of how I acted when the boys were newborns...sort of constantly peeking in to make sure that they're still okay. I know that I'll eventually have to get over this scared of pets thing...the boys both adore animals, especially dogs. And I know they'll want one of their own, some day.

Maybe I'm being silly. If I really tried to analyze it, I might say that it's a symptom of a deeper sort of worry about death and separation in general...so with that thought, I guess I have to look at this thing like everything else.

This world we live in is a temporary state of being...no one can predict tomorrow. We have to live the day we have now...we have to love and give of ourselves while we can...in spite of the possible heart aches. Hmmm. This life thing is risky business, isn't it?

So I'm guardian to three new Easter-ish kittens. And maybe I'll just go ahead and like them.