Making Friends

Our kitty has a bit of a diva reputation. She really only loves The Boss, and tolerates the rest of us. She claims her rightful throne on his lap most nights as soon as the chaos of little gang members has faded to the upstairs. Like clockwork, we see her look around from "her chair" at about 8:30 every night. If she makes eye contact with him, she takes that as her invitation. She stretches, trills in her throat, and leisurely strolls across the room to The Boss's lap where she spends his t.v. time being petted and lavished. The kids have all recognized her limits and her boundaries of wanted attention and fallen into line accordingly. All her humans submit to her queenly ways.

Until September 27th, 2008.

Now, there's a mobile, squawking, noisy little human. Now there's toys strewn everywhere. Now there's little hands to rock "her chair" even if she doesn't want it rocked. Now there's little eyes peering through the cat door, babbling and attempting some kind of interaction. Any kind of interaction. Now there are grabby little hands reaching for a tail that she snobbily keeps JUUUUUST out of reach. Now. There's. ANOTHER! BABY! In. The. House.

I don't know if Maggie has forgiven us yet.

She weathered the birth of two of my children and survived the toddler-hood of all four older gang kids. I am seeing faint but hopeful signs, one month into the baby's arrival, that she just might weather this fifth interloper, too. Even in her advanced years. She just might be making friends with said baby.

Maybe . . . .