Animal Tales

Well, we had a cat for nearly a week. Lucy (previously known as "Bunky"; we renamed her) was a sweet Maine coon cat who loved laps, licking people who pet her, and finding soft places to hang out. She was so agreeable that she even sat on James's lap while he watched Sesame Street, and he was surprisingly gentle with his petting! Genevieve quickly learned the word "cat" and every time she saw a cat in a book, she would look around expectantly so she could point to the real thing. She still points vaguely around her when she sees a cat picture, like "There's one of these around here someplace!"

The only negative the shelter had told us about Lucy was that, in her previous home, she disliked using litter boxes frequented by other cats. "She would go outside the box if she had to use one with another cat's scent. She's fussy that way. But you should be fine if you have no other cats." We had no others. So we thought we were set.

Unfortunately, we started to observe a mismatch between how much liquid was being taken in by Lucy and how much we were removing from the box. Turns out she had been using those soft surfaces she liked so much (particularly two couches) as latrines. Eww.

Perhaps if I didn't have two toddlers running to cause chaos in opposite directions, I might have persisted a bit in trying to keep Lucy. But back she went . . . at which point the folks at the shelter revealed that couches were the "outside the box" locales where she would relieve herself at her previous home! I really would have preferred to know that earlier (we pictured *right* outside the box, as a previous cat of ours had done once or twice). I'm still trying to salvage one of our couches.

During this whole incident, my two oldest children have been having the time of their lives visiting their aunt and uncle in New Jersey (they're never going to want to come home!). So we have appeared to be your stereotypical 4-member family again, and our littles have definitely been the focus. The county fair is going on this week, and both toddlers love animals, so we got together with my husband's parents and went there. (Unfortunately we forgot our camera, so no images to follow!)

I thought, considering her reaction to the cat, that Genevieve would be the most excited about the experience. But it was James who was beside himself at the fair. He just couldn't believe that all these animals were *right there*! In front of him! And he could go find the next one himself! (We let him walk in each building, and he was actually willing to climb back into the stroller in order to go to the next place.) "Sheep! More sheep? Two sheep!" he would exclaim. ("Two" currently means multiples of any number.)

But the small poultry barn was, surprisingly, his favorite. The interior's perimeter was lined with cages. James ran around pointing at each cage in turn as quickly as he possibly could, telling everyone "Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken! Chicken!" as he pointed.

There was a large incubator in the center that contained what looked like over a hundred baby chicks, and inexplicably the fellow who had brought these little ones decided that my hyper boy was a good candidate to hold one. "Uh, I really don't think you want to entrust a chick to this guy," I tried to warn him. "I think he might squeeze it."

"Oh, no, I'm sure he'll be just fine! Most little fellows just need to get used to the tickly feeling of the chick's feet, and then they hold them real gentle." He brought the poor unsuspecting victim chick closer. "Hold out your hand."

I shook my head, but put my palm out and put James's hand, palm up, on top. "See this chick?" said the man. "You can touch it!" James gently touched the chick's back with his other hand. "Now this chick, he has fingers, like you, and they're going to tickle your hand." The man put the chick on James's outstretched hand, which immediately curled up with wiggly fingers.

"Tickle, tickle!" said James. I think he thought he was supposed to tickle the chick back.

"Oh, dear," said the man, but my hand was underneath and caught the chick. ("My first time holding a baby chick!" was my bizarre thought, considering the circumstances.) And off James ran to see his grandpa, leaving me to return the (probably confused) chick to its owner.