My Life as a Cat

I don’t necessarily believe in reincarnation, but I have to be honest and say that I don’t necessarily disbelieve it, either. I try to avoid, as a general rule, making presumptions about what God can or can’t or will or won’t do.

My high school social studies teacher, Mrs. Fiore, once said that she wanted to come back as an otter. I can respect that. They’re frisky and feisty, much as she was, and seem to spend all of their waking hours having fun. Not a bad gig if you can get it. Me? I’m going to come back as a cat.

Like my feline buddy, Jack-Jack, I’m perky to the point of complete obnoxiousness beginning at about 5:50 a.m., just as the first swallows of coffee jump start my brain. It’s not all the caffeine’s doing. Early morning is just one of my ‘active periods’ and once I’m vertical, I’m ready to run. I probably get more done between 5:45 and 10:00a.m. than some people do in an 8-hour work day.

The first unfortunate victim of all this perkiness is my husband who, clearly, is less cat-like. I’ve actually come to relish the daily opportunities to pounce on him with a stream of information and a dozen questions about scheduling and family issues as he stumbles out of the bathroom. He’s funny when he’s disoriented. I think that little edge of cruelty to my playfulness is exquisitely cat-like, don’t you?

Eiledon is the next to be subject to my morning energy. She’s a lot like her dad. I love that.

Gavin wakes up more like me—it takes him only a few minutes to engage and then he’s good to go. So, while I don’t get as much evil enjoyment out of waking him up, he’s also a lot lower maintenance in the two hours he’s hanging out before the bus comes, so I can actually get a fair amount of work done.

Then, about half an hour after lunch, my brain begins systematically shutting down my body. I start to lose focus and make stupid mistakes. I can’t motivate myself to begin a new project and it’s a struggle to wrap up the project I was doing. Jack-Jack is already curled up and enjoying his pre-nap bath, and it’s all I can do to push through the last of my imperative tasks before grabbing a fleece throw and a pillow and joining him in a patch of sunlight.

Two or even three hours later, if I’m lucky, I enter my second 'active period.' Just in time to greet my children, who are now exhausted from school. I cheerfully bounce around doing necessary house work as it presents itself while mercilessly prodding the kids to complete their afternoon tasks. They love it!

When Dan gets home I’m on a more even keel, having flitted hither and yon for three or four hours, never empty-handed, never sitting (unless its at the computer to do yet other tasks), and hopefully the kids are pretty well done with homework, instrument practice and the like, because my time is starting to run short. I’m still kittenishly perky in the evening hours but by about 8pm I’m aware that it’s time to start winding down.

The kids are generally in bed around 9pm and I spend another hour or so tying up loose ends, planning for the next day, and completing any remaining requirements of my 12-step program. Finally, my light goes out and—look! Here’s Jack-Jack, ready to curl up with me. So, really, I probably don’t need to come back as a cat. I already am one.