A pregnancy is hard on a cat. First of all. There’s no good lap space left. You try to rest your head and paws against this mountainous belly and either you slide down, or the belly moves and you slide down.
And then there’s all the new stuff.
You. Must. Investigate. The. New. Stuff.
You sit on top of the co-sleeper. You crawl inside the storage space in the bottom of the co-sleeper.
People yell at you and shoo you away. But you are just doing your job.
Must. Spread. Scent. And. Fur.
You curl up on all the nicely folded new baby clothes on the dining room couch. The couch that used to be YOUR couch.
People yell at you and you don’t budge. This was your couch. Hello?
Squirt bottles are deployed. You retreat to a dining room chair tucked under the table.
And then… And then?
The people bring home a spare car seat cover. A freebie they picked up via the Berkeley Parents Network, full of ALL SORTS of NEW SMELLS.
The cover is inside a paper grocery bag, perched on top of the infant car seat, which happens to be stationed next to one of the couches in the living room.
You LOVE paper bags. You HAVE to sit on this new item. The mouth of the paper bag is just level with the arm of the couch.
You go in. Head first.
You realize just a moment too late that this was a bad idea. But your back legs cannot get any traction. There is no going backward. Only forward. Into the bag and upside down, and ass-over-teakettle as the bag buckles and you fall back out onto the floor.
The indignity.
The people saw you.
You retreat to the other couch, across the room, curl up with your back to that stupid bag, your back to those stupid people. Making you work so hard. Harrumph!