We have three cats.
(1) Stanley, the old three-legged tabby who has all but moved in with the neighbors because toddlers piss him off.
(2) Otto, our chubby tuxedo cat, a majestic mama's boy
and
(3) Prince, Otto's identical twin, a wanderer and serial killer
Prince has turned over a new leaf, though, as I've weathered this pregnancy drama. He is suddenly my shadow. He sleeps on the bed with me all night long. He's on my lap as I type this -- very unlike him. This has always been Otto's position, but Prince seems to have adopted me in my time of need.
My grief counselor told me that cats seems to know that women are pregnant before they even know. You could chalk this up to some superior cat intelligence or intuition, but I think it's the heat. Pregnant ladies are simply the hottest people in the house, and cats gravitate to them like iguanas to heated rocks.
But I want to give Prince more credit than that. He's been a stalwart champ through all of my coughing and moaning and bad feelings, and he also makes me feel better. When I'm petting Prince, I forget that I may be on the brink of miscarriage. I'm just a very important person in this cat's life, and would I PLEASE continue scratching the back of his neck?
It's come to the point that when I'm having an anxiety attack, I seek him out. I call to him from our porches and I rejoice when I see him saunter up. He lets me lift him up and maul him. Chebbles also mauls him, as gently as she can, and he tolerates her ministrations like a champ.
Since he has become the Minister of Affection in the house, he has not killed one bird, rat or mole (to our knowledge). He no longer wanders all night long, coming home smelling of other women's perfume and/or covered with burrs.
He is suddenly my very best friend.
Now, I wonder if the OB will let me bring him to the ultrasound?
