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Jan. 27th, 2019 10:00 pmIt's both hilarious and kind of tragic, teaching my son how to interact with animals. With my daughter, it was never really an issue; she's the first grandchild on both sides of the family, so she was absolutely swamped in adorable stuffed animals from day one, most of which she ignored. She and the cat reached a fairly civil détente early on, and he now sleeps on her bed when I kick him out of my room for gnawing on himself right next to my head at 3 AM.
She was never that interested in adorable fuzzy things, is my point.
My son, though. Oh. Everything that is fuzzy is his favorite thing. He has approximately two dozen favorite stuffed animals. He has pilfered most of his big sister's stuffed animals and stashed them at the foot of his crib (she doesn't give a shit). He barks at neighboring dogs. And he ABSOLUTELY LOVES our cat. This cat is his absolute favorite being that exists in the universe. He worships this cat.
The cat fucking hates him.
I mean, I don't blame him. He's a cranky elderly rescue cat who has spent most of his life being thoroughly pampered by my spouse, and now here's this loud, cheerful, 25-pound cannonball of a toddler pulling his fur and smacking him on the head and shoving handfuls of smushed bananas in his face. I'd be annoyed too, if I was a cat.sometimes I am annoyed anyway. Generally, if he sees the kid coming, he flees like his ass is on fire. We've been trying to teach concepts like 'pet nice' and 'don't grab kitty's face' and 'dude, if you keep doing that he's gonna smack you and you're gonna deserve it, leave him alone', but the learning curve is... steep, to say the least.
My daughter takes her big sisterly duties very seriously, though, and I came downstairs this morning to see her with her arm around her little brother, pinning his right hand against his body; with her left hand, she was gripping his wrist, guiding his hand over the spine of the cat, who was lying on the coffee table with a resigned air, his tail twitching. "You have to pet NICE, or he's going to SMACK YOU. Now you try. No, no, NO, not like that. Like this, see? Try again."
I feel like my kid and my cat have made an unholy alliance for the betterment of toddler-animal relations.
She was never that interested in adorable fuzzy things, is my point.
My son, though. Oh. Everything that is fuzzy is his favorite thing. He has approximately two dozen favorite stuffed animals. He has pilfered most of his big sister's stuffed animals and stashed them at the foot of his crib (she doesn't give a shit). He barks at neighboring dogs. And he ABSOLUTELY LOVES our cat. This cat is his absolute favorite being that exists in the universe. He worships this cat.
The cat fucking hates him.
I mean, I don't blame him. He's a cranky elderly rescue cat who has spent most of his life being thoroughly pampered by my spouse, and now here's this loud, cheerful, 25-pound cannonball of a toddler pulling his fur and smacking him on the head and shoving handfuls of smushed bananas in his face. I'd be annoyed too, if I was a cat.
My daughter takes her big sisterly duties very seriously, though, and I came downstairs this morning to see her with her arm around her little brother, pinning his right hand against his body; with her left hand, she was gripping his wrist, guiding his hand over the spine of the cat, who was lying on the coffee table with a resigned air, his tail twitching. "You have to pet NICE, or he's going to SMACK YOU. Now you try. No, no, NO, not like that. Like this, see? Try again."
I feel like my kid and my cat have made an unholy alliance for the betterment of toddler-animal relations.
