Tummy-to-Tummy Transfer

About 3 weeks ago, Kristen lost the ability to comfortably lie on her back. For all the things that her body is going through (and there are a lot), I empathize most with this. I don't sleep on my back myself, but it's still a very good position when reading or relaxing or getting into the sleep mode.

It's also the best position for a little bit of kitty snuggle.

Georgia loves to sleep on stomachs. When we go to bed, she'll usually jump up onto Kristen's gut. She'll get all cozy, start purring, and then fall asleep, usually with a paw or two on Kristen's chin (or, even better, she'll creep up a little and rest her own chin on hers).

Then, after about 15 minutes or so, after she's gotten herself as warm as she possibly can, she'll get up, walk to the pillow between our heads, and fall asleep there, lasting until around 5:30 in the morning. (We're hoping that Georgia will teach that to Barnabas quite quickly.)

However, last night, there was a difference. Kristen was on her side and her stomach wasn't available for snugglage (that's a new word and I'm working on trademarking it), so Georgia jumped on my stomach and fell asleep there. A revelation!

An aside: In the past we had attempted the extremely challenging tummy-to-tummy transfer (where a sleeping cat was surgically removed from one person's stomach area and slowly and gently placed onto another person's), but the success rate was extremely low (less than 5%). This procedure was quickly abandoned (really, let's let the cat sleep undisturbed), and I was relegated to not having any real "cute" time with Georgia.

So there I was, cat purring on stomach, curled up and ready to sleep. I was in heaven. But I looked over, and saw Kristen squirming away, unable to get comfortable, and I felt like a total heel, my own kitty pleasure trumping her terrible back pain.

Of course, 10 seconds later, she put her paws on my chin, and Kristen was quickly forgotten. I mean, really. What else would you expect?

Boot

While a neurosurgeon, astronaut, or hockey player are still the top 3 professions for our young Barnabas, I think football kicker will be a close number 4. According to Kristen, he's got the jimmy legs, constantly pounding the inside of her uterus with ferocious leg whips, which she's felt for the past several weeks.

Along with Kristen, the only other member of the household to feel the kicks was one of our cats, Georgia. Georgia--precious, tiny, whiny--loves to sleep on Kristen's stomach, which features the comforting warmth and roundness that she doesn't seem to get from my stomach (unfortunately I'm neither at the right temperature nor do I feature the proper guttural arc, although I'm working on the latter).

Last night, however, I was able to feel him kicking for the first time, a swift blow to the right of Kristen's tummy button, and let me tell you, it was a very exciting thing. Not as exciting as finding out Kristen was pregnant or that we were having a boy or the Giants winning the Super Bowl, but pretty darn exciting.

Now I just have to figure out if they make infant sized football cleats.

Francis

In 1992, near the beginning of my junior year of college, a young woman who a friend was madly in love with but who instead loved me (unrequited) stole a kitten from a local ASPCA and gave it to me. (I had no idea that it was stolen; I thought she had paid the $50 or whatever.) He was tiny and crazy and playful and I fell in love with him instantly. I named him Francis, after my grandfather, but over the years we called him Peekin' (because he would always be peeking around corners) or Fluffernutter (because of his marshmallow and peanut butter coloring) or Big Boy (he was a large beast, tipping the scales at around 23 pounds for a while).

He could be a difficult cat. When Kristen and I moved in together he announced his displeasure by leaving a "present" on the couch (they quickly reconciled and became quite the pair). When he slept at my feet at night, he would bite my toes if I dared to move. He liked to sit on my chest at 4 in the morning to make sure that I knew he was hungry. He would sometimes (often, actually) overeat and vomit, leaving a nice mess to clean up. He enjoyed eating tinsel from the Christmas tree (let me tell you how strange it was cleaning out the litter box every December).

But we loved him. A lot. And when Sonja arrived in our lives 8 years ago, Frank took her in and made her welcome, and they were constant companions and enjoyed each others company as much as any old grumpy cat and a young shy one could. When Sonja died much too young last summer, Frank took it quite hard. (I know, I know; he's a cat. And I'm only guessing. But I'd like to think he missed her as much as we did.) Our two new cats, Cecil and Georgia, never took to him: Georgia would hiss anytime she walked close to him, and as Cecil grew, he staked him claim as the dominant animal in the house and was a little rough with the aging Frank. I'm sure Frank wanted more than anything to have another cat to sleep with and groom, but no such luck.

Frank had been suffering from the common age-related cat ailment of kidney disease (the same thing that Betty had to deal with), and at a recent visit to the vet, the blood test results didn't look good. He had lost a lot of weight, down to under 10 lbs. But he soldiered on.

On Wednesday night, he stopped eating. He had trouble moving his back legs, and he was unable to walk very far. By Thursday, he couldn't walk at all, and Kristen and I both came to the same conclusion.

So we cried at home and hugged him and pet him. And then we took him to the vet's and cried and hugged and pet some more. And as I type this, I'm crying even more, although I can't hug him or pet him any longer.

Betty left us in June. Sonja in August. Now Francis in March. Our friends Katia and Steve have had a similar run of bad luck with cats lately. Maybe it's something in the water in our neighborhood.

But I have to say, he gave us a wonderful 15 1/2 years. I'll miss him very, very much, but I'll never forget him.