The Emma Report

Want your daughter to look in your general direction for 200+ shots? Just start your Baby Einstein video and sit between her and the tv…

Four years ago today, Big Sister was born:

Time is flying by…….

I was hugging her yesterday, telling her she was growing up far too quickly and she leaned into me and whispered, “don’t worry, Mama, I’ll always be your baby.”

Happy Birthday, Baby!

We ventured out to the mall on Friday and had a date with Santa.

This was the first time Big Sister consented to sit on the Big Guy’s knee… In past years she would wrap herself around my legs and refuse to even look in Santa’s direction… This year, she couldn’t wait to tell him exactly what was on her “wish list”.

It was also the first time Emma has seen Santa. She wasn’t sure what to make of him… while she wasn’t afraid, it was actually hard to get a picture ’cause Emma kept turning around to stare at him and would *not* look at the camera. After several long minutes, we finally got her to face the photographer, but she doesn’t look very happy in the picture:

now Big Sister wants to know why there is a different Santa at every mall….

As I was explaining to Big Sister several months ago when a distant relative died, everything has a beginning and an end, and sadly Bill, the orange tabby pictured in Laurie’s previous post, arrived at his end on Sunday.

I adopted Bill as a 7 week old kitten from the Ottawa Humane Society in October 1989. He screamed all the way home, and that first night when I finally got him to stop howling, he fell asleep and purred so loudly that he kept me awake most of the night. Eventually we came to the understanding that he could sleep on the bed if he was quiet about it.

Bill had an interesting life. He hung out at Mike’s Place (Carleton’s graduate pub), long enough to pick up an honourary master’s degree, and joined me for numerous road trips.

At age 4, Bill became very sick. The vet suspected a blocked bile duct or liver infection, and didn’t expect him to survive. A course of antibiotics and 2.5 months of subcutaneous fluids got him through it, and earned him the nickname “pincushion.” By January 1994 he had completely recovered.

For a while we had a roommate with a cat, and when they moved out Bill became very lonely. I’d arrive home and he’d start screaming as soon as he heard me at the door, then cling to me like velcro. I eventually got a kitten named Ted to keep him company, and Bill readily accepted him into the family.

As you’ve probably guessed, I moved in with Laurie who also had two cats, and we became the Brady bunch. Bill adjusted fairly well. After all, he was king, and he knew it. Unlike some cats, who are content to stay on the floor and couch, nothing would persuade Bill to stay off the tables and counters. It was *his* place after all.

Eventually, Big Sister and Emma joined our family. Bill was extremely tolerant of the girls, and while there was an occasional altercation (which usually occurred when the ever-patient Bill finally became annoyed by pestering little fingers), the resultant small scratch was generally well deserved. I don’t think he ever really enjoyed the slide, but he still played along.

At age 17, Bill was deaf, had hyperthyroidism, kidney disease, and was slowing down a bit, but he still knew the best place to be at dinner time was under Emma’s highchair. Two days ago he was still jumping on the kitchen table and looked like he’d last another few years.

Yesterday Bill suddenly lost the use of both hind legs and couldn’t stand. He wasn’t in pain, but it was obvious that something was seriously wrong. Laurie and Michaela both hugged him goodbye, and I took him to see the vet. Given his age, medical problems, and poor prognosis, while it was heart-wrenching, the best course of action was painfully obvious.

I’ll miss you Bill, you were one cool cat!

Ever since she was old enough to be aware of our cats, Emma has been fascinated by them. When she was younger, she would sit in her bouncy seat, intently tracking them as they padded around her. Now that she is mobile, she is constantly scrambling after them, chasing them down the hallway as they scamper away from her and hide under the chairs, safe from her grasp.

While we’ve been working on the concept of “gentle”, Emma’s version of patting the cats typically involves grabbing fistfuls of their fur and squealing in delight. More than once a peacefully sleeping kitten has been jolted awake by her not-so-gentle caress.

If you saw the earlier video, ya’ll know how much Emma loves her bath. Well, she has almost as much fun splashing in their water bowl.

And let’s not even talk about how many times we’ve found her sitting beside an overturned bowl, gleefully playing with the cat food.

You wouldn’t think kitty kibble would taste good, but Emma doesn’t seem to mind…

Iams is a good source of fibre, isn’t it?