Cats and Children
It is a rare cat who enjoys the company of children
“Don’t chase the cats!” I say for the hundredth time, but my nephew Carson just can’t help himself. He isn’t really intending to chase. He’s just so darn enthusiastic.
And radiating with energy. In general, energy and enthusiasm act as cat repellents. Cats like people who are calm.
Whenever Carson comes over, Winnie hides under the bed with Ebenezer. The Muffin Man finds a tall perch. Fat Zombie hangs around long enough to remember why hiding under the bed is a good idea, at which point he joins Winnie and Ebenezer.
Sweet Zombie, on the other hand, rolls over on his back so Carson can rub his belly. He rubs against Carson and tries his hardest to get the boy’s attention. Sweet Zombie, who tends to be an enthusiastic, energetic cat, loves children. Carson pets him and plays with him, yet still maintains that Fat Zombie is his favorite.
Yesterday, Carson went outside to play with the outdoor cats. They’re the sweetest little floofs around, but the three females took one look at Carson and said nope. The little boy kitties hung around, but they got restless when Carson tried to hold them. Even Fievel, the sweetest, gentlest cat on earth, much prefers adults to children, although he would probably never want to say so for fear of hurting Carson’s feelings. Carson wanted to hold one of the cats — actually, he wanted to wrap it inside his hoodie. First, I handed him Smeagol, who promptly wriggled free.
“Here’s the one you want,” I said, handing him Fievel. Carson wrapped him inside the hoodie. Fievel tolerated it because it’s his nature to do so, but he looked at me longingly the whole time. As soon as Carson let him go, he crawled back onto my lap.
Cats prefer people who sit still. All cats love my dad because they know they can sit on his lap for hours. Hours on top of hours. But children don’t sit still. Ever. They make sudden movements — and they’re loud. Cats find those behaviors frightening. Carson seems oblivious to my cats’ signals. He can’t tell when they’re finished playing. Fat Zombie will play with him for a few minutes, then he wants to go hide. Carson follows him, which makes Fat Zombie want to hide even harder.
Fortunately for Carson, Sweet Zombie is never finished playing. However, the longer he plays, the wilder Sweet Zombie gets.
“If you keep rubbing his belly, he will scratch you. He’s not doing it to be mean. But it’s going to hurt.” Carson always chooses to give more belly rubs, despite my warning. Honestly, that boy and Sweet Zombie were made for each other.
I was ten years old when I got my first indoor cat. His name was Pippins. He was a birthday present from my mother and Granny — they adopted him from the pound. He was gorgeous, after he fattened up a bit: black and sleek with a white spot on his chest.
In my memory, Pippins preferred my sister and me to the adults. When he wasn’t standing guard at the top of the stairs, he’d sleep with us. But it could be that my memory is distorted. Perhaps he preferred the adults. We only had him for two years before he fell from a window and broke his back.
My next cat, Lydia, definitely preferred my sister and me. We were thirteen when we got her. Perhaps thirteen-year-olds are no longer children in the eyes of cats? I have a thirteen-year-old nephew who is the whole world to one of his cats. By thirteen, most kids slow down. They learn to sit still. Most of them, anyway. I once had a freshman student who wiggled so much he fell out of his seat. I’m sure cats probably ran from him.
I recently rehomed a couple of cats — Scooter and Frankie. They went to a home with children. In fact, they were supposed to be a gift for the children, two little girls under the age of six. According to updates from their new humans, Frankie warmed up to the whole family right away. Scooter comes out when the girls go to bed. He is the adults’ cat. This is pretty much the news I expected to receive.
Years ago, my twin sister dragged home an adult male cat. The cat, whom she named Abraham, was ragged and unhealthy, with a torn ear. He looked as if he’d led a rough life. Yet Abraham allowed her children to carry him around. He loved them, despite their energy. Abraham, like Sweet Zombie, was a rare cat.
