cats and kids

As we were driving home tonight, I had to stop to change Mr. B's diaper. I pulled into some obscure parking lot, intending to get in and out before Lil Jr broke out of his almost-bedtime stupor.

Didn't happen.

As I was getting Mr. B out of his carseat, I felt something brush up against my leg. My first thought was that it was exhaust. (?) Then I thought I was paranoid (not a bad assumption). But when I felt it again, I looked down to find a cat breezing in and out of my legs. I shuddered. I just wanted to get Mr. B outta his seat, changed, and back in as quickly as possible so that I could get away from the probably-flea-infested animal. I told it to leave. It didn't. I stopped mid-change to take the time to tell it again, then hissed, and then barked.

It took that as an open invitation to jump into the car.

I freaked. I dropped Mr. B back into his chair and grabbed for the lithe thing. Took me a couple tries, and all the while I was completely grossed out that I was touching it at all and it had come from who knows where?! I tossed it a few feet away, grabbed Mr. B and ran around to the driver's seat to finish the changing process--just managing to get the door closed before the cat pounced again.

I awkwardly changed Mr. B around the steering wheel, all the while cursing the cat for his role in my tardiness. Then I put Mr. B back into his seat, again completely awkwardly, without getting out of the car. Just in case.

As I was about to drive away, I realized that my coat was sticking out of the door. I thought about leaving it like that all the way home. Just in case.

But I like that coat, so I opened the door, yanked the coat in, and closed the door as quickly as humanly possible. Just in case.

And in that tiny moment I saw the cat right there. Waiting to come in. And that is the image I had in my head all the way home. And as I put my kids to bed. And right now. And I feel completely GUILTY.

That poor little cat was probably lost and scared and cold (the wind was relentless today) and I shoved it out of my life like a contagious pariah--afraid of the possibility what--fleas? Dirt? That my kids might take a liking to it? I don't know. I feel sick about it. When did I get so cold?

Seriously, the most disturbing thing about it is that it reminded me of a small child--looking up at me with those big, innocent eyes. Why couldn't I have had more compassion? It's one of God's creatures and I left it in the dust. As I drove home I thought of all the possible scenarios of if I would have been nice to it. It wouldnt' have left me alone, that was for sure. If I had put it in the car, where would it go? My brother got fleas from our cat growing up and they got everywhere--it's tainted me--and all I could think about were those nasty little red bites all over Mr. B or Lil Jr. Ugh.

But then I thought about how there was a roaming dog in our neighborhood recently and my neighbors were really good about calling someone to come get it and waiting with it until the Sheriff showed up HOURS later. Should I have done something like that? Was Animal Control even open at that hour? Or should I have brought it home, asked The Spouse to pick up some litter, and kept it until I could get it to a shelter? But then that brings up the attachment issue with the kids, not to mention the inevitable flea shampoo.

Ok. So I'm not sorry that I didn't bring it home. But I AM really sorry that I wasn't a better example of loving animals to my boys. I tried to make up for my hasty negativity on the way home by telling Lil Jr that it was probably just lonely and we should have been nicer to it. But that didn't really ease my conscience. I don't like cats. Never have. But I don't want to influence my kids one way or the other. So next time I'll be nicer. And I won't leave my coat in the door.