Why I love my cat

She could smell fear.

She stared at me, taunting me of the night to come.

That sweet little coo and giggle while her parents were around was all a ruse. I think she's an Eddie Haskell in the making.

The fun started as my brother and sister-in-law (SIL) were getting ready to leave for a wedding Saturday afternoon. I was holding my 7-month old neice, Chloe and trying to get to know her a bit before they left. Geula (the SIL) ran down the list of dos and don'ts, most of which I promptly either ignored or forgot. I mean, I had a rather successful babysitting business as a teenager, how hard could it be? Pfftt!

Let's just say, I think my tolerence threshold for noise has gone down considerably over the years.

She started fussing a little early, so I took her outside to enjoy the pretty afternoon. We stooped it on the front porch for a while, her back to me so she might forget that she was with a relative stranger (pun intended.) I saw my neighbor, Debbie, out in her yard, so Chloe and I wandered down to say hello. Deb told me that if I wanted, we could take the baby and her new granddaughter out for a walk later and I thought that a great time to kill some time.

Deb had to finish her lawn so we wandered back to the house thinking it might be time for a nap (the baby, not me at this point.) I figured I'd feed her, according to Geula's guide to baby care, and put her down. Well that's when the howling really started. I must've looked like Frankenstein to that child because every time I had her on my lap or would look at her, she'd cry. And we're not talking just a whimper, folks, we're talking full-on, blood-curdling scream. She would neither take a bottle, nor any solid food. Crap. Now what?

Oh crap! Crap! That could be the problem. I checked her diaper and it was a bit wet, so we got that changed . Did that help? Nope. But one thing was checked off the pissed-off baby list.

No food for her. No nap in sight. I consider whiskey...for her, not me.

Thankfully, my other neighbor, Marsha, who also has a 2-year old grandson, loaned me a stroller. I strapped Chloe in the seat, strapped her in and headed out for a lap or two around the block. Things calmed down and life was good for a few short moments while we enjoyed the fresh air.

No sooner had we gotten back to the house that the howling started again. I gave her toys, which soothed her for a moment or two. I tried feeding her again. No luck. I tried even just putting her in her crib for a while (blowing off the whole swaddling crap Geula tried to tell me about.)

While she was screaming in her crib, I called my mom who was a pediatric nurse and all around good source for anything baby related. And she knows the over-protective nature of my SIL .

She threw a couple more ideas at me, including trying to give Chloe a bath and play with her. I heard my step-dad, Jim pipe in from the background, "Don't put her in head first!" Yeah, great advice, Jim! But it made me laugh...and consider putting her in head first... She also suggested I put Chloe's back to my chest and try to disguise who was feeding her.

Alas, none of that worked either, and they'd only been gone about 2 hours at this point. I called Debbie to see if she was ready for that walk. Nearly the minute I put that kid's butt in the stroller, she stopped. We took the babies for a nice, easy walk around the neighborhood, checking out a new development; then finishing up through the park and home. Were gone about an hour and thankfully, Chloe sacked out for about 30 minutes or so and it was pure relief.

So now we have about 4+ miles of walking in so far. Really. As I take her in the house yet again, I try to hold her and the crying starts up again. I try to feed her and it continues. I try to put her in her play-jumpy-thingy and still no luck. I wonder if she's ever going to stop.

I text my brother, "CALL ME!". This is at about 7pm.

I put her back into the stroller where she calms a bit, but when I look at her, the crying starts again. I begin to understand how people can get to the point of shaking a baby. I step away.

Are you getting as agitated reading this as I probably felt that night?

I leave a phone message for Bob, nearly in tears, "I'm done. She hasn't eaten or slept since you left and you can hear what she's been doing since you left. Please, please call me." This is 8pm.

Mom calls again and can hear the screaming in the background. She's laughing softly. "I'm thankful for birth control, mom," were the first words out of my mouth. I don't know how people do this. She and I chat a bit more about some ideas, then she tells me to just put her down in her crib. "The baby is so exhausted, she'll probably just cry herself to sleep," she tells me.

As it turns out, this is the best advice of the night. By 9:15, the crying turns into tired sobs, which turn into silence. I grab a glass of red wine and plop down on the couch.

I'd planned on possibly taking her to a party with my old TWA friends, but once that was scrapped, I hoped to even possibly work on my resume for a job that might come open at work. Nope, couldn't get to that. The only thing I could do was type a few frantic notes on my Facebook account. Apparently people thought the updates were funny. In hindsight, they were.

Bob finally called around 10:30 (good thing there wasn't a real emergency) and asked how things were going after he saw my messages. I told him that she'd finally fallen dead asleep, but needed food when they got home. They asked if they might stay out longer or if I wanted them home. I was pissed at that reponse and said, "Well if you want your kid fed..." and I think he understood the tone. They were home around midnight, partially relieved to have gone out for once together and frustrated that the night went so bad for me.

Bob woke up Chloe to give her a bottle and the pint-sized terrorist in pink who had been torturing me all night was all coos and giggles once again. She didn't even scowl when I looked at her, but smiled. It was like some mental horror movie to me. He fed her, then she dropped off for the night, sleeping until after 8 the next morning.

Let's just say that the babysitting door is shut until she's at least 3.

I love my cat.