The backstory: I made no secret when I married Alison that I was a dog person. Yet when the cat of one of her patients had kittens, I was a good sport when Ali showed up with Waffle -- a cute orange kitten. I said just two things:
1) when it stops being cute, I might trade it (the kitten) in.
And 2) I'm not changing the litter box.
I didn't make good on either promise: at 12 pounds, Waffle is still with us. And -- from time to time -- I changed the cat litter. But make no mistake; for the most part, the litter box has been Ali's responsibility.
Fast forward to this past June. There we are, sitting in the midwife's office telling them we're preggers. Before uttering "congratulations" or "that's wonderful," all eyes turned on me. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, they said: "A pregnant mother can not change cat litter."
Apparently, there's something in cat litter that's poison to a developing fetus (duh, don't you know?). Again, they all looked at me, nodding in agreement. "Mark," they said (still nodding), "that litter box is all you."
How do you argue with that?
So, yes, it has been nine amazing months of watching Alison grow this new member of the human race...
... and nine months of scooping that box out after the cat.
No comments:
Post a Comment