One day, all the grown-ups are jostling for the chance to hold you.
The next, some precious little potato is purring in the palms of their hands.
It’s never easy to give up the title, “Baby of the Family.”
Corduroy was comfortable being The Baby. He assumed this was a permanent state of affairs. We all do.
When you are the littlest cat in the lobby, you have certain privileges. You call first dibs on every lap. Visitors drop to their knees to kiss your wee head.
Important people cancel important meetings to watch you frolic.
Gravity suspends itself so you can fly from floor to shoulder.
Bello permits you to use his belly as a trampoline.
People who supposedly “don’t like cats” reconsider their entire life’s purpose in your presence.
Not even Olive can bring herself to roll her eyes at you.
The Tabby’s Place Bylaws may stipulate that our residents are in a 150-way tie for “cutest,” but everyone knows: you’re the most cutest.
And every time you say, “Mom! Mom! look what I can do!”, all your Moms look.
When you are The Baby, everyone in the Lobby (staff, volunteers, Bello, the HVAC repair man, etc.) is your Mom.
This comprehensive Mommification has another advantage: everyone is devoted to keeping you safe.
Like every good Baby of the Family, Corduroy pretends safety is boring. Safety is for old rutabagas like Bello. Safety is bran flakes and multivitamins. Safety is a belt and suspenders.
Corduroy is too busy gallivanting, somersaulting, and catapulting to worry about being safe. Corduroy has stunts to show off, and jingle balls to jangle, and strangers to turn into his next Moms.
But when he doesn’t think anyone is looking, Corduroy peeks over his shoulder, to make sure his Moms are still protecting him.
There’s nothing like a sick day to make you feel like the Baby of the Family. Corduroy has had many. Most of the time, he is too ecstatic to remember that he is epileptic. He has no chip on his shoulder, not when there are so many shoulders to fall asleep on.
Tough stuff is part of the warp and weft of life. The ugly threads are the ones that stitch us together. That’s what Bello told Corduroy, and Bello would never lie.
But when a seizure frays his day, Corduroy counts on his Moms to patch him up. These angels keep vigil at all times, ready with rescue medication, hugs, and a fresh dish of mushy fish for the post-seizure hunger. Soon enough, life is again as groovy as a pair of orange bell-bottom pants.
But Corduroy has mixed feelings about needing a bigger size.
If nobody told him he was “growing up,” Corduroy would have assumed he was still smaller than everyone else. We all do. But somebody dropped that bomb … and she happens to be the size of a potato.
A perfect, precious, paraplegic potato.
Some call her a “pixie.” Some call her a “princess.” But the moment Corduroy saw Willow, he called her a potato. To her face.
There had to be some mistake. This Lobby was only big enough for one Baby of the Family. Willow was offensively adorable. There was no room for this whimsical wisp of chiffon. She would have to scoot elsewhere.
Corduroy felt like an oaf. He attempted to mash the potato. He tried to run fast enough to trigger a time warp, to return him to kittenhood and make Willow five hundred years old.
He asked the Board of Trustees to issue a resolution prohibiting Willow from being so happy, so cute, and so small.
But they were too busy giggling at Willow’s latest games, and holding her as though she were the most cutest.
What’s a former Baby of the Family to do?
First, pout. We all do.
Second, pitifully mew, “Mom! Mom! Mom?”
Third, stitch this into your pocket: the Tabby’s Place family is composed entirely of aging babies.
Olive is still the Baby of the Family after a decade. Volunteers do homage. Staff exult in her moods. The middle-aged tuxedo feels as shiny as satin. She has no rival. She has four hundred people to hand-polish her ego and spoon-feed her poultry.
Berry is still the Baby of the Family, even though Corduroy himself usurped his claim to the throne of “littlest.” When Berry scampers, five cats and several humans skip along. When he gets into a jam, hands flutter to pull him to safety. Getting bigger just means there is more Berry pie to go around.
Bello is still the Baby of the Family, though he can only be called “little” in comparison to Greenland. Kisses tickle his beluga belly. Gentle hands hold his asthma inhaler, puff-puff, so those big lungs can breathe easy. His fur may be a little more ragged than Willow’s, but love’s fingers feel velveteen.
And Corduroy, too, is still the Baby of the Family.
Days after Willow’s arrival, an ordinary morning came apart at the seams. Corduroy’s seizures are usually isolated incidents, distressing but quickly over. On this dreadful Friday, they came in clusters, one after the next.
All at once, Corduroy was the center of the universe. Our vet team flew to his side, and a volunteer warmed her car to race him to the emergency vet. No kitten, parade, or alien invasion could distract these many Moms from the world’s most important cat.
All that mattered was getting Corduroy safe.
All that mattered was the Baby of the Family.
And today, the baby is back in our arms, back to good trouble, and back in the Lobby … with Willow.
As you read these words, Corduroy is learning to play nicely with the potato. I mean baby sister. I mean Mom.
Because, according to Bello (and Bello never lies), we all take turns being the littlest around here.
And tomorrow, someone small just might keep you safe.
It’s never easy to give up the title, “Baby of the Family.” But at Tabby’s Place, you never have to.