Sorry, in Cat

Since having kids, my availability for after-work happy hours has dwindled to basically zero.  Certainly not without planning at least a day in advance, preferably more.  Dan and I do a pretty good job of coordinating and respecting the need for advanced planning to participate in post-work outings, and last Thursday night was my turn.  I went out for drinks with a former boss who had just returned to work for the company in a different capacity.  It was a nice night highlighted by good adult time with someone whose company I’ve always enjoyed.

I came home shortly after 8pm to a quiet, dimly-lit house, except for the faint sounds of Metallica, a treadmill and a runner’s footsteps coming from the basement.  Oh, good, Dan’s getting his run in for the day.  There were no sounds of kids.  Ahh… no stress, no fighting, no dealing with crying, whining or short attention spans for me tonight. While I did miss my kids that day, I'll admit that it’s nice to get a break from even the anticipation of some sort of bedtime struggle every once in a while.

Shortly after arriving home, I went upstairs to get into my own jammies and surrepticiously deliver some bedtime kisses only to be startled by a dark outline of a person the size of Cal at the top of the stairs, blanket in hand, pillow lying in the middle of the hallway floor between our room and his, the door to his room closed.

Hmm… I immediately started to wonder what events may have led up to this scene.  Was Cal an obstinate participant (i.e. non-participant) in the bedtime routine?  Did he want to wear his “dino jammies” which are dirty and, therefore, not an option?  Did he miss me and want to be sure to catch me when I came home?  What’s with the closed door?

So I started asking questions of the figure now confirmed to be Cal to get the scoop.  To be honest, it was a fairly dull conversation per the standards we’ve come to expect from Cal, until we got to the part that explained the door being closed:

Me: “So why is your door closed, Baby Bear?”

Cal and Zoe (May, 2012)

Cal: “Because I’m afraid of Zoe <our cat>.”

Me<what?>: “Aw, you shouldn’t be afraid of Zoe.  She loves you.”

Cal: “But she squishes my legs.”

Me: “She just loves to sleep with you, Baby.”

Cal: “But she scratches me.”

Me: “She doesn’t mean to, though.  She’s just playing.  She loves you.”

Cal: “Yeah, and she says, ‘meow meow.’ That’s how cats say, ‘sorry.’”

And then he followed it with a bit about dogs say “woof woof” for “sorry,” and then, unsolicited, started walking toward his bedroom  to eventually crawl into bed, give kisses goodnight and ask me to turn “Cal Can’t Help It” back on… a pleasant request which I was happy to oblige.

I really never did get the full scoop.  Conversations with Cal often go places I don’t expect.  I like to think that night the kid just wanted to be sure to see his mommy before going to bed for the night.