Ah, Christmas morning. That loveliest of days, ushered in by gentle snowfall, children banging pots and pans in an effort to rouse their parents, and cats in heat.
At least that's how OUR Christmas morning was ushered in this year. We were awakened at 3 a.m,, and again at 5, by my brother's new female cat, who apparently believed that behind the closed door of our bedroom waited a handsome male cat with whom, shall we say, she wanted to get a game of ball going.
Her crying had started soon after we arrived, and we all thought something was wrong with her, until she made some decidedly suggestive moves on the resident male cat.
"Ah," my brother said. "She needs a man."
Unfortunately for her, the male had been neutered for quite some time and was out of practice playing ball. He was confused by her crying and her advances, although he appeared to remember that there was something significant about this. He just did not know what. "Well, she's a girl," he probably thought, and left it at that.
She roamed the house for hours, restless and noisy. My brother thoughtfully left the window shade next to the door open several inches so she could look outside, in case any eligible male cats happened to stroll past.
Everyone who came to the house expressed concern over her state, thinking she was sick, or hurt, or lonely. We could have put a sign on her: Thank you for your concern, but unless you are a handsome male cat, 10-17 pounds, preferably muscular, (prior experience playing ball preferred), you cannot help me.
My sister-in-law was somewhat dismayed to discover the two cats, the ardent female and the clueless male, attempting to get up a game between them. My brother told her not to worry.
"He only knows how to get to first base," he said. "After that, he lost the playbook."
Eventually the cats seemed to come to a mutual agreement that this ball game was going nowhere, and they parted amicably. A few days later the female went off in a crate to yield, forever, her urge to play ball, and -- we hoped -- her urge to keep us all up at night with her insistent crying. When she returned she sat in a corner, shunning us, holding us responsible for how lousy she felt.
And so it came to pass that this cat would bear no more kittens and wrap them in swaddling bands. But, oh, what a silent night we finally had.
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