The Baby We Didn't Know We Needed

Shawn and I have been finished with babies for a bit--almost eleven years, in fact. We know, barring any unforeseen circumstances, we are far over the baby stage. We are headed into the preteen, late teen, and--God help me--mid-to-late 20's stages. No more babies here. I'm so grateful for our babies, but at 49--I'm done. 

We've had chicken babies and duck babies, two little kitty babies and a preteen kitty. They help me. I kind of suck at taking care of plants, but I really need someone to grow, someone to have and to hold, someone to nurture. But plants die in the store just seeing me coming, so pets it is. 

But, like I said, we thought we were past the baby stage. 

That is--until last spring--a year, now--we were alerted to an eight month old baby girl in need of emergency foster care. If we didn't take her, she'd have to go back to the shelter because her current foster mom wasn't in a position to keep her any longer.

We saw her photo and we were done. We were in love. The sweetest face, and the most beautiful big blue eyes we've ever seen, even Shawn's side of the Furr family. She has this little smudge on her bottom lip that makes it look like she's smiling or smirking, depending on what she's up to. She's also partially paralyzed and needs a family with stay-home, stay-close-to-home, or take-kitty-with-us abilities. Needless to say, we moved her in as quickly as we possibly could. 

Okay yes, you got me--our baby girl is a cat. Yeaahhhhh. Let's be honest, you should've known.

It seemed like a fairly easy no-brainer. Her mom just needed a break, and we'd been contemplating fostering for a while. This would be such a great test run for us! We told ourselves this to the sounds of snickering and outright laughter, and the finger pointing of our friends. Apparently, many of them even took bets on how long before we announced she was a foster fail.

It didn't take long. It obviously wasn't a shock. I'm still not sure who won the bet. Probably everyone.

Tofu entered our lives and turned them on their sides and upside down--delightfully, joyfully, lovingly so. My kids are 25, 17 and 11, but I'm certain have more photos of her, now Felicity Jane, than I do of my children combined. At least 10,000 times a day, she gives us reasons to pause, reflect, talk about how amazing she is, and marvel at how much she's done for us--for me. We stop to smile and watch her sleep or play, she makes us laugh, and she keeps me going. She's our version of stopping to smell the roses. Her little personality is a three million watt sun. 

Faced with adopting Felicity out or keeping her, I know the decision was easier than we made it. It just made sense to keep her, but we did put up a good front, attempting to adopt her out. For about a week? We already had five cats, did we really need a sixth? We knew that keeping her would end our very short, yet illustrious fostering career. The summer before we'd adopted three little boys, bringing our cat count up to five, including our first kitty with special needs (who gave us the courage and connections to bring Felicity home). We already had five cats, what difference would a sixth make? As foster parents, we dutifully posted her photo at the local pet boutique, and regularly to social media. We made lists of her favorite things--snacks, foods, toys, snuggles, how she likes to be petted and brushed--and her least favorite things--bath time and potty time, specifically. I listed the songs we sing for bath time, and the songs we sing for potty time. Potty time is girl time. You're in the bathroom at the clerb, you have to compliment each other's outfits and eyeliner ("girl, it is fiiiiiirrre!"), talk about the boys, then head back out to the insanity. I listed her lullabies and how to wrap her properly after bath time. She loves to be wrapped in a blankie and held like a baby, not just after bath time, but anytime. When she's cold, she curls up in her bed, gives us The Look, and waits for us to wrap her in her blankie. Shawn even turns the fireplace on for her when the windows are open. She loves having her nose rubbed downward, and her forehead rubbed back. Sometimes you have to burp her because she gets the hiccups. Yes, like a baby. She's not big on purring, but when she does, it's a pretty big deal. Because of her paralysis, she sits like a little human, with her back legs straight out in front, and I can guarantee it's the cutest thing you've ever seen.

Most importantly, I needed to make sure anyone interested in adopting her understood that Felicity has special needs. She needs regular, routine care throughout the day, and regular, routine vet care, including speciality care. She's a little high maintenance (no idea where she gets that from...). She has congenital scoliosis, which means, as I mentioned earlier, her hind end is partially paralyzed. Felicity gets around just fine, though. There's absolutely no slowing her down. This doesn't stop play time or most other activities, and she's more obstinate, determined, strong willed, judgmental and opinionated than any other cat I've ever known. I've never had a cat sigh and harrumph at me before the way she does. What it does mean though, is she needs help pottying. We have to help her with it 4-5 times a day; she needs 1-2 baths a week, and laundry 3-4 times a week. She's also happy, silly, playful, fearless and thoroughly spoiled rotten. One of her favorite toys is a battery operated, flopping lobster almost twice her size, and she rides it like a rodeo bull. Felicity has the cutest little twinkle toes and the most expressive face. She reaches her little head up for boops, kisses and pets, and has the sweetest, quietest, tiniest mew (unless she's in the tubby... Kitties do not belong in the tubby, Mommy!). I've read that Siamese cats are very vocal and expressive, but her face is really what's vocal and expressive... Her face says a lot (I'm clueless as to where she gets that from, too...).

Upon showing the list of adoptive parent requirements to a few friends, they all said the same thing, "Amy, you know she's already exactly where she belongs." One friend even said my list was our family to a T. Okay, she wasn't wrong. It did break my heart thinking about giving Felicity up, and if I could give her first mom any kind of peace, then six cats we shall have. It gives me peace. She gives me peace.

Our home once again looks as though we have small children; it's filled with toys, cat beds, steps for our older kitties and disabled kitties, cat towers, toys, fluffy blankies, and landing pads for the baby (Felicity does have a name, but she's usually "Princess," or "the baby," much to the confusion of those who aren't up on the latest with our family; we recently had to explain to a therapist that no, our child's 49 year old parents did not have a secret baby.).

We love this little girl so much. She's been diagnosed with congenital scoliosis and epilepsy (both times I said, "Oh, well that makes sense," to the vet, as though it does in fact, make genetic sense), and she has a fairly serious heart condition. We don't know how long she has (oh, but if God were to give us twenty years with her), but we're determined it's going to be the best possible life. She's been to see Santa and Christmas lights, she has no argument with traveling (which requires as much preparation and gear as does traveling with a human infant) or living in the RV (I've become the old lady with the cat in her lap going down the road; she wears her sunglasses and we wave to truckers and kids), she wears dresses and sunglasses, and has her choice of a gazillion beds in the house. Chewy and Amazon deliver new toys, outfits and blankies every other week. And most importantly, she's the absolute apple of everyone's eyes in this house. She is beloved by her older human brothers (tolerated by one particular feline sibling, not tolerated at all by her older sister, played with well and loved by her others). And me and Shawn? We adore our little girl. We are in absolute love with our princess. 

I have no idea what I'd do without her. I don't know where I'd be without her. She saves my life daily. She lets me hold her close and cry into her fur when I need comfort. She gives me peace, she gives me joy, she gives me unconditional love, she gives me confidence in what lies ahead. I don't know who sent her, but I have a few ideas--I just wish they were here to see her, to meet her, to watch her. My grief is at an all time high, my depression at an all time low. I had no idea how much I needed Felicity until she was here in my arms. I'm usually in tears over her at least once a day, so grateful she's here, so grateful we get to be her family, just--grateful. I know she came to us at a great cost to her first mom, so yes, when I say I'm grateful--I am grateful beyond words. 

Felicity, this beautiful little girl, this amazing little girl with the bravery and courage many humans don't even have--she takes time off my hands, and puts love directly in them.