At a party last week, one of the women brought her six-week-old son. He’s a cute little critter, but I had no experience to share, and I was not one of the women reaching out to hold him. People’s cats always wind up in my lap, but babies, nope.
A few nights later, I had dinner at a home of a woman in my church choir. I had already seen her personalized “Nana” license plate, but when I walked in the door, her walls were so plastered with photos of her children and grandchildren it made me dizzy. The other guest, who always brings her granddaughter to church with her, cooed appropriately, but I immediately knew we wouldn’t have much to talk about. As she gave the tour of the house, we had to hear who was in each picture and what they were doing, and I began to regret turning down the glass of wine she had offered. It’s a lot like those folks who send Christmas newsletters telling all about kids we’ve never met and never will. When we finally sat down to chat, I summoned the calico cat to sit in my lap. I loved the vibration of her purring against my thighs even as my sinuses clogged up with allergies. Thank God for cats.