Santa came a little early, here in the Tiny Train House, to bring us an early present.
It’s tiny. And very cute. Chop, who is technically the owner of this particular present, was given the owner of choosing his name.
Poor thing ended up being christened ‘Mr Tree’. I’m not sure why either. But considering how taken he is with our Christmas tree, it certainly suits the little guy.
It’s a strange experience, for all of us, having something even more vulnerable than we are to take care of, someone other than ourselves to nurture. It’s lovely. The Chop is very much in love- sharing biscuits with this tiny kitten who weighs only a kilo. Mr Tree seems to know he was bought here specifically for my little boy, and has taken up sleeping residence on the Chop’s bed, much to my son’s delight.
I hesitated at the idea of a new pet at first, especially something so tiny and with the potential to be hurt. I can’t stand the idea of my little boy having to say goodbye to something else he loves, after losing his dad and his dog… how could I explain it, on the off chance that this animal died? I know, I know, it’s unlikely… but I don’t count on unlikely as a means of protection anymore. I seem to beat the odds in an awful way.
It wasn’t until this past weekend, when we went to collect our new little bundle of stripy orange kitten claws, that I realised what a mistake that would have been. The Chop accepted the death of his dog with considerable mourning but total understanding… he already knew what dead meant, and where his dog had gone. But the concept of bringing a new family member into our house- a life coming instead of leaving- was totally foreign to him. He couldn’t understand that this cat was going to be ours, that he was coming home with us. It didn’t quite sink until he went to bed that night, I think, kitten curled up beside him.
It’s nice to have something new to love, a distraction around this time of year. And, once again, I’m almost proud of myself… it would have been easy to let that creeping fear kick in and justify the desicion that the risk of us all being hurt again was just too great. I’m glad I didn’t. Love’s worth it, even when it hurts. And I don’t want to show my kids, directly or otherwise, that it’s something to shy away from. Loving stuff, even if you lose it… it’s what makes life sweet.