The Astonishing Thing

Chapter 3: An Ominous Phone Call

Whereas the pregnancy slowed Mother down, the baby seemed to drain her energy completely. He is a helpless creature and demands attention.

Stupid, stupid, stupid baby.

Those first few months with the newborn after Man threw me out of the crib, the baby continued to cry and cry, all through those long, hot days. Everyone took turns getting up and making formula. Sometimes Mother got up, but just as often she sank back down on the bed and rubbed her feet. Some nights Man hollered for my sister, and sometimes he silently got up and comforted the baby himself. I'd watch Man cradle that baby and stare at him in the darkness of the nursery. He'd had two babies already, of course, but that was a long time ago, so maybe it all felt new to him again.

If the baby wouldn't stop screaming, Man would wince like it was painful to him. And it waspainful, believe me. This baby screeched with the strength of one twice his size.

Sometimes if the baby just wouldn't settle down, my brother got up and took the baby from whoever was holding him. He seemed to have the right touch and eventually got the thing quiet. Brother has a confidence about him in these situations that I find comforting.

I wish I could have held the baby. I would have helped out.

But I stayed far from the crib since Man lost his temper. Apparently, he didn't want my help.

The rest of the family continued to bother Mother. When my brother came home from wherever he spent his summer afternoons, he ran up the stairs without wiping the sand off his legs. He'd tear off his wet things in his bedroom and leave them on the floor before going to see Mother.

He would go and grab the baby and hold it in his arms while telling Mother about his day. Brother smiled at the baby and rocked him while talking. If the baby was asleep in his crib, my brother would bring in a large orange ball instead and twirl it on his finger.

But just as he did when she was pregnant, he would always end his visits by asking for something. "Ma, make me this. Ma, make me that." He was always asking for food. Brother is taller than Mother, and he eats a tremendous amount. He is old enough to drive the truck that takes the humans away from the house. He is not quite an adult, but almost. Mother calls him Jimmy. Or, "Jesus, Jimmy," when she is frustrated, and she rolls her eyes.

Poor Jesus Jimmy. He was hungry.

Frankly, I was too. Mother had stopped feeding me regularly.

Sometimes Jimmy would finally go down and eat sliced ham right out of the package, and he'd throw some on the floor for me. Not a Cat would come running, but I could keep him at bay with a sharp hiss and then eat the scraps. They were mine, and I was desperately hungry.

Thinking back on it, I realize Not a Cat was hungry too. He always looked at me with those round, brown eyes, hoping I would share with him and then expecting me to play with him.

He didn't understand the situation at all.

My meals started coming at odd times, from whomever I could force to get up. Usually that was my brother. Once in a while Man noticed I was hungry, and he made my sister feed me. Then I'd go curl up on Mother's bed, my belly full and my heart content. We would fall asleep as if nothing was wrong, and it was a great relief.

There was one night Man took Mother out, and she got dressed up like she used to. She was so beautiful!

Back when she got up in the morning, I liked to sit on the toilet and watch Mother get ready for the day. I did the same on the night she went out. She drew black lines around her eyes, to look like a cat. She put red on her lips. Her hair was glossy and her teeth very white. And she didn't forget me, filling a small paper cup with water and setting it beside me so I could lap it up with my tongue.