Three weeks have passed since our foster kittens, Cayla and Ally have joined our household. After the first few days, we fell into a routine of feedings and playtime that suited us all very well. In the past week I’ve noticed that they aren’t the babies they were when they first arrived so I’ve been extending their time out and have broadened their allowed spaces as I feel appropriate. Cayla especially has proven to have a good working knowledge of the house, running up and down the stairs to use not only their smaller litter box but climbing up over the side of the large plastic container I have for Izzie and Purrl in the laundry room. Free from fear that I will find a small pile or puddle on the carpet, I’ve let my guard down on having to know their constant coordinates.
Last night when it was time to head upstairs for the night, Cayla was curled up on my lap. After a couple of hours of romping she had settled in with me about an hour before, helping me with my latest knitting project by pulling plenty of yarn from the skein to reduce drag. I drew her to my chest as I lowered the footrest on my Lazyboy and began to look for her sister. Ally was not readily visible. Dave and I began by checking her usual favorite spots and not finding her began a whole house search for the missing kitten. After fifteen minutes of searching, I sent Dave to bed and decided to sit up for our errant young lady.
It’s been many years since I’ve sat vigil for a young one not home at bedtime. When Maggie and Andy were in high school, the curfew Virginia Beach imposed on minors under eighteen saved my beauty rest by requiring they be home by 11:00 PM. One the magic age of 19 was reached and they were home from college for the summer and holidays, all bets were off. Theoretically they could come and go as they pleased, whether it pleased me or not. There is nothing so precious to me as family and the fear of losing them was immense. Consequently I spent many a night waiting up for them, haunted by the ghosts of college-years past and the frightening possibilities of my own imagination. While attending a church conference I once heard this referred to as “a dark night of the soul”; a time when we feel so powerless and vulnerable that we allow ourselves to be overtaken by the darkness. It is not a good place to be.
Eventually they would arrive home safely and after it became clear that they were not impressed by my impression of a worry struck mother, I elected to scurry myself off to bed before they hit the front door. Whether I was there to great them or not, the result was the same; I lost sleep and paid dearly for it the next day.
After many long talks with myself, I resolved that I needed to stop these late night vigils. Like it or not, my children were young adults and free to live their own lives. My role had changed from protector to assistant; if they needed me, they knew they could call me and if they called me, I’d be in a whole lot better shape to help them if I were awakened from a sound sleep than if I’d been sitting in the dark, pumped up on adrenalin and fear. So, I started putting myself to bed at my regular time whether the kids were home or not. It wasn’t easy, but it was practical and I am a practical girl. That doesn’t mean I didn’t do the occasional bed check when I got up to use the bathroom, but for the most part I slept better and thankfully never received that call. I worked at ‘practicing’ my faith and really learned what it meant to rest in the Lord. Instead of giving into my lack of power, I called upon the all-powerful to light up my darkness and it worked.
So last night, I was sitting vigil again for a un-locatable kitten. After an hour of waiting for her to come scampering through the room, I gave up and went to bed. I decided to leave a portion of the playpen’s lid unzipped so Ally could slip in when she found her way upstairs. I can’t say I fell asleep quickly; there were too many mental images of kittens trapped in closets or cupboards or worse yet, lying dead in a corner after biting into an electrical chord with little black x’s over their eyelids. I said a couple of prayers for my lost kitty and eventually fell asleep. I did a bed check around 4:00 AM when I went to the bathroom but she hadn’t returned. Deja vu.
This morning Dave and I did our usual three cycles with the sleep mode on the alarm clock. As is her custom, Izzie marched in and across our bed to let us know it was indeed morning and time to get up and let her out. Unhappy at being ignored, she chased Purrl out of the room a couple of times until she was satisfied we were getting up.
I got up slowly, pushed my feet into my slippers and grabbed my robe from the closet door. I headed for the kitten’s room, hoping against all hope that Ally would be there and she was. I scooped her up, gave her a kiss and unceremoniously slid her through the slit in the screen into her playpen. Cayla greeted her with a throw down to the mat and bite behind the ear and all was set right.
As for me, I sat down and wrote this out as fast as I could. Now I could really use a cup of coffee; it’s going to be a long day.