Ever since Dylan learned to crawl, he has been displaying some unexpected characteristics. Yes, folks, I’m going off on a completely irrelevant and almost certainly pointless tangent. I’m pretending to think that he reckons he’s a cat.
For the benefit of anyone reading this who doesn’t know me, I should point out before I get any further into this flight of fancy that I work for the feline welfare charity that once had ‘League’ in its name. Yes, the one that everybody still seems to think has League in its name. It shortened it over a decade ago, but nobody seemed to notice. Oh well.
Furthermore, until very recently when we decided that Kate would stay at home with Dylan she too worked for the same organisation. It’s where we met, in fact. And this already adds some credence to my whimsical notions.
We all know about the stereotype of the crazy cat lady who hoards unfortunate moggies and attributes human characteristics to them so, presumably, it can work in reverse too. That’s not to say that I’m going to get Dylan neutered, mind.
Dylan enthusiastically follows us around wherever we go, doing his best to tangle himself between our feet. Particularly when it’s in the vague direction of the kitchen and his food. Similarly, he’s adept at dragging himself over to the back door and glancing up at us with a hopeful look.
He has also developed a strange fascination with cardboard boxes, sporadically ‘sprays’ the bathroom when we’re changing him and has taken to chasing would-be prey around the house. Last weekend we had to stop him in hot pursuit of a spider that he wasn’t going to give up on catching – exit pursued by a baby, eh? – and, in all probability, put in his mouth. Nice.
The penny seems to have dropped with sleeping during the day too. Until recently, he was loathe to have a nap even when he was very tired. But now he’ll quite happily have a snooze. He even dozed off in his high chair during his dinner yesterday.
Add to this the fact that I’m writing this at an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning because he woke us up demanding breakfast and you’ve got some pretty strong evidence to suggest that our son has aspirations of being a cat. Can’t say I blame him really.