CAT PERSON, PART 1

The author pictured with her baby sister and a decorative hanging mobile of cats wearing dresses

To say I am a cat person is a grave understatement. Loving cats is part of my DNA; it is an absolute truth. From my earliest years, I can remember blowing out the candles on my birthday cake and wishing for a pet cat — to be specific, a fluffy white cat. I decorated my childhood room in a tasteful motif of fluffy white cats: They lined the wallpaper border, stuffed ones were piled high on my bed, and figurines dignified every surface.

When I was nine, my parents finally surrendered, and my dream of adopting a kitten finally came true. We went to the shelter, but as it was Christmastime, all the kittens were taken — except one. A 12-week-old gray domestic shorthair remained.

We lifted him out of the kennel, and he purred and rubbed his cheeks on us. I remember him standing on my dad’s shoulders. When we put him back in the cage, he mewed desperately and stretched his tiny paws out of the spaces between the wires toward us.

I had to have him.

“He’s not white,” my mom pointed out. “Are you sure you don’t want to wait till we can find a white one?”

Hell no, I didn’t want to wait! I’d been waiting nine agonizing years! It was settled then. We brought him home, and I picked out the name. It came to me like a revelation: Alex P. Kitten, after the lead character in Family Ties (it was the ’80s, after all).

Alex was my best friend from that day forward. My mom fed him and cleaned his litter box, but he was my cat. He fell asleep in my arms every night and rushed to my side anytime I cried. We invented games together and basked in each other’s affection. The poor guy never had a cat treat or a real toy in his life, but he hijacked all of my smallest stuffed animals and dropped them victoriously at my feet. Owning a cat was everything I had dreamed of and more.

The author pictured with bodacious bangs and Alex as a kitten

I moved to Florida when I was 22, and Philip entered my life a few months later. He met my beloved childhood cat on several visits to my hometown, but Alex was diagnosed with kitty cancer shortly thereafter. Sometimes I think the stress of my absence was too much for his little feline body.

My parents called me the night before the entire family was scheduled to fly to Orlando for Thanksgiving. Alex was failing, and he couldn’t be left alone while they were all visiting me. They had made an appointment for the next morning to put him down before they headed to the airport.

We were all on different extensions of the phone, weeping together. Alex had been a true part of the family, a faithful companion for more than a decade. He had seen me go from a little girl with poof bangs and a sprawling Barbie village, to a teenager with her first boyfriend and her first car (a baby-blue 1967 Dodge Coronet), to a college student venturing off on her own for the first time, to a real adult with her first grown-up job. I wasn’t just losing my sweet little pet cat; I was losing an entire era of my life.

The next morning, my parents found that Alex had passed away while they slept. In the night, my father had felt Alex run across his chest and leap into the air, never landing. It was a dream though; Alex had been far too sick to run or jump. To this day, I’m flooded with gratitude that Alex chose to go that way, to spare my parents the guilt of having to put him down, and to allow his owners to come together later that afternoon in Florida and grieve as a family.

As an adult, I knew I wanted to adopt more cats (to be specific: two male kittens from the same litter, so they would be companions from the start), but I was determined to wait until the time was right. I had read that moving a lot stresses cats out, and I didn’t have a home to call my own.

Even after Philip and I were married, it didn’t seem like it was time yet. We wanted to buy a home, get settled, and wait until our work travels slowed a bit and we could focus on our new little kittens. In the meantime, I bought a book titled Total Kitten Care and read it cover to cover. I was going to be the best cat mom who ever walked the face of the earth.

Finally, two years after getting hitched, the time had arrived. We drove to the shelter, and I was so giddy; I felt like I was nine all over again. When we arrived, there was even a litter of solid-gray kittens! But when we took them out of their cage, the signs were all wrong. They were lethargic and disinterested. They didn’t want to snuggle or play; their tails didn’t pop up in curiosity and respect.

Philip said, “These aren’t the right kittens for us. We’ll come back next week.” I cried like a child.

But somehow I survived another week, and when we went back, that litter was gone. In its place, a new litter of eight-week-old gray kittens had come to the shelter, two males and a female. One of the males was already spoken for, so I was uncertain, because I wanted two boy cats, just like my Alex. But when we pulled the female out of the cage, she nuzzled right under my chin, purring uncontrollably. Pretty soon she was asleep in my arms. The little male played with Philip with gusto. We looked at each other and knew.

AJ (short for Alex Jr.) and Abbi came home with me a week later. We kept them closed in the laundry room overnight, and in the morning, I threw on my white robe and went to check on them. As soon as they saw me, their tails fluffed out in terror — what was this towering white creature?! But when I sat down on the floor and picked them up, they exploded into purrs and crawled all over me with relief and pleasure.

Our new little fur balls

Abbi sleeping on my chest as a kitten

Philip's not too sure about these two troublemakers.

AJ uses Abbi as a pillow.

Philip and I have always taken cat ownership very seriously. We cat-proofed the house and zealously researched litter boxes. We bought expensive pet food, stocked up on toys and treats, and purchased Christmas stockings for them. Philip even hand-built them a scratch post.

AJ enjoying some new toys

We kiss and love on them relentlessly and play fetch with their toy mice. We take them to the vet every year for a check-up, and we switched them to lite food when they started getting a little on the round side. When we travel, we make our cat-sitters come daily, and we load them up with detailed care instructions.

Most of all, our cats have become a hallmark of our relationship and a connection only Philip and I share. We started calling them “chats” after going to France, and we have endless inside jokes about their behaviors — Abbi sleeping in her “chat hammock”; AJ being a “vampire”; Abbi doing her “scootches and rolls”; AJ wanting “violent pets”; Abbi making an “announcement” anytime she jumps up onto something; AJ being a “chomp chat”; the two of them watching “chat TV.” Philip and I send each other photos, and the cats keep us company when one or the other is away traveling. AJ is the playful one, always up for a “mouse hunt” or a session with the teaser toy, and Abbi is still the snuggler (her favorite spot is draped across both Philip and me on the sofa).

AJ and Abbi still love the "chat hammock," but Abbi has ultimately claimed it as her own.

When they came into our home almost five years ago, they elevated us from being a couple to being a family. And as we’ve wrestled with infertility these last two years, they’ve come to mean even more to us. They’re our children, our source of comfort and entertainment, a bright spot as we face the monthly disappointment of, yet again, not having conceived.

The best of friends

Abbi, especially, is our baby. Our little lap cat, the one that forcefully head-butts our faces, kneads our stomachs while falling into a trance, and cries in distress when Philip and I argue. Every morning she demands the “big show,” when Philip or I clean the litter box and fill their food bowls — she loves to watch. She has such a loving, sweet personality that we actually call her “the Schweetie” more than we call her “Abbi.”

Abbi on my lap

That’s why it was so distressing when I came home late from work a month ago to find her clearly in discomfort. I thought she was constipated, as she kept squatting and straining around the house, but nothing was coming out.

TO BE CONTINUED

SLUMP

I'm in a slump, ladies. Here are some positive things I could have done over the past three days:

- plan a girls' wine night

- exercise in any way, shape or form

- find out if our insurance covers Prometrium

- research a trip to Bolivia that Philip and I not only really want to take to visit our sponsored child, but also feel spiritually compelled to take

- write an important letter to our (former) vet about their utter neglect of our cat, Abbi, who almost died three weeks ago

- write a heartfelt blog essay about my longtime status as sheer, unmitigated, all-out cat person, and what almost losing Abbi taught me about gratitude and the depths of my love for a creature in my care

Here's what I actually did:

- Ate a full-size bag of potato chips, a movie-theater-size bag of Raisinets, and exactly15 Archer Farms Simply Balanced fruit strips (please note: They are no longer "simply balanced" when you eat 15 in three days.)

- Wandered around Target and bought five pairs of underwear, as well as black jeggings, for no reason in particular

- Re-watched The Scene in this week's New Girl episode (in which ***SPOILER ALERT*** Nick and Jess finally kiss) so many times that I lost count

- read an 11-year-old message-board thread about successful IUI stories

Sigh, I truly can be pathetic sometimes. On the upside, I did bake a quiche for my friend whose dog passed away, so I haven't been a total waste of space.

I just couldn't bring myself to do any of those positive things these last few days. I don't even know why. I mean, I can point to some circumstances that aren't ideal lately (I'm on my period; my cat nearly died; we're taking a break from fertility treatments because we just spent obscene amounts of money on three cat surgeries and a weeklong stay at the animal hospital).

But I don't even know if it's that. I'm just down. Unmotivated. I came out of the gate in 2013 with all this optimism about how I was going to live life to the full this year, no matter what. And now I've lost all my momentum and just want to watch Downton Abbey in my sweat pants while scarfing down loaves of zucchini bread (I may have done that over the weekend).

I do need to find a spark of life, somehow. Hopefully February will bring brighter days.

YEAR IN REVIEW

Things that happened in 2012, in no particular order:

Philip's dad passed away.

I went to St. Kitts and Nevis with my mom.

Philip and I went to Panama (as in the country, not Panama City Beach, Florida).

Philip and I ran our first 5K race.

Then we ran three more 5K races.

My friend Katie came to visit.

My friend Sharon came to visit.

Our friends Mike and Jill came to visit.

Philip and I went to Savannah, Georgia, for our friends Tim and Lauren's wedding.

Philip and I went to St. Lucia.

Philip and I went to Los Angeles for my sister Alyssa's birthday. We sang karaoke. Well, I did. Philip didn't.

Philip went to Minneapolis with his friend Ben.

I went to the Dominican Republic with my friend Audrey.

I said I was going to spend my summer getting tan, and I did. It was fun while it lasted.

Philip and I watched a ton of baseball.

Philip went on 16 work trips. He brought back hard-to-get beer from every one.

I tried acupuncture for the first time. It cured my headaches, but not my infertility.

Philip and I went to South Carolina for the wedding of Philip's sister, Lydia.

I went to New York City to attend bridal fashion shows. Yup.

Philip and I celebrated seven years of marriage.

I went to Fiji.

Philip and I spent a weekend at New Smyrna Beach with our small group.

I spent three nights in Palm Beach, Florida, at a fancy wedding-industry conference.

Philip and I went to Rockford twice.

Philip bought season tickets for UCF basketball.

Philip and I started fertility treatments. We did two unsuccessful cycles of timed relations with medication. We tried to do our first IUI, but the cycle got canceled because I didn't respond to the ovulatory medication.

I was often sad, sometimes overwhelmed, sometimes caught up in the pleasure of a happy moment, but I was never, ever bored. I have a strong feeling 2013 is going to be a very different type of year.

Thank you for following along. I write this blog 5 percent for my own record and therapy, and 95 percent because I know people are reading. Whatever your circumstances, I pray your life is defined by defiant hope, unshakable joy, driving passion, and love that overflows into the lives of everyone you encounter.

SCORPIONZ

For the past several years, Philip and I have been involved in a small-group Bible study. Group has essentially served as "church" for Philip and me, as we don't have a real church home right now. Group is what has kept us studying the Bible together, reading books about spiritual growth, praying, and staying accountable to friends who also follow Jesus.

It's gone through many changes over time. Couples have had kids; they've moved on to other groups, other cities. Philip and I are now the longest standing members. For the last several months, we've been down to six members (us and two other couples), and we've fought to keep meeting despite each couple's other commitments with work and family.

I think the six of us could all sense that our time was winding down. We didn't have a clear vision anymore for what our focus should be or how to grow, and we are feeling the pull of finding more permanent church homes and plugging in. We decided as a group to continue meeting until the end of 2012 and then move on.

Last night was our final regular study. We wrapped up our discussion on the book of Ecclesiastes, helped each other process the heartbreaking, mind-blowing scandal rocking Summit Church this week, and split up guys/girls for a prayer time.

During the prayer time, I shared about my frustration with my follicles. I had since talked to the nurse, who said the doctor wants me to come back in on Friday for a follow-up ultrasound at no charge. I was thrilled that I wouldn't be charged for the scan, but the timing of the treatment was still stressing me out. The nurse said if one or two follicles had grown enough by Friday, we would likely do the IUI on Sunday morning. I'm supposed to leave on Sunday to drive down to Palm Beach for a wedding-industry conference, so the timing isn't ideal, but could work. However, if the IUI needs to happen on Monday, that would be a problem.

Amber and Laura were, as always, attentive listeners. They asked good questions, prompting me to consider options I hadn't thought of. Then they prayed for me. During the prayer, I thought of a verse from Proverbs that had come up during our discussion:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart
    and lean not on your own understanding; 
 in all your ways submit to him,
    and he will make your paths straight.

It's so hard to trust God in the midst of fertility treatment. When you're going through it, you're essentially trying to control your body and make it do things it won't do on its own -- things, by the way, that God created it to do. You're taking medications that replace or trump natural hormones, and you're undergoing procedures that supersede sex. How do I let go and trust God while also making these complicated plans?

But as often happens, the girls' prayer for me brought peace, and I left feeling that I just needed to be honest with my boss and then trust that God would work it out one way or the other -- and I needed to be okay with wherever the chips fell.

So, this morning I explained the situation to my boss, and without missing a beat, she said it was fine for me to drive to the conference a day late if needed. She really couldn't have been more understanding.

On Friday I'll find out the status of my follicles. It's possible that they'll still be way too small, or that too many of them will have matured (my nurse literally said the clinic won't let me become an Octomom), and that the whole cycle will get canceled anyway. But I'm on this wild path with God, and I know I'll be a lot more at rest if I can trust that he's really in control and that he works all things out for the good of those who love him and that he has plans to prosper me and not to harm me.

It's a day-to-day thing for sure. Some days I curse him. Some days I want to give up. Some days I'm so unhappy that I worry I might sabotage my marriage and all my friendships. But other days I feel hopeful, halfway normal, open-handed for whatever God wants to give or take away.

And I definitely feel thankful for the years of pursuing God together with the other couples, especially the women, in the small group. Thank you, ladies. Your prayers and friendship have kept me from falling off the deep end. You've helped me hang onto my weak thread of faith, and you've been a bridge of support during a vulnerable time when being part of a larger church body just didn't seem emotionally possible. I will be watching with great curiosity to see where God leads us all next, and I want to stay close -- you can ask me about my follicles anytime.