My new kitten, Persy, had to stay by himself in the den for a week. This way our other cats could get used to his scent. Otherwise Josie, our 7 year old cat would greet him in typical feline welcoming fashion by languidly and lovingly sniffing his adorable round forehead and then disemboweling him.

The week gave me the opportunity to teach him about life. The first morning I brought in my coffee and sat at the desk. Persy, a tiny tuxedo kitten mostly black with a white chest and chin, jumped in my lap and looked up at me with his wide brown eyes.

“Are you thirsty?” I imagined him saying.

“No, Persy. Humans drink coffee in the morning to energize them.”

“But you just slept for 8 hours.”

“Ahem,” I said, taking a long swig. “Um  . . .  well.”

Later I took in some of the 12 million toys we bought him. He ignored the toys and went crazy with excitement jumping in and out of the paper bag they came in. 

He resumed lap time. I said, “I want to tell you about the differences between men and women.” I looked down at his wonderful face against my chest. “Fathers clean litter boxes. Mothers cuddle.”

I turned on the TV. “What are you watching?” I figured he was saying.

“MTV. Adults never admit they watch it, like they don’t admit to reading People Magazine. And repeats of Designing Women are up there too. And we’re all upset that Murphy Brown isn’t on anymore. And Friends? Hellooo? We humans love to watch mindless shows that we secretly relate to big time.”

Around 5 o’clock, I brought in my glass of wine.

“Thirsty?” I was certain he said.

“Well, no.” I took a tiny sip.

“Then why are you drinking it?”

“It relaxes me.”

“But you’re in your pajamas with me in your lap. Won’t that relax you?”

“We humans need these chemicals. They work faster.”

He looked at me with a questioning expression on his lovely innocent face. I moved the glass far away.

The phone rang. I lifted Persy to my shoulder, holding him up in my palm by his little rump. I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

It was Bob’s mother. “We’re thinking of visiting next week,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Mom. We’re going away.” After I hung up, I couldn’t look at the cat. I knew he was thinking, “You lied?”

“I can’t tell her the truth.”

I know I heard, “Why?”

I looked down at those new-to-life eyes. “Because – well, I just can’t. I can tell your father the truth, well  . . .  sometimes. But not his parents. They wouldn’t understand that we’ve just had a terrible week of too much work and it would be the worst time to have any visitors.”

“Why not?”

I ripped open the giant bag of cashews I’ve had hidden in the desk for a month and began stuffing them in my mouth, hand over fist.

“Hungry?”

“No! I’m eating because I’m upset! That’s what humans do. It helps!”

“Really?”

“NO!”

He jumped down and trotted away. I went to him and picked up his tender young body. He put his paws on my chin, nuzzled against my nose, and began his wonderful purring. “I love you, Persy,” I said, closing my eyes against his soft fur.

“You need work, Mom.”

“I know.”

Now I try to live life as if my cat is always watching me.