I’ve never seen two cats’ eyes get as large (ROUND and large) as when we first brought August home from the hospital. He was squealing and squawking as new babies will do and the cats were, frankly, appalled. The sound was unearthly. Truth be told, the parents also were somewhat alarmed that such a cacophony could issue forth from such a mouse-sized voice box.

Olive in particular was unhappy. After glowering at us with her wide eyes (the cat version of stink-eye), she slunk low and long, close to the floor. She slept behind a curtain of winter coats in the hall tree for three weeks.

Then, one day, it all changed. And here’s how it happened.

Olive has a certain party trick that every time Michael or I utter a “shush” sound, she responds with a meow. The louder the shush the louder the meow.

As you can imagine, given the expressive VOLUME August was capable of producing, shush was employed on a regular basis in the household. And Olive, despite her horror at the sound of August’s cries, found herself unable to resist meowing at the siren cry of my shushing.

Next thing I knew, Olive was in the nursery meowing her heart out in response to the shushing while I was shushing my heart out in response to the crying. It was a symphony of caterwauling of the highest order. It got so loud, I could barely hear myself think.

And so, that is how an old party trick enabled a friendship (used in the loosest sense) to develop between August and his sisters (whatever Olive does; Emma follows). Now, whenever August cries, the cats are the first to arrive at the nursery where they lay on the rug and twist and turn and stretch and yawn and meow and bite at my heels.

I call it getting along. Siblings will be siblings after all.

Tags: Crying, Nursery, Pets

I can’t say that sleeping is August’s finest talent. “Going down” usually involves an avalanche of resistance — piercing wails, coughing, spluttering and kicks to mum’s stomach, chest and breast. (There’s gratitude for you.)

But with Dad, his behavior is altogether more polite. He whimpers and then is quiet. Michael theorizes that it takes him exactly six minutes to settle (and silence) himself into sleep.

Since Michael is out at squash, we are testing this theory.

At 6.34 p.m., he was put into his cot. By 6.42 p.m. there was silence. Success! Hurrah!

BUT at 6.49 p.m. there were wails again. Does it still count?

Meanwhile, the cats sing to his cries. Yes, it is absolutely ludicrous.

Testing, Testing, Shhh, Two, Three — ADDENDUM

Oh bless me, it worked. Six minutes on the dot. 6.49 p.m. –> 6.55 p.m. Miracle Baby!

Tags: Crying, Schedule, Sleeping