Borges and the older brother syndrome

You know how every parent tells to a non-parent some story and then says, "you don't understand now, but you will when you're a parent"? One of the clichés I hate the most on this earth. But as with most clichés they usually harbor some truth behind them. In this case I'm talking about my previous "son" Borges, who has now been demoted to just my cat Borges instead of my son. Yep, he's been shoved way down in the food chain with the arrival of our daughter Gabriela. I remember I read in Jenny McCarthy's book "Baby Laughs" about how her dog or dogs went from being #1 to her to being a very distant bottom of her list of priorities and I never thought that would be me. But that's me. Now I'm jealous of my friends Tom and Jamie (co-workers of mine) who still talk about their dogs Shelby and Chloe like they are their beloved children. But I'm even more jealous of my friend Rachel who not only treats her two dogs also like they're her children but happens to be a parent as well. She even continues to dress them up for Halloween every year with some ultra-cute outfit. She's one of those people that go to a picture studio to take pictures of her whole family including the two dogs. Me? I can barely get my own daughter a Halloween costume let alone remember getting something for the cat at Petsmart!!!

But let me back up for a second and tell you the story of how Borges came into our lives. It all started when my previous cat, Rabito, who I had owned for approximately 16 years, died suddenly one day while I was at work (still in Puerto Rico). My mom was too afraid to tell me about Rabito's death so she called my then boyfriend to have him tell me. He in turn (the wimp) was too afraid to tell me by himself so he called a very good friend of mine at work and they both called me into a conference room and proceeded to tell me about Rabito's passing. When Rabito died I had probably spent more time with him than the entire time I had known my best friend for. Rabito was the kind of cat who, like any good cat, was only nice to me and pretty much really nasty to everyone else, including my boyfriend. Hence, my husband (then boyfriend at the time) pretty much hated Rabito's guts as well. So when he and our friend Jaime told me Rabito had died I thought they were pulling my leg and proceeded to yell at them saying they were really rude and insensitive. Unfortunately the news was true, and that's how Rabito left my life.

After that, every time I went by the pet store I would go in and stare at the cute little kittens for hours and hours - only to hear my boyfriend say "I hated Rabito, we are never having another cat". So I figured that would be the case, but one day I showed up at home and there was a cat food dish, a cat litter pan and all this other cat stuff that I thought I'd gotten rid of when Rabito died. My husband had decided to surprise me for my birthday with Borges, a beautiful Himalayan flame point that supposedly stared back at my husband at the pet shop and spoke to him. The dumb ass actually shelled out $800 for this cat, I would have never gotten an expensive cat at a pet shop, but I was in love the minute I saw him, and of course the trick worked quite well for my husband since a) I was pretty much head over heels in love with him after that and b) my husband had actually gotten a cat he couldn't hate since he'd gotten it himself and supposedly heard him speak. He had even named him Borges, after a famous argentinian poet Jorge Luis Borges, and my husband used to always refer to him as "eminente representacion de la literatura hispanoamericana" (if you're really interested email me and I can translate).

Anyway, skip ahead a few years to October 2005 when we had our first daughter Gabriela. That's the fateful day in which Borges went from only child to older brother. Since this blog entry is already getting way too long, I'll just summarize a few signs that Borges has been displaced downwards on the food chain:

• The numbers of pictures or Borges can be directly correlated (negatively) to the number of pictures we now have of Gabi. As a way of making up for this, I took a picture recently which is what's posted up here and what prompted me to write the blog entry. The picture issue became particularly apparent in all "expressions" of one's self online. You know what I mean...before the baby, Borges' picture was on my desktop at work and at home, on my IM profile pictures, you name it. Now it's 100% Gabi. I mean, I can't even remember the last time I myself showed up halfway decent on a picture, how am I supposed to find a nice picture of Borges to post online?

• When we moved to Cincinnati the Company paid to have Borges moved. However, he had to be quarantined for a few weeks which means we moved here before he did. Weeks and weeks passed and Borges was being boarded at some lady's place, because it was too hot for him to get shipped on the plane. Every week I called and asked when is Borges getting shipped, and every week I got the same answer. In fact, this lady fell in love with Borges and when he was finally able to travel the bitch didn't want to let him go! Anyway, now Borges is lucky if I remember to call a pet sitter when we're traveling for more than a week.

• Borges shared a promiment place in our bed, first he started sleeping on my pillow -- when he was a tiny little kitten his entire body fit on the pillow next to my head. Slowly but surely he moved down to our feet, and when Gabi was born Borges was pushed aside all together since Gabi slept with us for like 9 months or so! Those parents who are against co-sleeping get over it, we're lazy, and I wasn't going to get up every 2 hours to get the baby in her own room. Now that Gabi's finally moved to her own room Borges is actually back to sleeping with us, but I don't think he'll ever be as happy doing it as he was before.

• When Gabi was born we were so used to calling for only Borges we actually called Gabi Borges. Now the tables have turned and we are constantly confusing poor Borges with Gabi. Especially when we're really tired and sleepy which is pretty much all the time. Far cry from calling him "eminente representacion de la literatura hispanoamericana"!

• As you can imagine with Borges being a Himalayan, his long hair can make for nasty knots if not taken care of. We used to comb his hair down every day to avoid knots and have him looking beautiful. Now I can't even remember what I did with the stupid comb. So instead I take him to get groomed every 3 months or so, which usually ends up in his getting a "Lion King" haircut every year or so because of how bad the knotting is. The first time the groomer at the vet gave Borges the "Lion King" haircut I called the next day and said NEVER NEVER NEVER do this again. Now I actually think it's a pretty ingeious solution to a hairy issue (bad joke I know). This "Lion King" haircut actually also comes in handy if I'm smart enough to remember to get it done right around Halloween. But please be clear on this, I will NEVER EVER EVER EVER have any pet of mine included in a family picture, unless my daughter (figures!) begs and pleads for it.

• Hairballs, of which there are plenty of given Borges doesn't get a regular brush down, don't get treated nearly as urgently as, say, poopy diapers. Even though my husband swears that hairballs are actually poop no matter how hard I try to convince him otherwise. A peruvian growing up in Puerto Rico I guess doesn't have much chance of becoming a Ren & Stimpy buff (Happy Happy Joy Joy!).

• All of the cat's toys, including, but not limited to, all catnip-related items, went to become the baby's property. As you can imagine, the cat now looks at all of his previously-owned-by-him toys and says to himself: "Do I really want to chew on something that's been in the baby's mouth?". The baby of course doesn't give it a second thought. And it doesn't matter how many trips I make to Petsmart to get the cat new toys, they all end up being the baby's property sooner or later. Oh, and you know those "fishing poles" that are cat toys where the cat likes to chase after the "bait"? Gabi thinks the real part of the toy is the stick (e.g. the "fishing pole"), which she uses to poke Borges with, much to Borges' amusement. NOT!!!

• Quite ironically, my daughter Gabi loves Borges. In fact, she tries to run him down all day long, and Borges, who used to be able to lazily stay in one place all day long without being bothered to move, now has to constantly stay on the move in order to avoid Gabi's tail pulling moves. I have actually attempted to take a picture with both Borges and Gabi in it, but what with the running away from the baby all the time, getting them both into one image is practically impossible. And I'm not that good at photoshop...

So here's to you Borges, thanks for putting up with us even after abandoning you, this is a tribute to you and your beautiful Himalayan self. I think the argentinian poet would be proud...NOT! I am especially proud given I dreamt up last night about 5 different topics I could write about today, and yet the only one I was really moved to write about was Borges. Maybe because he actually half-smiled at me when I woke up this morning, which cannot be said for Gabi. :)

Oh and by the way, please don't mock me for reading "Baby Laughs"; a friend of mine had a signed copy and she lend it to me. Thanks Michele!