Many people have listened to both Geeta and I describe our anxieties about our cat Ophelia. Anyone who has met her and lived to tell realizes this is no saintly feline. Geeta and I have had nightmares about her leaning over the crib, claws out and lips drooling. In the past nine months several solutions have been put forth by friends and family, including declawing, kitty-Prozac, and just plain tossing Ophelia out the door.
Our fears, it seems, were hideously unnecessary.
When we brought Reina home from the hospital, Ophelia, in the vain pursuit of nonchalance, ignored us for a few hours, only eyeing Reina from the corner of the room, and only then if no one else was looking.
Slowly, she started getting closer and closer; finally sniffing Reina’s head on Friday night. Since then she has even jumped into my lap as I was holding Reina, content only to sit together. In the meantime, she has been uncharacteristically quiet, especially when Reina naps.
This comes as a gargantuan relief to us. Although we won’t ever let our guard completely down, it’s nice to know that Ophelia wasn’t bent on reenacting any scenes from Lady and the Tramp.
