My small, fuzzy child

Dave, pretending not to want his Christmas present.

At 4 a.m. today, my child was in my face. "Mom! I'm hungry!"
Me: "It's 4 a.m.! Go back to sleep!"
Child: "But I'm huuuuuuuuungry!!"
Me: "You don't get fed one minute before 7 a.m. and you know it. Now shut up."
Whereupon I threw a teddy bear at him, and he ran from the room and proceeded to cry from the living room.

Of course, my child is about 10 pounds, covered in hair and a cat — so I didn't feel too bad about the exchange. And don't you even bother for one minute telling me I put too many human traits on Dave, just like a mother I know exactly what my baby's cries mean.

Dave is perfect practice for child-rearing, I think. At about 11 years old, he is a perfect combination of a needy toddler and a surly teenager. And he's a total mama's boy. He tolerates TJ, but he knows where his true source of sustenance comes from.

Some days he is very much a baby — if TJ and I are snuggling in bed, he likes to crawl right in between us, under the covers. If we're on the couch, he's in our laps. If I try to take a nap, he is immediately hungry, or wants out, or wants attention. I'll be five seconds away from sleeping and he's in my face, with that meow that might as well be, "Moooooooooom!"

Other days, it's like a 14 year old lives here. He wants independence, but doesn't have a car (i.e., opposable thumbs  — those door knobs are tricky). He wants to stay out late, but gets made if we lock him out. He's curious about drugs — OK, I'll admit it, Dave's got a nip problem. He only wants to be snuggled if it's convenient for him, and he'll take your hand off for unwanted advances.

And, just like a teen, you think you can trust him alone overnight, but you'll inevitably come home and he's barfed in the living room.

I know a lot of you are probably dog people, but the metaphor just does not work for dogs. Dogs are too dependent — they never grow out of being more than 5 years old. Cats, on the other hand, cats are like a little training manual for the inconveniences of children.

Want practice for being covered in spittle, Cheerios crumbs and other signs of toddlerhood? We call it cat hair in my house.

Getting too much sleep and need to work up to infant-levels of deprivation? Get a cat — especially at Daylight Saving Time. My cat understands that it's *really* 7 a.m. when it's actually only 6. He knows about sunrise. I have high hopes things are going to get better after Sunday.

Want to practice educating a small being? Dave can tell time, I've taught him that. At least, he knows that when the front door opens it's either lunch time or dinner time, and he also knows that when the black box next to the bed beeps, it's breakfast time. When I was in college, Dave would sit on my pillow and swat at the alarm clock, trying to make it go off. It was hysterical. He also recently learned how to knock, which is actually really eerie.

Feel like your life is too much in your control? Why not get a cat — where every activity you ever try to do will be interrupted, including, but not limited too, napping, cooking, eating, watching TV, having sex, and putting on your makeup. If I don't close the bathroom door, Dave is always in the sink while I'm trying to do eyeliner, bumping my hand. I used to give him a hair clip to play with to distract him, but he got wise to that and it doesn't work anymore.

Not sure if your house is childproof? Here's a key: If the cat can get to it, so can a baby. It astonishes me how he can climb, sometimes. The other day I was cooking, and the next thing I knew the cat was on top of the refrigerator. No idea how he got there. And cupboards or closed doors are his biggest nemesis: He will work at them until he gets them open and reveal whatever secrets they hold.

Need to feel the warmth of unconditional love, followed up by a tremendous mood swing that makes you regret everything up to this point? Yeah, that's totally cat territory.

Right now, my cat is sitting in my lap. which is fine, except I'm trying to type and it makes it harder. He also was just outside, where he rolled in something awful, and his white coat has turned gray.

Somebody needs a bath. I imagine it will go about as well as it would if he were 2.