JPost.com | BlogCentral

Murphy-the-Cat, formerly Murphy-the-Kitten, is big news around these parts. It seems she's pregnant. Pregnant cats are novel to my family.

I grew up with dogs. Hounds and terriers populated my childhood. Thereafter, my pets were footnotes and manual typewriters (I wore out the parts, and, consequently, the machines, every few years; it was cheaper for me to replace than to repair them, especially when manufacturers began to sell electric ones!)

Accordingly, it wasn't until I was in graduate school, hundreds of miles away from my family and from my fiancé, Computer Cowboy, that I adopted a cat. It wasn't until that time that I needed the company. That cat, like the three or four others that followed him, was "gender free." Thus kittens, per say, were never even a topic in my home.

After my husband and I married, we continued to provide hospitality for cats. Some of our visitors became fixtures, while others stopped by en route to the vet and to further adoption. Usually we kept the older cats, the ones less likely to be requested by foster parents. Those mature cats came to us without gender.

Years passed. Many of our cats lived with us for more than fifteen (people years of age) a piece. At the peak of our feline population we had four cats, simultaneously. We never had kittens.

Before we made aliyah, we gave away our New World pets. Our lizard went to one of our vet's assistants, a certified and certifiable herpetophile who also collected snakes (I just hope that our uromastyx, Harvey, did not become a snake snack). One cat was given over to a member of our religious community. Our other cat was driven all the way from New Jersey to New England to live out the rest of its life with the family of my husband's former bridge partner.

Although we adored our animals, we had no wish to subject them to Israeli attitudes toward small creatures. Before moving here, we had been apprised that Israelis equate cats with squirrels (see: "Disambiguation, Feral Cats, Kaparot Chickens, and Bad Puns," October, 2006) and that it would be both difficult and redundant to bring a lizard to the Middle East. A few pet-free years passed.

This fall, though, as noted in "Something Furry," December 2007, I came across an overly friendly, mildly intelligent kitten and with little ado about the inconvenience to my family, but much ado about her welfare, brought her home. So worried was I about saving her life that I forgot about the halachic constraint on neutering. Once the dust from the litter box settled, the question came up.

Computer Cowboy and I made calls to lots of rabbis until we found one that would talk straight to us about our situation.We wanted neither kittens nor to have to re-release our newest furry-face. We also wanted to speak to someone who was not trying to bite back laughter during the conversation.

One source held out for us a remote possibility (don't try this at home kids without rabbinic guidance). Under certain circumstances (no, I'm not giving over the details-ask your own sha'elot), it is permitted to temporarily hormonally alter a cat, i.e. to "give her the pill."

Our source grilled us. That extremely knowledgeable rabbi needed to make certain that the leniency with which he was familiar actually pertained to our kitten. That kind man only guffawed once or twice during the entire conversation. It seems that even Torah's watchdogs, in Israel, consider cats as rodents and wonder how any sane Jew can spend even a moment of time treating kitties otherwise.

A few days later, our vet, who makes house calls, came with syringe in hand. He suggested that since our cat was so young and that since her body was changing so rapidly, rather than wait six months for her next dose, we make an appointment for a booster shot around Pesach. Neither he nor we counted on Murphy's plans.

Three times, she escaped the monotonous safety of our home. Each time she returned, but not without having caroused at least with the dumpster cats that inhabit the bin just outside our front door.

This most recent time that Murphy ran away, she returned with a few scratches around her nose. We supposed she had met up with a territorial fiend. We remain such innocents.

Murphy's been becoming increasingly affectionate to certain household humans and increasingly standoffish to others. Vital parts of her body have undergone noticeable color changes. She eats more and sleeps more. Our otherwise skinny pet's lower abdomen has developed a droop as well as some questionable lumps. By the time that this essay goes to print, the vet will have likely confirmed our suspicions.

One of our human kittens asked me how such a condition is possible since Murphy was given an injection. I told my child that none of those methods of altering an animals natural cycles, whether the beast be four-legged or two-footed, are foolproof. Unwillingly to be stymied, my child pointed out that the statistics were against Murphy having conceived.

I agreed and one upped our shared contemplation by pointing out that if indeed our little kitty was going to have a litter, she had chosen the time spanning from one week before Pesach to the week of the holiday. Again, the probability of a cat giving birth during that otherwise "quiet" time, versus any other week, was small.

My child wondered aloud how these two facts could exist, let alone converge.

"Easy," I replied, "it's Murphy's Law!"

_____________________________________________________________

Little Smile:

A few weeks ago, Boy-Who-Needs-Books and I were in a waiting room. I gestured toward the heimishe magazines and said to my son that he could look at anything he liked.

A playful grin lit his face. He turned his eyes toward the ceiling and said, "Wow! I'll examine the light bulb."