She’s started sleeping the laundry basket. She’s starting crying to be fed at bedtime. It’s a far cry from her old life.
The feline diva used to be the main attraction. She would be fed by the first of us to rise (usually The Husband) and she would sleep wherever she pleased. That was before kids.
She weathered the first one well. She even decided to help with the parenting, letting us know (as if we already didn’t) when The Boy was crying and voicing her opinion that we weren’t reacting fast enough. When The Boy got older she would tolerate him pulling her tail or carrying her around the house upside down.
Then The Baby arrived. She still kept watch when he was a newborn, urging us to act at the slightest whimper but now… she’s had enough.
The Baby is old enough to find diva kitty interesting. That usually means he gets fistfuls of hair… and kitty gets mad. I give her credit, while she may nip as a warning, she still does not bite.
I think she has given up on us. She used to serenade us with an operatic aria (off key, of course) when she was lonely or upset, now she just slinks off to sleep in whatever corner seems safe, sometimes getting locked in strange places, and begs whomever passes the kitchen for a little food.
I feel for the poor girl. Her diva attitude is whithering, even when I have time to offer a cuddle, she brushes me off, offended I haven’t done so sooner. Santa better be good to diva kitty this year.