Naomi watched the kitten removal from the kitchen window, a cup of coffee clutched in her hand. She saw Jillian, the Kitten Tamer, put on gloves and capture the tiny kittens with a crabbing net. A small group of neighbors clustered around Jillian as she set up a large trap, for the mother cat, Naomi assumed. When Boris dashed into the kitchen for a can of tuna as bait, Naomi understood that she would be responsible for watching the trap until the mother cat was caught.
Naomi wondered why cats had to be taken away. She had heard a few nasty rustles behind the washing machine that suggested mice (or worse). But she thought about the mother cat's fate, to be trapped and neutered before being released again into the yard.
A sharp pang, almost a physical pain, went through Naomi's body, when she thought about the mother cat. She, Naomi, longed for a family, for children, for the heaviness of pregnancy. She wanted to know her own children in a way that her birthmother had never truly known Naomi.
Naomi looked in the mirrored surface of the toaster oven. "What would my kids call me?" she said aloud. "Mommy? Mom? Maybe mama?"
She turned when she heard a rustle behind her. Dylan, the six-year-old neighbor, had come silently into the kitchen.
"I'm supposed to get water for the cat," he said, holding out a bottle.
He met her eyes, which she knew was a small victory for Dylan.
"Do you have a mama?" he asked solemnly.
Naomi took the bottle from him and headed to the sink. "I do," she said finally. "I have two mamas, in fact, one who had me in her tummy and another who raised me."
"Where are they?" asked Dylan. "Are they in your house?"
"My birthmother is in China," said Naomi. "My mother who raised me is in Millburn."
Dylan looked puzzled then his face cleared. "Millburn is where we spend our coupons."
Naomi laughed in spite of herself. Millburn was higher-income community, with houses like palaces, bat mitzvahs like weddings, and cars like tanks. Coupons and Millburn were rarely mentioned together.
She handed the bottle back to Dylan and patted him on the shoulder.
"Yes," she agreed. "Millburn is a good place for coupons."
The boy left the kitchen and Naomi smiled. The weight of her sadness lifted for a minute, and decided it was time to get Saturday started.
Naomi wondered why cats had to be taken away. She had heard a few nasty rustles behind the washing machine that suggested mice (or worse). But she thought about the mother cat's fate, to be trapped and neutered before being released again into the yard.
A sharp pang, almost a physical pain, went through Naomi's body, when she thought about the mother cat. She, Naomi, longed for a family, for children, for the heaviness of pregnancy. She wanted to know her own children in a way that her birthmother had never truly known Naomi.
Naomi looked in the mirrored surface of the toaster oven. "What would my kids call me?" she said aloud. "Mommy? Mom? Maybe mama?"
She turned when she heard a rustle behind her. Dylan, the six-year-old neighbor, had come silently into the kitchen.
"I'm supposed to get water for the cat," he said, holding out a bottle.
He met her eyes, which she knew was a small victory for Dylan.
"Do you have a mama?" he asked solemnly.
Naomi took the bottle from him and headed to the sink. "I do," she said finally. "I have two mamas, in fact, one who had me in her tummy and another who raised me."
"Where are they?" asked Dylan. "Are they in your house?"
"My birthmother is in China," said Naomi. "My mother who raised me is in Millburn."
Dylan looked puzzled then his face cleared. "Millburn is where we spend our coupons."
Naomi laughed in spite of herself. Millburn was higher-income community, with houses like palaces, bat mitzvahs like weddings, and cars like tanks. Coupons and Millburn were rarely mentioned together.
She handed the bottle back to Dylan and patted him on the shoulder.
"Yes," she agreed. "Millburn is a good place for coupons."
The boy left the kitchen and Naomi smiled. The weight of her sadness lifted for a minute, and decided it was time to get Saturday started.
