May | 2020 | Timshel

It all starts with Bernard and Toulouse. Silvio and I are woken up in either one of two ways. A wellness check by Toulouse, or a symphony of coos, sorrowful meows, and urgent squawks from Bernard. Toulouse, who we call “Tully, Toulousey-butt, or Nana Toulouse,” is our gentle little caretaker. If we aren’t up at our normal time, Toulouse will quietly approach you, his soft fur and whiskers grazing your face, his nose right next to your mouth to see if you are breathing. I’ll feel his whiskers and open my eyes, always shocked to see his big green eyes googley and too close, right up next to my face. Once I’ve been checked, he will softly pad across me to Silvio and perform the same ritual.

Bernard takes a different approach. He lets loose a crescendo of noise from deep in his little belly, which is round and droops down to the ground. He circles the room complaining, unphased by the grumbles “BERNARD,” “BERNIE QUIET,” coming from his humans. We won’t move and he will just yell and pace until he gets his way. We call Bernie, “Baby Bernie, Danny DeVito, and The Free One.” The Free One refers to Bernie’s adoption. At the shelter, while walking past a little grey puff and a little black puff, we both became enamored by how animated they both were for being such small little creatures. When we opened the cage, the little grey puff jumped out and into Silvio’s arms, where he nestled safely into Silvio’s chest and started purring. We were originally only going to adopt Toulouse, until we found out Bernie was his brother and would be free of charge if we adopted them together. How could we leave his brother behind? Poor Bernie turned out to be sick when we adopted him and had to spend a night in the animal hospital. Toulouse, Silvio and I were so miserable that one night Bernie was away at the vet. I cried when we had to drop him off and Silvio, holding tiny little Toulouse in his arms, wrapped both of us up in a hug, little kitten Toulouse’s tiny pea head peeking out between us. Bernie bounced right back though, and when we paid the almost $2k vet bill and spent the next week bundling him up in towel and squeezing medicine into his mouth, I looked at Silvio, “the free one…”

When I find missing items I’ve been looking for from around the house that Bernie has stolen and cleverly hidden all together in a collection, under the bed or tucked away in a corner of the closet, I sigh, “the free one…” And when I discover Bernie on top of the kitchen counter, eating a freshly homemade plate of nachos, I sigh, pulling him off the counter, his face and whiskers full of avocado and black beans,”the free one….” When we adopted them, their names were Natsuka and Shoma. We turned them into French cats and then as we got to know them all the nicknames followed. Both of them, collectively, are “sweetpeas, bubbahs and also the poo poos.” I’m sure they are very confused, but we love them and can’t imagine life without the both of them.

Once we are both up, one of us retreats to the bathroom, and one of us retreats to the kitchen. Whoever is heading towards the kitchen has the poo poos close at their feet. If it’s me, I’ll fill up Toulouse’s bowl and pour half into Bernie’s. Toulouse has to eat on top of the fridge because he grazes all day, a little bit here, a little bit there. If there is a cloth underneath his bowl, when he leaves his unfinished food, Toulouse will use the excess cloth to cover his dish, he is extremely polite and well mannered. Bernie consumes everything in 30 seconds and then will devilishly eye Toulouse’s unattended bowl, consume all of that, and happily leave Toulouse with nothing. Luckily, Bernie’s stubby short legs and wobbly tummy can’t propel themselves to the top of the fridge, so Toulouse can safely eat there at his leisure.

I’ll put the kettle on and make some coffee, which now must be decaf, because of little Noah growing inside me. Unlike decaf tea, decaf coffee with oat milk at least tricks me into the magical thinking that I’m ready to start working. Working from home has actually been a very welcomed change for me. Instead of the hectic rush to get out the door, the pressure to look a certain way, the empty stomach due to time restraints, the traffic, I can create my day, on my terms. I’ll retreat to the outdoor patio with my laptop and coffee, and start to read through emails and plan out what I need to get done. Silvio has been working out of Noah’s room, which is empty for the most part, just full of art supplies, a crib that has yet to be put together and buckets of light blue grey paint that will eventually one weekend make it onto the walls. In a moment where there is a lull, I’ll go shower, change into workout clothes or a bikini top and shorts, make avocado toast or cut up lemons to throw in water and bring back outside with me. No makeup or heels, curling irons or fussing, trying to plan out meals and running to the car with multiple bags hanging off my arms. One full of gym clothes, one full of snacks and lunch, a purse full of keys and a wallet, driver’s license, building access badges, credit cards, mints and random things. I feel like I’m back in Hawaii, just natural with the sun on my skin throughout the day. We got a large white umbrella for the outdoor table and I could spend all day out there working. We have a few fruit trees, orange, kumquat, and grapefruit, a huge rosemary bush, and it’s nice to take a break and pick fresh fruit and herbs, cut them up and enjoy.

At lunch, Silvio and I will usually take a walk. We put on our masks and grab water bottles and stroll around the neighborhood, which has lots of tree lined streets and parks, which have all been starkly empty for a few months now. The weather has been hot and both of us are getting tan. Sometimes I’ll expose my pregnant belly and it’s turned a rich golden color. Sometimes we see other people out walking and because of quarantine, neighborhood strolls are now more like “zombie walks” (which is what my mom calls them). You’ll see someone ten feet away, usually wearing a mask as well, who will dart across to the opposite side of the street, or you’ll zig zag into the bike lane to give more space to someone passing you by. Everyone frantically avoiding each other with half covered faces. Even with masks, you can tell when people are smiling, and most people wave to you or will wave back if you gesture hello from a distance. It’s nice to focus on people’s eyes. Even though half their face is hidden, you end up seeing more of them that way.

When we get home it’s back to work and work and work until the day slowly comes to a close. There’s a family of wild poppies growing in one of the vegetable beds in our backyard and they close their petals for the night around 6 pm, and that’s usually when all the emails stop coming in and work is over. They open back up in the morning when the sunlight hits them, the same with the flowers on the plumeria tree. I’m so enchanted by this, the poppy and plumeria flowers have turned into little dancing Fantasia characters in my imagination. It is very calming to have nature around you all day. I like working in the shade, feeling the breeze, or feeling sweat perspire on my skin if it’s hot, the sun feels good on my skin. The backyard is full of little animals, squirrels, opossums, birds, butterflies, bees, and Lady Danger.

Toulouse and Bernie were able to run free outside until they came face to face with bees and Lady Danger. They both got stung by bees and while Bernie was fine, it absolutely destroyed Toulouse. One of his ears went wonky as his chin swelled up making him look like Jay Leno, and then he started barfing, all over every surface that wasn’t a rug (he really is polite). All three of us rallied around our Nana Toulouse and nursed him back to health, but after that, there were no more outdoor adventures for the poo poo’s. They have tons of windows with windowsills that they can lounge on and that’s how they met Lady Danger.

Lady Danger was originally named Marie, a huge furry beige cat with beautiful big pale mint green eyes. A street cat, she appeared one day on the porch, and would take daily naps in our lemon tree pot. Bernie had great affection for Marie, he would coo to her through the window, unabashedly admiring her beauty. But one day, after opening the blinds to the front window, I noticed Marie on the porch next to something…bloody. When I looked closer I noticed it was a headless rat, it’s guts gooped out next to it’s decapitated body, it’s long skinny tale curved around Marie’s paw. I froze in the window, horrified and it didn’t take long for the little poo poo’s to jump up on the chair and join me, all three of our big eyes wide and staring at Marie. Marie was strutting around next to her prey and she meowed with pride. Silvio wandered out in his pajamas, his hair all wild from just waking up and joined us at the window. “What’s everyone looking- Oh God!” “I think it’s a gift…” I said, trailing off, my eyes hypnotized in horror by the exposed translucent blue green guts.

Bernie was making panicked noises like a deep roll of the tongue, the natural domesticated, spoiled little house cat he is, utterly shocked by what his exotic and wild crush was capable of. Nana Toulouse was frantically looking around in the distance, probably for the rat’s head, hoping he could maybe sew it back together, bring it back to life. “We must change Marie’s name,” I told Silvio. “She’s now…..Lady Danger,” I said as we all watched her start to nibble at the rat. We were haunted by the whole thing all day. We drew the blinds closed and stayed out of the living room because of its close proximity to the porch. Silvio eventually went out there with a shovel and took care of the remains and ever since, Bernie won’t sit on the windowsill and coo to Lady Danger in the lemon pot. Toulouse is less hurt and more understanding of her offering and will still talk to her through the window. I wish I could toughen Bernie up, teach him how to be a real cat, but he’s too far gone, our domesticated little Danny DeVito housecat.

When the sun sets, I usually start to make dinner. Sometimes, I have the news on in the background, I’ll watch just enough to know what’s going on, usually Mayor Garcetti’s briefings for Los Angeles, and then I turn it off. Silvio and I can not tolerate anymore Trump news. It’s too hateful and corrupt, it hurts our souls. When the quarantine first started I would watch the White House briefings with a similar expression as when we found the headless gutted rat. Hearing Trump speak, it makes you queasy. He too easily gives you a glimpse into something horrible, the darkest part of something. Something so unknown and unreasonable you can’t understand, and it leaves you feeling uneasy all day. So we keep him out of the house. Silvio has been trying to lower his blood pressure and I’m pregnant so we’ve been eating very clean and healthy. Oats with fruit, veggie quesadillas, and lots of salad and sweet potato fries. So I’ll cut up veggies, and make vegan dips, and Toulouse will be in the windowsill, Silvio in the other room still working with Bernie asleep under his desk. Noah inside me, sometimes kicking or wiggling, and I’ll think about him growing, and what he’s going to look like, or sound like, and I always get tears in my eyes.

I’ll never forget this time with our little family, and with Noah, who is apart of it, but who we haven’t met yet. We worry, of course we do. The world is in a state of chaos and it’s impossible not to be fearful. We worry the longer this goes on, that we will lose our jobs and healthcare. We worry about Noah, he is due August 5th, which is fast approaching. We worry we will get sick or he will get sick, that we all will have to be separated. We worry our family and friends won’t get to hold or even see, in person, our little Noah when he’s born. We miss our parents, I wish I could have my mom around with me while Noah and I grow. I wish my family could come over and see the house we’ve worked hard to make cozy, safe and inviting. I wish I could make them dinner and we could all eat outside together. That Silvio’s mom could visit, that everyone could be apart of my pregnancy, feel Noah’s kicks, talk to him while he’s inside my belly. But Silvio and I also see that we are lucky. And we are cherishing this special time the three (plus the two poo poo’s) of us have together. We are all so close and have experienced every part of this pregnancy in such a slowed down, beautiful way. I really feel motherhood and for the first time really, womanhood, and am able to love it in such a safe and loving space. For that, I’m grateful.

We will all eat dinner in the kitchen together. Toulouse on top of the fridge, Bernie underneath and Silvio, Noah and I at the table and we imagine how it will be once Noah is here, what it will be like as he grows up here. Much less calm, everyone running around, Silvio and I completely exhausted, Toulouse perched on Noah’s high chair, lovingly rubbing his furry face on Noah’s bald head. Noah pooping or smearing mashed carrots everywhere, Bernie eating the mashed carrots. Hopefully our parents, family and friends around, parents trying to help, too many bodies in the kitchen, chaotic happy energy everywhere, and we can’t wait.