On Saturday night, we visited the Cat Museum, aka the Cat Cottage (where Juliet used to board). They had a low vacancy rate, I was glad to see. Amongst their celebrity guests was MB, Maximus Bitus, a stunningly handsome deep and light orange tiger cat with a nasty disposition and a terrible temper. He had a privacy towel over half his cage and we were warned not to s-t-a-r-e at him. He apparently travels back and forth to his appointments in a clear file box; he can't be contained in a regular carrier, and given the severe crack on top of his box, the latest solution is barely doing the trick.
Fast forward to today at the pool. After my swim, I got into the shower. The adjacent showers were soon occupied by a little boy -- Max -- and his nanny. His pre-swim shower lasted ten to fifteen minutes (mine is usually about 15 seconds) because he wouldn't get out. He insisted that he was not going to the pool; he'd stay in the locker room while his nanny went to the pool. He started screeching when she went to turn the water off. He demanded that she take him for ice cream in the park right that minute, and that they not go swimming, then demanded that she go back to the car for his sandals.
During the whole interaction, the nanny was professional, firm, kind, patient. She got the kid out of the shower and moving toward the pool. And she won my undying admiration. However, this cute little kid now has a new name from me -- Maximus Brattimus. As I later said to a friend who was also finishing up her swim, you couldn't pay me to take care of a kid like that. Then again, some of us just aren't cut out to be parents. At least I know my limitations.
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