#babysociopath

At just a few weeks shy of a year, Seraphina is breathtakingly cute. She's all big, toothy grins, enthusiastic waves and sweet dance moves to the tinny music of her activity table.

She’s also terrifyingly brutal.

Kitty, sweet, asthmatic, 17-year-old Kitty, is the primary target of her abuse.

Each day, when we arrive home from the storage facility I euphemistically call “baby school,” Seraphina immediately squirms to be set down. Once obliged, she crawls, hands and feet all slapslapslap, right to Kitty.

As she approaches, she lets loose a bloodcurdling shriek, kind of like the bully version of Mel Gibson’s “FREEEEEEEDOMMMMMMM!”

If allowed to reach Kitty unchecked, she will jam both hands into Kitty’s side, curl them into fistfuls of hair and loose skin and PULL, yanking Kitty several inches to either side.

Despite this same scenario playing out at least a dozen times since Seraphina has been mobile, Kitty never takes evasive action. She just sits there, watching, as her tormenter approaches, with sort of a weary air about her.

I’m not one for violence on either side and I have no desire to take my cat-scratched baby to urgent care. But honestly? I feel like Kitty would be well within her rights to defend herself. A gentle swat, a warning hiss – something.

But no. Poor, stoic Kitty just lies there and takes it. Even worse, she PURRS through the whole thing. Perhaps she has some kind of feline Stockholm Syndrome. Or maybe she’s just happy that someone is finally giving her a little attention.

We’ve been trying to get Seraphina to understand how to engage with a pet. In our house, this involves saying, over and over, in a loud, enthusiastic and rather dopey voice, “GENTLE!!! GENTLE!!!!!" while at the same time, making exaggerated petting motions. Frankly, we look like idiots. But it’s an idiocy I’m willing to assume, if it means she’ll give the cat a break.

Every time we repeat this lesson, Seraphina looks up at us with careful attention for a moment, then resumes yanking Kitty off the ground by the skin of her side.

But yesterday, something different happened.

Seraphina approached Kitty and all happened as per our usual routine: We intercepted her approach, hollered "GENTLE!!! GENTLE!!!!," demonstrated the appropriate patting motion, Seraphina watched carefully.

But then! Then!

She extended one chubby hand and, ever so gently, she patted Kitty.

Once, twice...

Then pulled her by the tail two feet across the floor.

I picked her up and said “NO we don’t hurt Kitty.”

She smiled hugely, then attempted to claw off my right eyebrow.

“NO! WE DON’T HURT MAMA!” I said with as much force as I could muster.

She looked at me. Laughed right in my face. Tried to pull out my nose stud.

Frustrated, I set her down in the containment area we euphemistically call “baby playground.”

She immediately started sobbing.