Someone brought a baby in today, and stopped the stroller right outside of my cube. Everyone gathered around to talk to her, asking lots of questions. The baby weighs 8 pounds... my cat weighs more than that! And I looked at the baby's arms and hands -- just about the same size as my cat's limbs. There's something freaky about that, but it's not so scary as my worry that there's something in the air or the water making women there pregnant. I have this great fear that I'll walk out one Friday afternoon, nine months pregnant.
Speaking of cats (no, we'll not speak further of babies), there's a quote I can't get out of my head from those Filch stories I'm reading:
"I held her tightly. My life has been a bitter one, and she's often been my only real comfort. Despite all my faults, my lack of magic, (not to mention my similar lack of charm, good looks, or almost any sort of redeeming qualities whatsoever) I have a cat who truly loves me."
I love Filch and I love cats. I don't love babies. Please let me leave work on Friday with another cat, not a baby!