Cats are pussies.
It only took eight months for Oliver to get over the fact that we have a baby.
Oliver is perhaps the world's most neurotic cat. The move to Japan resulted in an eremitic retreat lasting upwards of 60 days. A ringing doorbell will have him cowering under the duvet for several hours. Invite a stranger into the house and all is lost.
You can imagine the trauma that resulted from the introduction of a new family member.
Oliver's reaction to Stella was predictable: he retired to his spot under the duvet for a good month. When he finally emerged from his cave, he was in a solid state of denial. He would not go near the baby, nor touch anything associated with the baby. He ran and hid at the sight of her stroller, was terrified of her baby chair, and wanted nothing to do with her crib. If he had to cross her path, he made sure to do it at full tilt so as to avoid any flailing limbs. Stella, meanwhile, was totally oblivious to the fact that cats were any different than, say, a piece of furniture. Cat, table = same same.
Things have just recently started to turn. Oliver is no longer afraid of baby things; he has taken to lounging in Stella's crib, sleeping on her toys, and hanging out in her highchair:
Because it's right underneath the heater.
Stella, however, is totally enamoured with the cats. What lovely fur to grab! What long tails to pull! Ears for pinching! Eyes for poking! Yippeee!
Oliver, who upon the introduction of Stella had been rudely demoted from Chief Snuggle Recipient, has now deduced that attention from baby = snuggles from me. I have discovered that any amount of fussing can be immediately halted simply by parking the baby in front of the cat. So I do this a lot - and reinforce Oliver's good behaviour with lots and lots of positive attention. And so he tolerates the tail pulling and eye poking. Even seeks it out. And occasionally joins us for a pre-bed nursing cuddle.
Nothing...NOTHING makes Mr. Chef happier than his cat-loving baby.