The odd duo

Chapter 7: Learning to parent

it was only 2 weeks ago when they got the kitten, just like that, their quiet life was changed. They named the kitten Mochi, a sweet name for such a tiny creature who seemed so delicate and fragile. Olive, with her careful, methodical approach to things, took charge of feeding her and getting her settled. She made a warm little bed for Mochi in a corner of the living room, tucked away with blankets and soft toys.

Max, on the other hand, was the one who couldn't resist playing with her, rolling on the floor and offering her bits of kibble like they were treats. He'd try to teach her how to chase after toy mice or paw at balls.

At first, they thought it would be easy. They both had experience taking care of their own needs—Max with his energy and Olive with her love of calm routine. But caring for a kitten was different.

The first night, things went well enough. Olive was patient, checking on Mochi every hour or so, making sure she had food and water, and that she felt safe. Max, however, couldn't sit still. The little kitten needed her sleep, but Max was so excited by her presence that he kept bounding around, his tail wagging a mile a minute. Mochi would get scared and run to Olive, and Max would feel a pang of guilt but not quite know how to manage his emotions. He'd get more frustrated and try again, only to have the same thing happen over and over.

Olive could see what was happening, but she didn't know how to fix it either. She had always struggled with changes in her routine, and this constant newness—of having another being to care for, of having to adjust her habits—was making her anxious. The disorganization of it all, the unpredictability of a baby animal's needs, was overwhelming. She snapped a few times at Max, and the guilt followed quickly after.

"I can't do this," Olive muttered one morning, her eyes bleary from lack of sleep. She had been up most of the night, making sure Mochi was okay, while all max was doing was running outside and not contributing at all, and his energy making him restless and unaware of how much Olive was carrying. "I can't keep up with everything. I can't even get a full night's sleep."

Max, standing at the door, his paws twitching in that familiar way when he was about to bolt outside, paused. He could see the exhaustion in Olive's eyes. He felt it, too, but in his own way. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you, Olive," he said quietly, his tail drooping. "I'm just... I'm not sure what to do either."

Olive rubbed her eyes, trying to fight off the tears that were threatening. "We're both so... messed up right now. And now we've got her, and I don't know how to manage it all. I'm so tired, Max."

Max shuffled over to her, sitting beside her on the couch. He could feel the weight of her frustration. He had been in his own head, too, trying to deal with his own overwhelming feelings of restlessness.

"I get it," he said softly. "I've been avoiding things, running away from the reality of... well, everything. I can't keep doing that. But I don't know how to be what you need either."

Olive swallowed, taking a deep breath. "We need to find a way to make it work, Max. For Mochi. We can't keep running from things, because she needs us."

Max's ears perked up at the mention of the kitten, and his gaze softened. "You're right. I'm not good at staying still, but maybe... maybe we can help each other through this. We both have our challenges, and we have to deal with them, but we're not alone. Not anymore."

As they looked at each other, an unspoken understanding passed between them. They both had their own mental health struggles, their neurodivergencies that made life more difficult at times. Olive's need for routine, her aversion to sudden changes; Max's boundless energy and inability to always self-regulate; and now, Mochi—a tiny, helpless creature who seemed to be struggling in her own way. But they were going to figure this out together.

It wasn't long before they began to see the signs that Mochi, too, had her own challenges. At first, Olive noticed that the kitten was having trouble with her food bowls—she would often knock them over or get confused by the placement of her food, as though she couldn't quite make sense of where everything was. She'd sometimes bump into the walls when trying to chase after toys or run in circles, missing the target entirely.

Olive decided to talk to Max about this. "hey Max...I think Mochi might be dyslex-." Max cut her off "yeah, I know. we just have to help her a bit!" Olive's tail flicked angrily at the sudden interruption but kept her cool. "yeah, that's what I was thinking..."

They both sat down together, a sense of clarity washing over them. If they were going to care for Mochi, they needed to be patient with her in the same way they were trying to be patient with each other. They couldn't expect her to behave like other kittens—just as they couldn't expect themselves to fit into some perfect mold of "normal."

Over the next few weeks, they adjusted. Olive found new ways to make the house more predictable for Mochi, like placing her food and water in the same spot every day and using distinct colors and shapes to help her identify objects. Max helped by taking Mochi on gentle walks in the yard, letting her explore at her own pace, and teaching her how to play without overwhelming her.

Parenting, they learned, was hard. It required more than just instinct. It required patience, understanding, and an openness to growing together. They were still figuring it out—both as individuals and as a family. But slowly, they began to understand that they didn't have to be perfect. They just had to try.

And they had each other. And Mochi.

And that, they realized, was enough.