Should MadAnthony be allowed to breed?

I've been thinking about kids a lot lately. It seems like half the people in my department have either recently had kids, are pregnant, or married to someone who is pregnant.

In some ways, it boggles the mind that some of these people are going to be responsible for the care and feeding of another human being - but I'm sure that they will do OK, and raise great kids. But it's still disarming to realize that, say, the college roomate that drove us around our apartment complex parking lot half-drunk while we sat in the bed of his pickup on a pulled-from-the-trash armchair is now raising a nearly-year-old son.

My thought on kids has been that I probably shouldn't be entrusted with another living thing. But when I realize that other people seem to be doing OK at it, I wonder if maybe I could. There is something beautiful about the idea of being part of creating a life, of passing down my genes and my ideas, and of leaving someone on this earth when I'm no longer there.

And the part of my brain that thinks like a business major thinks it could help me in the dating market. (It also could be that the reason I'm single is because I tend to look at dating as more of a market and with less focus on the whole romance angle). It's not unusual to find personal ads for women who seem to be very interested in having children in the near future - mentions of kids, kid-related professions like teacher, pics of them with other people's rugrats. It would seem like women like that might be most likely to be interested in some of madanthony's strengths - frugality, stability, a decent job that provides free college tuition - and more willing to overlook my lack of rugged good looks or an adventurous and outgoing personality.

Then again, sometimes I find myself reverting back to the "I can't be trusted with anything that poops" thinking. As most of madanthony's readers and meatspace acquaintances know, about 9 months ago I acquired Nibbler, a female domestic shorthair that's half angel and half devil, a (to borrow a Brother Ali line) a cross between John Gotti and Mahatma Gandhi. I think I'm a decent owner to her, although i probably could play with her more. She isn't as affectionate as she used to be, but I suspect that's more her getting older than anything I've done. But every now and then I catch her doing things that could be bad, like eating silca gel or rubber bands.

But last week, I one-upped that. I came back from running some errands, and carrying stuff in the house. I left the front door open, with the storm door closed, while I put away groceries and the like. Finally, I closed the wooden door and then wondered where the cat went. I searched the house - bathrooms, closets, behind furniture, and couldn't find the cat. I could hear her meowing, a sad mournful "mrow!", but couldn't find her. Finally, I tracked the sound down to near the front door. Maybe she got out. I open the wooden door- and discovered that I had managed to shut her between the front door and the storm door.

She was fine, but I felt awful - and wondered if I should be trusted with a living thing after all.