Cats and Pregnancy

My 16-year old calico cat has been my constant companion since I adopted her in 1995.  She provides purring comfort and a good attitude.  Recently I was asked by a friend what I was doing about the cat situation. I immediately knew I was being asked about toxoplasmosis. I am not concerned about it. In fact, I clean my cat' litter box myself.  You'd have to touch the feces and transmit them to your mouth, which I'm not about to do, to be infected. And that is only if your cat is carrying the infection and you are not immune to it. Since I have been living with my cat for 15 years, I am surely immune by now. Also, my cat gets a thorough check up, with blood and fecal analysis every year. It was in March of this year, also when I got pregnant, that she had her most recent exam.  I handled my cat in the same manner when I had my daughter four years ago.  We weathered the pregnancy superbly. You simply wear gloves when you scoop the litter box.  Besides, you can get it by gardening without gloves or drinking unpasteurized milk or undercooked meat. I don't do those activities. About half the American population has developed an immunity to toxoplasmosis, and about 90% in France are immune.  There's nothing to worry about. Believe me, I rank myself in the upper percentile of worry warts.  If I worried for even a minute about the disease, I would have taken my cat to the nearest adoption agency faster than you can say, "twiddle-dee-dum." I am not about to give up my feline daughter. She is as soothing as butter.  Most importantly, my four-year old adores her. They indulge each other in playtime. Even the occasional warning bite when my daughter is petting the cat too roughly doesn't dissuade my daughter for going back for more. The cat lets her do almost anything to her. Yesterday she was placed in my daughter's playschool grocery cart and whirled around the apartment. She obliged, albeit with a "oh, brother," look on her face and paws on the edge. This is not to say that my cat pleases me all the time. She vomits the occasional hairball, which I have to bend down and scoop up. She occasionally gets some pee that misses the box a little. And her coat sheds enough that I have to vacuum pretty much daily.  Black clothes? Forget about it. The lint remover is on hand at all times. It has, I admit, entered my mind, to give her up when the baby comes because I will not have enough time to give her the attention she deserves and needs. But who would adopt a 16-year cat?  At the end of the day, though, when she is nestled up against my thigh on the couch, purring and lifting her happy head up for pets, all thoughts of adoption disappear into thin air.