Cats Outta the Bag

My mother taught me two very important things about cats. One, they do indeed land on their feet and two, she hated them. At the tender age of six, I watched in horror as my mother opened the window and threw a stray cat out of it. Doesn't sound too terrible? It was a second story window. I was at that stage of my life where I thought I was going to be a veterinarian and rescue all kinds of animals. Up until this point, I had 'rescued' bugs, and birds (including pigeons, which I had yet to realize are filthy rats with wings); the cat was to be my crowning glory. Before I could work my magic and transform this ragged beast from stray to pet, my mother grabbed it out of my arms and tossed it right out the window. Due to the trauma of this event, my memory of it is nearly photographic (operative word here is nearly). I remember practically humming with excitement as I ran in the door to show my mom my latest treasure; cat and I both a little sweaty and grimy. The cat hissing and attempting to jump out of my chubby armed hug (he didn't know the glorious future I had in mind for him), the look of disdain (could have been interpreted as utter hatred) on my mother's face that I dared bring such a creature into her apartment. The snatching, and brisk walk (I'd never seen her move so fast) to the porch at the front of the apartment. The brief struggle with the window and screen and then finally, the tossing. I'd never seen her exhibit such strength either, what with the window opening and all. My mother turning to me and declaring "Never liked cats, sneaky damn things." That was the sum total of her excuse for tossing an animal out the window: sneaky. Even though I was in shock, it did occur to me that I too was occasionally sneaky and quite possibly this was her warning for my future if I kept up my nonsense? I can imagine the look on my face that must have prompted my mother to further tell me to quit my worrying, because everyone knew that cats land on their feet. As far as she was concerned that was that. End of conversation. Later on in my childhood my mother did allow me to have a fish named Harry as a pet. He wasn't rescued and the only form of abuse he suffered was the occasional peanut that my uncles threw into his bowl after a night of playing cards. My mother only went near the thing to clean his bowl.

In a bizarre twist of fate, both my brother and I are allergic to cats. This, of course, was learned at other peoples houses as a cat never darkened our doorstep again. Word probably got out around cat circles. Perhaps my mother already knew this and was attempting to keep us from undo suffering; or perhaps our allergy stems from an attachment disorder or post traumatic stress. Who could tell? What I can tell you with absolute certainty: cats are sneaky goddamn creatures that land on their feet.

This weeks tip: If you too are allergic to cats, my mother has just the remedy. The itchy, red and sometimes puffy eyes that accompany an allergy attack can be remedied with baby shampoo. That's right. Take a cool wash cloth and squirt some baby shampoo on it (baby wash will do too). Gently rub around eyelids and puffy redness disappears. Mom also says that you can gently wash your eyes with cool water and baby shampoo, like when you wash your face at the sink.