Here Shitty Kitty!

As I told you, when our family moved from Quincy to Springfield my father promised me a kitten if I promised to go quietly. My plan, up until that point, was to barricade myself in my room with my little sister, Ken, Barbie, Baby Alive and my dog Mandy and then call a neighborhood press conference to convey to the media that my parents were attempting to forcibly remove me from my property. I would then explain to the reporters from the Quincy Herald Whig Newspaper and WGEM television that the unnecessary and compulsory transfer of a minor to a new town, new school, and new home was not only abusive but the start of a slow and painful, social and emotional death. However, I was 8 and I think the way I actually voiced this threat to my parents was, “If you try and make me go, I’m going to tell. But my father stepped in and offered me a kitten, a cute furry little kitten. (I was never allowed to have a kitten because our family raised and showed dogs and my mother had always claimed that my father was afraid of cats.) After we arrived, my father stalled and stalled and stalled, until he finally announced we could go and look at kittens. He claimed that he had found a lady that raised cats and we could get one from her for a reasonable price. I was over-the-moon excited, finally my own kitten (I had my own, dog, but she was not exactly a snuggler. She had a thyroid condition that made her look and act like an anorexic crack addicted puppy with ADHD, so she refused to be held or petted or even looked in the eye for more than 10 to 15 seconds). But a kitten… I could just imagine her lying on my pillow and purring while I slept. It was going to be outstanding!

When the day arrived, we climbed in the car and headed to the “cat lady’s house”. Now, I know that by calling it “the cat lady’s house” I have painted a funky picture of a fat old crazy lady in one room ramshackle bungalow with 3 lawn gnomes standing in the yard, 6 wind chimes hanging on the porch, and 12 Siamese cats resting in the living room. But nothing could be farther from the truth. The lady WAS crazy but thin, the house was small but not a “ramshackle bungalow” but more of a filthy, broken-down lean-to, and as for the 12 Siamese cats resting in the living room… well, it was more like 50 to 60 inbred cats carpeting every inch of a 200 square foot area. There were cats everywhere! On the television! In the sinks! On top of the refrigerator! On the bookcase! It was insane! There was actually a litter box just sitting on the kitchen counter – with a cat shitting in it! (I swear it looked like one of those houses that the Animal Cops raid garbed in hazmat suits on the Animal Planet channel.) I turned to ask my dad how the hell he had found this Hello Kitty Hell Hole and I could tell he had NOT been here before (I later learned he had gotten the address from one of his new co-workers)! He was plastered to the wall! He wasn’t moving at all! Not one single inch! I wanted to just get my kitten and get the hell out of there! The lady told me, “The kittens are in the bathtub”. Her voice was deep and scratchy (I think she had a hairball). I walked into the bathroom, where a splinter group of thug-lifed tabbies seemed to be planning a coo from behind the toilet, and found the most adorable flea-riddled kittens romping in the dirtiest tub that I have ever seen. I cooed with delight and called to my dad to come see. He still did not move. “That’s o.k., sweetie. Just hurry and pick one,” he answered, his voice cracking. I turned around to see sweat pouring from his forehead and tears welling in his eyes. He really was afraid of cats. Here was my big strong father turned to quivering mess by these furry little lovable creatures. I didn’t understand it. But then I heard one of the thug cats talk about shanking the scared black man by the door and I decided to go home kitty-free!

My dad was grateful! So grateful that I ended up with rabbits, gerbil, hamsters, and lots and lots of dogs! I asked my husband for a kitten for Christmas a few years back. We went to the local animal shelter to get one… We came home with two puppies, a Labrador Retriever and a Rottweiler Mix. Most of my furniture has been gnawed on by puppy teeth but at least I don't have a little box hosting a shitting near-feral cat sitting next to my microwave!