If I asked you to pull one memory out of your hat, just one that shined the brightest or was the most memorable, I’m sure you could all do it. Regardless of topic or the emotion it invoked, it would be there. For me, this is where irony kicks in. Because one of the best and most hilarious things ever to involve me is one I can’t remember.
When my parents were newly married my father thought that it would be a brilliant idea to get my mother a kitten for her birthday. This short haired ball of mischief was named Baugera and fell instantly in love with my mother who became ‘his person’. He would drape himself across her neck, riding on her shoulders, or wrap himself around one of her legs so that my mom had to walk with him affixed to her. He did the same with my dad–only he added claws to the mix. His favorite thing to do was lying in wait beneath the table, patiently awaiting my father’s midnight trip to the bathroom. He’d pounce, attack my dad’s feet, and escape. You get the idea.
Then there was three year old me. We didn’t get along for two reasons. One; I impinged on his mommy time and he wasn’t into sharing. Two; I treated him like a stuffed animal that I could abuse. I pulled on his fur, chased him across the house, and pulled him into a bathtub full of water at least once. In my defense, my grandparents had a cocker spaniel at the time that permitted me to do whatever I wanted to him, so I probably figured that I could do the same with the cat.
One day–as I’m told–this all came to a head. Baugera walked past and I decided to pick him up–by his tail. He immediately swung up and clawed me. Suffice to say I dropped him pretty fast. That wasn’t the end of it though, because I was furious. At the time, I guess, my parents were trying to get me interested in sports because I had a large, red, plastic bat. I never did develop an aptitude for sports, but on that day I found a new purpose for it.
I chased Baugera through the house, swinging wildly, and shouting ‘BAD CAT’ at the top of my lungs. My bat may or may not have connected with the offending feline–my parents were never clear on that. Eventually–when they stopped laughing–my parents rescued Baugera and the two of us came to an understanding.
Kitty doesn’t claw Katelyn. And Katelyn doesn’t pick kitty up by his tail.
Disclaimer: I do not own the imagery used in this blog post and have no artistic claim to it.