May 2007                                                  The Megaphone                                              Page 5

The Cats That Never Were

by Jane Ann (Seright) Lemen

Last month our most illustrious editor asked us to write about dogs, so I wrote mostly about The Dog I Never Had. This month, with the topic being cats, I thought it only appropriate to write about The Cats That Never Were.

To say that my mother didn't like cats would be a gross understatement. Mother hated cats. And with a passion. She did think kittens were rather cute, but also lamented that the poor things were destined to grow up and become cats. If a cat were to brush against her leg, she would immediately take a bath. She had absolutely no use for them.

Mother also felt there was a strict distinction between human beings and animals. Human beings lived in houses; animals didn't. Oh, some of the more fortunate ones might live in dog houses or barns or coops, but the rule was only people lived in houses while animals lived elsewhere, usually outside. And that rule was never to be broken.

Please keep these two facts in mind as you read the rest of my story about The Cats That Never Were.

After Dad retired, they bought a mobile home in a retirement park in Leesburg, Florida, and spent the winter months there. They had their mail forwarded to Florida, set the thermostat at 55° for the winter, and pretty much closed up the house on 11th and North A in Elwood. My brother, who lived only three blocks west at 8th and North A, had the responsibility of stopping by the house once a week, making sure the furnace was still working, taking any flyers off the porch that might indicate no one was home, and also watering Mother's houseplants.

One year they had been in Florida for a few weeks when they received a letter from Vic. It was full of the usual news from home, but ended with the comment, "Stopped by the house. Everything in order. When did you get the cat?"

Mother was aghast. What could he mean, when did they get a cat? They had no cat. What would make him think they had a cat -- unless -- ???

Mom and Dad did not have a phone in Florida, instead using their neighbor's for emergencies, and in spite of Mother's great concern, Dad did not think this was an emergency. Nor was he about to run back to Elwood to check it out. He suggested that perhaps Vic had seen a cat hanging around the house or perhaps even in the garage, but not to worry -- just wait until Vic wrote next and the mystery would surely be solved.

A week later the next letter appeared, and Mother read it eagerly to see if there was any more mention of a cat around their house. There was. Just a quick comment at the end of the letter. Vic said he had taken a saucer out of the buffet in the dining room (where the good COMPANY CHINA was kept) and set some milk down for the cat. That was all he said.

Mother was beside herself. Why, surely he would know they didn't have a cat and even if, heaven forbid, they did have one, it would NEVER be in the house -- and under NO circumstances would it be fed from the good china or any other china that humans would also eat from. What was her son thinking, to put milk down for this cat? So she wrote back immediately, asking what this a cat in the house was all about?

Vic's next letter didn't exactly ease Mother's concern. His only reference to the cat was that he had put an additional saucer down because, "...in her condition I thought she'd need more milk."

In her condition? Good grief! What did he mean by "...in her condition"? Not...? OH, NO!

And so the saga continued. Each week brought an additional epistle from Elwood and an additional trauma in Leesburg. And then came the letter announcing The Blessed Event had occurred, on their bed of course, but not to worry, he thought the stains would probably come out of the chenille bedspread. And Vic's amazement that cats had such large litters.

Future letters told of the antics of the kittens as they grew and romped through the house. There was one letter with a question -- did they have any idea how often cats reproduced? Soon every saucer in both the buffet and the kitchen cabinets was sitting on the floor filled to the brim with milk.

By now Mother was in a state of shock, unresponsive to any mention of home. In fact about the only response she made to any stimuli was tears welling in her eyes at the mention of the word "cat." (I might be exaggerating here)

And then, in early spring, before they would be heading back home, came the last letter .  Everything was fine with the house, well, considering, but Vic couldn't remember if he had locked the door or not when he left, but they shouldn't worry -- "With all those cats in there, I don't think anybody would go in."

So it was that they returned to Elwood the first of April, and as Dad parked the car on North A street, Mother got out with great fear and trembling. Apprehensively, she opened the door.  

Inside, of course, they found no cats, no saucers sitting on the kitchen floor, no stained bedspread, nothing to indicate anything was amiss. But Mother had spent a memorable winter wondering about what was happening at the house at home and the invasion of The Cats That Never Were.

But Mother had most of the spring and the entire summer and fall to recover from the trauma of the cat invasion. Then came the next winter when they went to Florida again, and Vic wrote something about pigeons roosting on the chandelier in the living room. But not to worry -- he had spread some papers down.

Jane Ann (Seright) Lemen, '59

northwest Indy