I don't think I've ever written about my cat, Mittens. I had a dream about her last night. I think it's because we have Naomi (aka Baby Nay Nay) now and I constantly tell Aria that life is better with a tuxedo cat in the house. She loves to hear my childhood stories with Mittens.
Mittens was the quintessential Sylvester cat with white puss and paws and black everything else. I got her when I was 3 or 4 in my Uncle Ray's barn. I can still remember picking her up for the first time. She felt like love.
She lived until I was 19. She was a constant source of comfort in an otherwise tumultuous childhood home.
My parents were still married when I got Mittens. We lived in a farm house back then. Every Saturday I'd wake up when there were still colored bars on the TV to await the start of cartoons. I held Mittens in my lap and insisted she watch with me. I have tiny scars on my wrists from my persistence in holding her with me for hours on end in an upright position.
I remember my parents telling us they were getting divorced. I was 5. I didn't know anyone who had divorced parents. I was ground zero for divorce in my world. I remember asking what that was, and my mom explaining that we'd be moving. I remember getting excited about change - about where we'd live and what it'd be like. I also remember my dad was very sad, and I could not understand why. I didn't realize he wasn't coming, too.
My mom, sister and I moved to a little apartment in McGregor mid-divorce while things transitioned. Our bedroom was only big enough to host a twin bed, so my sister and I would rotated between the bed and a sleeping bag on the floor. We had a babysitter now (I hadn't had a babysitter before) who made fried egg sandwiches (which I hated).
We no longer had my dad. Visceral memories of running into his arms at full throttle when he got home from work, all handsome and respectable in his National Guard uniform. Being twirled around or having a piggy back ride or just snuggled in his arms while he watched football. Hiding his cigarettes so he'd live forever. Crawling into bed with him and feeling more special than all the words I know could convey as he hugged me. Being a daddy's girl in every sense.
Once you don't live with someone, you can have snippets of joy with them. But it's not the same. It was never the same again. All that warmth and open-hearted trust (my safety in loving, in essence), left once we moved out. It shattered some things within me.
The apartment memories are haunted with this loss for me. But Mittens was there. And had kittens there. So I had plenty of things to hold and love. Tiny little fluffs of fur to patch up my wounds.
My mom married Oliver, the minister, a few months later. We moved to Cedar Falls for him to complete seminary (he switched from the UCC to the Methodist church). We lived in a tiny one bedroom shack (it was not really a house) next to Oliver's parents' home. We walked to school (I was in 1st grade) every day. There was a boy who chased me on the playground to see my underwear.
I cried. A lot. But felt like I had to hide my tears and so learned how to be secretive. How to cry on a schedule. As though sadness were an emotion we could turn on and off like a water tap. As though it was something to be ashamed of feeling.
We moved six months later to Pomeroy, where Oliver was assigned to 3 churches. I was mid-way through 1st grade. We stayed in Pomeroy until I was 15. There are a world of memories there, both good and bad. Mittens had dozens of kittens in that home. Because she was my cat, I got to name the kittens. They brought me boundless joy every single time.
She slept with me. If I sat down, she found her way to my lap and purred up a storm. She had this beautiful habit of finding me when I was silently sobbing (remember - I had shame in sorrow and grieved alone). She'd nestle in my lap and let me bury my head in her fur to muffle any sound I might make. She was a nurturer to me, and that was in low supply during my youth. I guess if the Darling children had a nanny who was a dog in Peter Pan, I had a cat nanny in my own life's script.
We moved to Belle Plaine when I was 15. Mittens came along. Belle Plaine was all about my high school years. I think I was far more interested in boys and friends than cats then. I followed the pattern of the teenage girl without a father figure looking externally for love and acceptance. For worth. From this vantage point, I sure wish I'd continue to allow that cat to nurture me. It would have saved some heartache and poor choices.
I left for Cornell College with eyes facing forward. I wanted wings. Great big fly-above-the-clouds wings that would carry me far, far away. I wasn't worried about leaving my kitty. I'd had her forever, and maybe that caused me to take her for granted. Maybe those forward-facing eyes were more worried about scanning the horizon for next boy I'd love rather than looking back and allowing remembrances of love in any form from a scarred past.
My mom had Mittens put to sleep during my freshman year at Cornell. I wasn't told, and didn't know until I came home for a visit and couldn't find her.
I can remember the first time I looked upon Mittens in a barn. I cannot for all the world remember the last time I saw her.
Air Supply - All Out of Love
I spun this song time and again on my record player, crying over missing my dad. I can feel Mittens in my arms when I hear it. She was such a blessing to me.
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