Lessons We Learn

The old mangy cat hat crawled to the top of the table, and was helping himself to half a Cornish hen, ruining completely one of the three meals I had laid out. I rushed over and shooed him away, pushing him off of the plate just a little too harshly. He stumbled onto the floor and ran under the couch.

“You leave that goddamn cat alone!” My father's voice roared into the room, followed by the man himself striding broadly toward the table.

“I didn't hurt him, he's just mad at being told off.” My father looked at me, and once again I had that feeling that if I said one wrong thing, he would clobber me into the wall. He looked into my eyes, chewing at the side of his lip where his bushy mustache curled under a little. Giving a huff, he walked over to the couch and looked beneath it to where his majesty was carelessly licking himself down the crotch.

“He's alright. I didn't mean to yell at you like that,” he turned back to me, the fire in his eyes dulling out a little, “he's a greedy old bastard. That's 'cause I spoiled him, you know. He had a rough childhood, and I did him a favor in taking him in. Maybe too much of a favor. Damn cat eats better'n me some days.” I nodded, shaking a little from the man's booming voice. He never hit me, but I often suspected he wanted to. Due to this, I always made sure to mind myself around him.

“Well he certainly ate well today. I only brought enough for the three of us, but it's alright, I can pick something up on the way home.”

“Nah. I'll take the one he's been eatin'. He didn't get too far into it. It looks really good, hon. You did real good.” He sat himself down at the table and switched the placement of the plates so that the damaged meal sat in front of him. He yelled for my sister to come out and eat, and without a prayer or blessing, dove into his food.

Dinner passed slowly, painfully slowly. I tried as best I could to avoid making eye contact with the old man. He didn't seem to care one way or the other. Once again it was my notion of being put-out that had brought an ominous and uncomfortable feeling over the whole affair. My sister chattered away about things that were utterly inconsequential; what girl was dating what boy, what boy had sent her a text message at midnight. It was the kind of thing that only seems important to those who have nothing important to do with their time. I always wondered at how she could be so relaxed in our father's presence, and me so nervous. I suppose it's because she figured out a long time ago that dad would never actually hit us, while I maintained the fear that he might. When the meal was finished, I took the plates and set them down around the cluttered sink. My father retired to the front porch for a cigarette and I, somewhat reluctantly, joined him. Sis had taken off for her bedroom and cellphone, leaving me to feel quite alone in the house.

“Did you like dinner?” I hate making small talk. I hate that I feel compelled to make small talk with my own family. I never really know how to address them, and I always felt quite out of sorts at home.

“It was fine. Even with that little bastard's slobber, it was real nice. You should come over more often you know, I don't cook very well and your sister and I always wind up with takeout.”

“You know, if you hate that cat so much, you could just get rid of him.” The old man looked at me, narrowing his eyes. I had the feeling that, once again, I'd said the wrong thing and upset him.

“Nah. He's gonna stay here 'til he's done. He's been with me for twenty-one years now. I think he's only lived so long because he's so damn comfortable, spoiled little shit. If I gave him to someone else, he'd think it a great injustice and die just to spite me.” He let out a rough laugh, wisps of smoke curling from under his mustache. “Did I ever tell you how he came to be my cat?” I shook my head. “It's a real messed up story.” He twirled the cigarette between his fingers, remembering something from long ago. “You know, you're a lot like me.”

“Really?” I felt a little jolt of pride; I had always thought that my smart-assed sister was more like him; fearless and loud. I was much quieter, nervous. Compared to the rest of the family, I was practically fragile; always the first one to cry when things went wrong.

“You're like what I used to be, when I was young. I wasn't always a mean old man.” He leaned back in his chair and drew a long sigh, scratching the stubble under his chin. “I was what you might call a sensitive child. I was always getting upset over things, real upset. My father, now he really was a mean old man, he had it in mind to toughen me up. Did some pretty awful things, he did. He always said I'd turn out a fagot, and thought to beat the sissy outa me from time to time.” I listened intently, leaning toward him. He had never talked to me about anything that had happened before I was born, and I had never asked. “My mother had a cat, a short-haired marbled little thing. Had big green eyes. It was always nosing about and making messes. My father hated that cat, more than he hated me for being a sissy. One day, he decided he'd kill two birds with one stone, teach me a real lesson and get rid of the cat at the same time.

“He came home from work with a twinkle in his eye, something real sinister. I think I was about eight years old then, scrawny little shit. Little kid with big brown eyes and shaggy hair. He came in the house and grabbed me up off the floor where I was playing. Yoked my arm pretty good, I had to concentrate for all I was worth not to cry, crying always led to something worse. He had me in one hand, and snatched the cat up with the other hand. Then he took us both into the bathroom.

“My mother fancied herself a beautician, she had a roll of scissors and razors and combs in there over the sink. My father set me down hard on the toilet and tossed the cat in the tub, then he got my mother's tools out. I won't tell you what he did to that cat, it'll upset you I promise, but I will tell you that he made me watch the whole thing. That kind of thing can really mess up a kid, make you crazy. Witnessing depravity has a profound effect on the mind; it can turn regular folk into monsters. Turn little boys into killers and rapists. I wish I hadn't seen what my dad was capable of, but more than that I wished I'd had the guts to stop him. I was too afraid then, afraid I'd catch a beating or worse. So I sat there and watched the whole thing, biting my lip and tearing into the skin on my arm to keep from crying so he wouldn't turn his attention on me. I'll always regret that, not doing anything, it was not my finest moment.

“When he was done with what he'd set out to do, he strung the cat up. It was a miserable sight, I tell you. Then the old bastard locked me in the bathroom with the dead cat. I can't tell you how bad I cried, looking up at that poor thing, all mangled. I wish I'd never seen it. Can't get things like that out of your head once they're in, you have to keep 'em. I keep 'em way down, at least I try to, because I hate that man, I hate what he is and what it means. I don't ever want to think of myself as like him, part because I know that's what he wanted in a son. That's no kinda man, none at all. You ever bring a man like that around and I'll kill him. You find yourself a good man.” He pointed at me with the end of his cigarette, punctuating the sentence with the glowing orange cherry.

“That's awful, dad. I never knew.” That was a partial lie; somewhere deep down I had known, not the specifics of course, but I had the notion that terrible things had happened. It was why I always regarded my father with an uneasy sense, tiptoeing around the things that seemed to trigger his anger.

“That fuzzy little bastard in there is a different story. He's one lucky sonofabitch. See, once the cat was gone, my mother didn't have the heart to get any more pets, which was just as well seeing as the old man woulda hurt 'em anyway. He never told her what he'd done, or that he'd used her hair cutting tools for the job. Add on a few years, and I'd run away from that house and gotten into a little college. You might not think I'm an educated man, but I have a quality education, I assure you. While I was at that school, I met some real dumb rich city boys. They were always fucking around, smoking illicit substances, acting a fool. We had a cat in our dorm, shitty little wooden building with lots of mice and rats, and that cat got herself knocked up. A couple of them dumb rich city boys had themselves an awful idea when the kittens were born. They were high on some shit, and started putting the kittens in the dorm's microwave. I couldn't believe it. Not a fucking care in the world, no troubles to speak of, and these dumb shits were murdering cats for kicks. Couldn't believe it.

“Now, they had the misfortune of bunking with me, and they knew it was a misfortune 'cause I was the poorest asshole in the school. Pissed them off that I got good grades sounding the way I do, damn smart for a farm boy, I was. We got into fights every now and again, and I was always outnumbered so I got roughed up from time to time. Not that day, though, not when they were murdering those kittens. I walked in, and they'd killed three of them. Let them spatter in the microwave where we cooked our food, ignorant shits. I caught 'em in the act and I just went crazy. I snatched cat number four out of the kid's hand and set it down, then I commenced with the most brutal ass-beating I had ever handed out. Those two boys wound up in the hospital. I broke a couple of their bones, but they were alright in the long run. Better'n they deserved. I was expelled for it, but that was fine because my grades were solid and there was a better school that'd offer me a scholarship. I went, and I took cat number four with me. I didn't feel right, leaving him there in that dorm; sure as I knew those two dumb rich fucks would do something awful to him when they were healed up.

“I met your mother in the grocery store two days later. I went in to get something for the cat to eat. I didn't even have enough money then to feed myself. Your mother was the checkout girl, earning money for her own education. I showed up at the counter with a couple of cans of kitten food, trying to pay for it in pennies, I was such a mess. She looked at me funny, and told me I didn't have enough. Then the kitten in my pack poked his little head out, and looked her in the eye. He gave the weakest, saddest little meow you ever heard, and your mother's heart just melted. She pulled out a few bills from her pocket and paid for the food herself, on the condition that I come by her place later and let her play with the kitten. The rest is history.” He smiled, a slow sad smile that just barely pulled up the corners of his lips. I knew he missed her, and I hoped that it wasn't taking too hard a toll on him.

“Wow.” I felt at a loss. In all the years I'd known my father and that cat, I had never expected such a story. I honestly thought he hated the little guy, and tolerated him on my mother's account. “Thank you for telling me this.” My heart went a big rubbery one, and the old man gave me a nod.