Conversations With My Mother

When I moved out of my parents’ house 12 years ago, I left behind my cat, Socrates. I tried to take him with me to the new condo Deb and I had moved into, but he refused to use the litter box, he wanted desperately to be outside, and I lived in a busy neighborhood. (My parents live on several acres of wooded property.) So, it didn’t work out and I returned him to the Rush Compound, where he has lived happily for the past 15 years.

Since he was about 2, Socs has had several issues with food allergies. For years, he could only eat lamb and rice, or his face would fall off. Literally. He would develop sores all over his head from manic, intense scratching, which earned him the nickname “The Cat Without a Face.”

People would come over and upon seeing him for the first time would back up and scream “What is that horryfing, bloody pulp?” and we’d answer, “Oh that’s just the cat,” as if it was completely normal to have a walking scab jump into your lap.

Several hundred dollars and vet visits later, that was resolved with prescription (read: $$$) cat food. As expected, that issue was immediately followed by a brand new one: vomiting his cat treats: Pounce. I don’t know what they put in those little nuggets, but he would patrol the kitchen all day long, and stand next to the cabinet where they were stored, screaming. We’d give him a small handful every so often, to shut him up, and 10 minutes later they’d be on the good rug, in a warm, squishy pile of cat puke.

After spending hundreds of dollars getting the rugs shampooed, my parents finally switched him to some organic, non-allergenic, hard, crunchy treats. And, for some reason that makes perfect sense in only their minds, my parents scatter these little pellets about the kitchen floor. It makes walking to the frig while barefoot a risky proposition, but it stopped him from puking. Plus, now he spends hours patrolling the kitchen for that one lost nugget instead of howling for more.

So, Tuesday night my mother called me. Apparently, one night last week she ran out of Socs’ prescription cat food, and had to run out to the grocery store to get him something else to eat. She found a new brand that she claimed had all the same ingredients as his prescription stuff. It looked innocuous, so she fed it to him, closed her eyes, crossed her fingers and prayed that he wouldn’t suddenly peal off his whiskers and projectile vomit in her direction.

Nothing happened.

She decided that perhaps, after all these years he had finally outgrown his allergies. In her infinite wisdom, she decided to feed him the new stuff for a few more days “to see what happened.” Generally playing Jekyll and Hyde with animals is not advised, but she was curious. And apparently bored.

She noticed that, after a few days he started to seem livelier than he had in the past few years. He seemed friskier, had a bounce in his step. Usually, Socs is a very mellow, sweet tempered cat that just wants to be loved and hugged. He’s only 7 lbs, but has the demeanor of a fat, lazy lap dog. The only things Socs had ever hunted were chipmunks, and then he would only play with them and let them go after a few minutes of mindless torture.

Until this past Tuesday.

My mother opened the front door to let him in the house after his daily jaunt, and there he was, on the porch, blood dripping from his fangs.

Here’s how the details were relayed to me:

Mom: Do you know what your cat just did?!
Me: What cat?
Mom: Socrates!
Me: Let me guess… vomit?
Mom: No.
Me: Scratch his face off?
Mom: No. He chewed the head off a rabbit.
Me: Excuse me?
Mom: He killed a rabbit and he’s out front right now chewing its head off.
Me: Stop.
Mom: I’m serious!
Me: Are you sure he didn’t find a dead one in the woods?
Mom: No. I watched him bring it home. It still had its head. But now he’s chewing it off.
Me: For chrissakes! Get it away from him!
Mom: Your father’s trying to get the headless body right now. OK, I got him in the house. Ugh. I don’t want this cat with rabbit breath near me.
Me: What the hell is wrong with him??
Mom: Well, I ran out of his food and bought him that new stuff…
Me: Sweet mother of god. Mom. Please. Do me a favor. Go to the vet and buy his normal food before I come over and find you or dad headless.
Mom: That’s probably a good idea. Oh, Sydney (the other cat) is hiding in the basement wall. She won’t come out. I’m worried.
Me: Whatever you do, do NOT feed her that food!
Mom: I already did.

Posted by LA at June 05, 2003 11:43 AM | TrackBack