Of all the gifts the Lord has given me, I think that not remembering some things is the best gift of all! I woke up this morning remembering the Stroh place in Nickerson. The incident was mostly clear in my mind. I recall a big yellow cat. I do not recall his name, but he was the resident mouser. Some times I think I petted him. I can recall him rubbing on my legs. I started school when I was five, and it was summer so I had to be about 4 years old.
This particular day, we were setting on the back step. It was hot. Nickerson in summer was always hot. The big yellow cat came walking across the back yard and into the yard. In his mouth he carried a newly hatched baby chicken. He dropped this at my mothers feet. Now if you know about cats, this was an honor. This meant that the cat realized mother could not hunt and he brought her the baby chick to feed her. He loved her.
But mother did not appreciate the gesture at all! Looking back, I can understand what was going through her mind. She loved that old cat; we all did. But this small chicken would have grown into a hen or rooster and made more chickens. If it was a rooster, it would have ended up as Sunday dinner. If it was a hen it would have laid eggs which were a staple in every day life either as a source of income or the binder in pancakes or baked goods. Then it would have ended up as a big pot of chicken and noodles. Either way, the big yellow tom cat had thwarted Mother's plan.
I recall the sadness in her eyes as she turned to my brother Jake. My four year old mind does not recall the exact words, but the words do not matter. He was told to take the Tomcat into the forest out back and "get rid of it." My beloved cat was no longer a pet. He was now an "it". Jake would have been 8 since he and I were born 4 years and 4 days apart. He went into the house and returned with his single shot rifle. He always carried a big pocket knife because boys always carried a pocket knife so they could whittle. Jake could whittle a whistle that was the best whistle in the world. Boys don't do that anymore.
He picked up the big Tomcat and walked slowly from the back yard, across the barn yard, past the chicken house and disappeared into the woods out back. I waited for the shot. I never heard it. Mother and baby Donna went inside. I waited. A four year old girl has no concept of time. There is nothing to measure it against until you learn how to count time on the clock on the wall. I do know mother went inside and I waited for what seemed an eternity. I finally seen Jake emerge from behind the chicken house. He was alone. I could tell by his eyes that he had been crying.
We never spoke about the incident. In my mind he turned the big yellow tomcat loose and he found a new home. Four year old minds can do that. Minds can forget bad things that happen to us. I guess it is God's way of letting us survive in a world that is not always pretty. We do not always remember the things that hurt us and scar our very souls, but that is good. It lets the big yellow tomcats of our life run free in the forests of life.
And it lets us sleep at night.
