OUR CAT LEVELED THE PLAYING FIELD

     Part of growing up in the late ’50s-early ’60s in Sherman, Texas, was maintaining the responsibility for my two younger brothers.  Brother Bob was 2 1/2 years younger than me and was very independent.    He could not stand to have me lord over him and resisted in every possible way.  Brother Bill was more laid back, 5 years younger and worked to preserve peace wherever he could.

     In the winter months the ponds in various neighbors’ yards would freeze over and Bob made a point of walking over them to terrorize Bill.  He danced and skated over them as Bill wept and begged him to get off, for fear of him crashing through the ice.  Bob tortured Bill by remaining on the ice and acting like he was about to go under at any second.  I happened to see what was going on, ran across the yard and jumped onto the ice to get Bob off.  The additional weight caused the ice to break and we both fell through.  Fortunately the pond was only a couple of feet deep.  We pulled ourselves out and raced for home to give our version of what happened to our mother.  She turned to Bill who was still sobbing and proved to be no tie-breaker, so we were both punished.

     If my parents were both at work, it was easier for me to exercise control.  I could wrestle and pin Bob into submission…Bill was not as much of an issue and usually went along with my mandates.  One source of power to keep my younger brothers in line developed over a period of time…I discovered I could pray them into submission.  

     Mother would come home from her job at the Sherman Democrat newspaper and whip us up a quick lunch.  She would eat and return to work.  I would then gather my brothers together in our small breakfast nook and pray over our bologna sandwiches.  Since I was the oldest, they never challenged my right to be the one to address God to bless our food.  I would also use the opportunity to remind God what rotten kids they had been, they were doing a poor job following my mandates and “What, dear Lord are you and I going to do about these awful children?  Bob will not share his G.I. Joe toys with Bill and Bill is not much better at bending to my will and therefore your will!"    My brothers, eyes shut and hands folded, attempted to interrupt and get their two cents in with Jesus,  "...wait, wait, Lord, Bucky has been bossing us around and how do we know he is right, just because he says so?"     These interruptions would prompt me to get louder and more sanctimonious.  I would conclude the “Tongue Lashing Tattletale to Jesus” with a rousing “AMEN!”  This shut everything down and they grudgingly had to eat their sandwich.  (I mean, the prayer was over).  

     I was in no real danger of my brothers complaining to my mother over my prayers, so I thought I would expand the program.  If we were alone and the boys were not complying with my rules, I began falling to my knees with outstretched arms, tightly closed eyes and launch into prayer for Jesus to spare their souls.  Something like, “Dear Lord, once again Bob and Bill are disobeying me and that means they are going against your will.   Please do not strike them dead and cast their pitiful souls into the fiery furnace of hell.  Please give them another chance to do your will by obeying me!”  This worked fairly well with baby brother Bill, but Bob remained dubious of my “direct line” to Jesus.

     At this time in our lives, we had a big, mean Siamese cat move in with us.  Mother named him “Pyewacket”, after a Siamese cat in the Kim Novak movie, “Bell, Book and Candle.”  I do not know why we allowed this feline to remain a guest in our home.   This cat had no redeeming qualities, ignored everyone except my mother, who fed him and was always on “attack mode.”  No trip to the veterinarian for this boy…he kept his sharp claws intact and his “huevos” attached.  He felt he had to jump on any exposed human flesh.

     Brother Bill had to put on his boots to walk from the bathroom to his room after bathing or the cat would dart from hiding, scratching and biting his ankles.  He seemed to single Bill out for his aggression.  It began one day after a bath when little Bill was drying off and his penis was exposed to the cat.  The animal saw the appendage, moving to my brother’s drying motion and leapt forward with killing passion to snuff out it’s “life.”  

     We all gave the cat a wide berth and tried to not provoke him.

     My brothers eventually were fed up with my rules and attempted totalitarian control over their lives.    With careful planning, they waited until I was taking a bath, gathered up the cat, slipped a hand into the bathroom and switched off the light.  In the darkness, they hurled Pyewacket into the tub full of water with me and closed the door.  This

knife fighting cat commenced to scream, slash and gouge its way up my bloodied flesh to get out of the bath water.  I couldn’t see and was unable to get the cat away from me, serving as a human scratching post.

     I finally grabbed the sides of the tub and hurled my body over to the bathroom floor.  The cat had all its claws hung into my nose and eyebrows when I fell to freedom and mercifully released me upon impact.  I dragged my naked, bleeding body across the floor, opened the door and the cat raced out of the room.  I was able to get the light on and saw I had been “sliced and diced” over every inch of my body.  (Like the later Jim Croce song, “He looked like a jig saw puzzle, with a couple of pieces gone!”)  Blood flowed freely from scratches that looked like they had been delivered from several lions or tigers.   

     I staggered to my room, pulled on a pair of pants and began looking for my brothers.  They were nowhere to be found and had witnesses to attest they were playing with the neighbor children when this ambush occurred.

     I had not seen them throw the cat in the darkened room and had heard nothing beyond Pywacket and my screams…it appeared I had no case.  With smiling cherub faces my brothers remarked, “It was awful that the cat would wander into a dark bathroom and jump into the tub with you.    We sure hope that never happens again…don’t you Bucky?   HHHHMMMM?”

     Slowly, very slowly, I saw the light.  OK, OK…I got it.  I had a newfound respect for my younger siblings and carefully monitored their movements with a jaundiced eye.  I developed a new approach, right out of the book of Isaiah,  “Come and let us reason together.”   I backed way off and this marked a new era of cooperation with my baby brothers and their co-conspirator, “Mr. Back-Up Muscle”, Pyewacket the cat.