“Red” by any other name

Red happened to be the color of my family’s cat when I was growing up in the suburbs of New York (45 minutes from Broadway).  Red became his name because none of us could agree to disagree except for the obvious, that it was the color of his fur!

If you think naming a cat was difficult, you would not believe the numerous combinations of names for each of the seven children born to Mom and Dad.   Irish Catholic meant that you had to have a first and middle name, one of which had to be a saint’s.  Fortunately, these rules did not apply to animals.  St. Blaise was the patron saint for pets and they had his feast day but no extra set of commandments.

I believe that Red came to our house on someone’s birthday.  At that time, there were five siblings.  The count was 4 boys and one girl, that would be me!  Everyone who could talk claimed “Red the cat” as his/her own.  Mom did not want the cat to be in the house all of the time, so Red became accustomed to outdoors during the day and indoors at night.  The exceptions were freezing temperatures or violent storms.  Red learned like the rest of us, to come home for dinner when mom rang the bell outside by the kitchen door.  This may sound like “Little House on the Prairie” to some of you, but we actually played outside after school and on weekends.

Red loved mom.  He often brought her treats!  That cat could catch anything!   When he did, he would play with it and torture it until he could present it to mom by the kitchen door.  The important point was that Red very rarely killed his prey.  Most of the time the prey would expire because of exhaustion.  The bell was loud but my mom’s screeches broke the sound barrier alerting  all of the  neighborhood that mom was more than startled!

My personal favorite story about our cat had to do with the garage, mom’s station wagon, and her present from Red.  This valuable lesson I learned from my mom: NEVER LEAVE YOUR CAR WINDOWS DOWN-not even in your own garage!  You guessed it!  The present was an exhausted but still breathing squirrel.  Red put it down near the gas pedal.  Mom was the only official driver, the siblings were too young.  She was groomed and ready to go to some appointment.  Mom opened the door and sat down when something brushed her foot and the rest is history!  The squirrel died.  Red lived, and so did my mother!

Years later, I’m a freshman in college, miles away (states away).  My only sister, number 7 in siblings, was an infant and # 5 son, who was the 6th sibling, was 2 years old.  Mom called me at college between classes crying, and I’m thinking like the Irish Catholic that I am, who died?  After some consoling and having her blow her nose, she finally told me that it was “Red”.  A part of me was relieved that it was our cat, and not a sibling or relative.  I was careful not to say that out loud!  I asked where Red was, and how he expired, thinking old age!  Oh no, mom described a German Shepherd who came into our yard with Red in its mouth.  What an image!  I’m a pretty good thinker in bad situations.  I assured my mom that Red had to be dead before the dog found him, because Red was far too clever.  Mom agreed and seemed to accept the situation that RED WAS OLD!

Poor Red never had his pet funeral, because his body was never recovered!   I’ m sure, the German Shepherd made sure that he proudly presented his catch to his loving owner!