Part Four: Cats? What cats?
My son’s cats. Tanner, standing, and Trigger, in the window. Photo by the author.
When I finally got my son on the phone, after the two missed calls, after the email Rob sent to the jail, and after my call to the attorney, when I was still crying and shaking and hurling Italian invectives at the individual responsible for sticking my sweet, gentle, beautiful first born behind bars, the very first thing that came out of his mouth was,
“Who’s taking care of the cats? Why aren’t you on a plane right now to go take care of the cats?!? Mom, you’ve gotta take care of the cats!!!”
Not, “Mom I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to get thrown in jail!”
Not, “Mom, I didn’t do anything wrong! I have no idea why they arrested me!”
Not even, “Mom! I’m scared! Please come get me. I want to go home!”
I was totally prepared for all of those greetings. I was going to tell him not to worry, mommy has you. We’ve got an attorney. We’re going to get you out. I was going to ask if he was ok, was he being treated well, were any big thugs bothering him. I was going to reach through the phone and kiss him and beat the crap out of anyone who came near him.
But he pounced on me, pardon the pun, about the cats. I didn’t even remember he had cats.
It took everything in me not to call the attorney back and say, “Skip it. The kid can stay in the cell.”
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Taking care of Trigger and Tanner (aka the cats) required getting into the condo. Since neither my downstairs neighbor nor my dear friend Sandra who lives nearby had a key, it looked like both might be dieting for a day or two.
But then I remembered Bob Sweeney.
Thank God for Bob Sweeney.
Bob takes care of the buildings and the grounds of my condo complex. He is, as my Jewish friends say, an absolute Mensch. Can’t lug the bag you overstuffed with garbage out to the curb? Bob will help you. Petrified you’ve destroyed your garbage disposal with a stupid piece of junk jewelry you shouldn’t have bought but just had to have? Bob will help you. Awaken to discover your bathtub’s become a lap pool thanks to your upstairs neighbor’s burst pipe? Bob will help you. And your upstairs neighbor, too.
“Can you get into my condo?” I ask when he answers his phone on the first ring.
“I’d love to get into your condo,” he replies. “I’ve been trying for days to get in to replace the smoke detectors, but I think your son’s always asleep!”
He’s not getting much shut eye now, I reply, giving Bob the abridged version of the story about my kid and the soon-to-be-dieting cats.
“I’m on it,” he says. “If the door from the deck to the living room is unlocked, I’ll get in and feed them.”
“But how are you going to get onto the deck?”
“I have a ladder.”
Shit. Bob the Mensch, who’s close to 70, is going to climb a ladder and hop onto my deck just to see if he can get into my house. Wonderful. More to worry about.
Not thirty minutes later, my phone rings. He’s in the condo and the cats are fed.
“It’s going to be alright,” he says. “My kids have done some really stupid things, too. Cost me a fortune. Why do you think I’m still working?”
And on that note, with my future flashing before my eyes …
80 years old, alone, and still writing ad copy for forty bucks an hour and sharing a one bedroom with my kid who gets the bedroom because how could I Iet my baby sleep on the sofa?
I call my son and, as it’s ringing, I make a decision.
If he answers with an attitude I’ll still save his annoying ass. But if the 80-year-old-one-bedroom thing comes to pass, my kid (and his cats) get the couch.
Due to this situation, I’ve been unable to write. Over this past Labor Day weekend though, I felt the desire to start getting “it” — all the stuff, the pain, the frustration, the fear — out.
If you’d like to follow along, you can find Part One here, Part Two here, and Part Three here.
I have no idea how this is going to end. But, five months after it began, I’m feeling the need to share it with you, my friends and readers. It’s a sad topic to be writing about, but it’s so good to be writing again.
Thank you for reading and please feel free to share this post. xo