There was a time in this world when many a boy would pack his books in his trombone case and walk the mile or so to school, all the well knowing that an irritable woman dressed in a penguin-black outfit was waiting for his unrepentant soul...to thrash the living daylights out of him. Forget about the priests, they were too busy genuflecting...or vacuuming up the broken body of Jesus, who lay waiting on the sanctuary floor. 'Twas the nuns one worried about, and one particular globular woman who looked like she'd fell into a vat of ugly...Sister Margaret of the Mothball Smell...

...who we will meet at a later time within this account. But this reflection is really about the boy, and a family cat. The latter often followed him when he went fishing, played in the street with the boys, or when he made the long mile walk to school. It can be said that this family cat was a bit of a problem, for it often found occasion to stop following the boy to get into cat fights, cat brawls, and caterwhals. And, as the boy- my father- explained to me, the cat was such a heathen that his mother, a non-practicing Catholic, expressed the sentiment that the cat might actually be posessed...and considered consulting a priest about it. I have no information to suggest otherwise- at this point of the account...

But one particular morning, my father set out to school with his trombone case and books, staggering behind his sister, who it must be said, was all about the business of getting to school and getting a good education. The latter could not be said for the creature that followed my father. For that day, the demon cat also set out, with much malice, to detain my father on his way to school. It tried to trip him, it tried to lead him astray, it tried to stop my father in his tracks. And by the time the two reached the schoolhouse steps, the bell rang and my father was late.

Now, Sister Margaret of the Mothball Smell did not cater to cats. It was one thing to discipline children, another to corral a wayward cat. But that is what she found herself trying to do as the cat scammpered down the hallway, interrupting classrooms, knocking over blue books, and vanishing. While my father snuck into his seat, the whole of Christendom- well, the whole of the first floor- turned into a chaotic mess while the nuns attempted to restore order. It wasn't until they cornered the cat- hissing at them- that some resemblence of order was established. In the end, the cat was broom-swept out the front doors and down the stone steps...

When my father returned home from school, he met his sister (my aunt) carrying the fruit jar of holy water. His mother (my grandmother) cornered the cat, unscrewed the lid, and poured a healthy dose of holy water on the cat's head. To my father's amazement, the cat calmed down and retired to a corner of the room. My father said that the cat was never ornery again, and became a holy cat the rest of his days....