Now, you may think that a conversation that begins with, "Why would anyone ever skin a cat and do you really need to know more than one way to do it?" was destined to turn out badly. You would be right. Don't ever start a conversation that way. You have been warned. Unfortunately nobody had warned me so my family blithely blundered into it.
We discovered some things that day. Some of us, if the situation were dire and he had died of natural causes, would consider skinning our beloved cat to make a pair of mittens. Someone would even consider a cat fur skirt if she were very, very poor and freezing. Again, only if he died of natural causes. We discovered that even the thought of our cat's hypothetical death was too much for us. He would keep his fur. Forever. We also discovered that karma doesn't know what hypothetical means.
The rest of the day passed without event. It wasn't until much later that I began to regret this discussion. It was very late and I was forcing myself to go to bed. I walked in to the bedroom to see the cat laying next to my pillow. Something wasn't right. I scooped him up and was relieved when he lifted his head and rubbed his cheek on my shoulder. When I set him down my relief evaporated. He was unsteady. He was disoriented. Then he began to circle. And circle. And circle. I watched in gut wrenching horror. My cat was circling the drain.
Images of my children in cat skin mittens and miniskirts flashed across my brain as my husband ran for the cat carrier. We could never afford the kind of therapy I was envisioning. A midnight trip to the emergency vet was the only option. The cat had to live.
And he did. In fact, he made a complete recovery over the next few days. Our children narrowly escaped serious emotional trauma and my racing heart could be considered a good cardio workout. But we did pay for that conversation. In fact we are still paying for it. With 12% interest.
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