It’s no way to begin a Saturday, not when you’re sipping from a hot mug of Cuban coffee, reading a newspaper and contemplating an early morning run before the sun peeks out.
A phone rings. It’s 6 a.m. And it’s my mother.
I’ve learned there are two reasons behind calls at this hour: emergencies or absurdities.
As I rushed to the phone and answered it, I wondered which way this one would go.
“Brian! You have to come over … RIGHT NOW!” said the exasperated voice on the other end of the line. Long pause. Deep inhale, then … “Missy Daisy just brought a rat in the house … and she let it LOOSE!”
Emergency AND absurdity. That’s a new one.
Missy Daisy is my mother’s cat. She has been possessed by demons. Not all the time. Sometimes she is mild-mannered, even cute. Other times she summons dark forces and wreaks havoc.
Who knows what goes through the mind of a cat. Why they would bring home a live rodent and let it free. A practical joke on a wheelchair-bound owner? A thoughtful gift? (If you’re a cat, that’s like giving someone a new car.) A feline mafia message? (Improve the vittles or else.)
Suffice it to say the rat scurried away. A phone call was made. It was now on me.
I like to think that I’m mentally prepared for a lot crisis situations. If a hurricane comes, I have a plan. If someone invades my house, I will hurl my snarling dog like a javelin. If aliens arrive, I will distract them with talking dog videos while my family runs away.
But for this, my mind went blank. I abruptly hung up the phone and just stood there. It was so abrupt that my mother called back: “Brian, didn’t you HEAR me? There is a RAT loose in my HOUSE. You have to come over here and catch it!”
“Catch it?!?” I thought. There’s no catching it. You have to sell the house. And the cat, while you’re at it. You have to accept that you now have a new member of the family. You have to accept that the rat will wake you up in the middle of the night. That it will try to get you to switch from cheddar cheese to American.
But I am a dutiful son, which means I recognize futility, yet also go through the motions. So I grabbed a pair of work gloves and my daughter’s butterfly net — how ridiculous is that! — and headed over. There I searched while listening to half-baked suggestions: “What if I feed the cats? It might smell the food and come out.”
And join it’s mortal enemy — whose jaws it just escaped — at the breakfast table!?!
It’s been several days and there is no sign of the critter. More than likely it found a way out of the house. Or else I’ll get another 6 a.m. phone call, this time asking me to run out and pick up some American cheese.