Carnage Near the Couch

This is a story that had to begin with the picture. I had to make sure I was looking at this picture as I wrote, because this is Felix the Cat. And this story is about pets. And about the truth.

It was only the 3rd day of school, and the morning routines were fresh and adhered too. I was up pretty early, and I was waiting for my coffee to brew. The kids were all upstairs, the oldest getting ready, the two girls still snoozing in their beds.

I was puttering around downstairs, only barely awake, shuffling from kitchen to dining room to playroom back to kitchen, trying to get things put away, but only half aware of where I was putting what. I gathered a few magazines from the kitchen table and started the longer trek into the living room.

Now, if you know me, and have spent much time with me on the phone, you know where this story is leading. Throughout my adult life, I have encountered pests of every sort, some dead, some alive, and often when I was not fully awake or aware. There were the swarms of roaches that I discovered in my studio apartment after a night on the town with my sister. I'd shuffled into the kitchen in the dark to get a drink of water in my new place and there they were. There was the slug I stepped on in bare feet, early in the morning, IN my kitchen. (This was before the renovation). There was the large possum rummaging through my compost pile just feet from where I was lounging in my backyard, on the phone, drinking wine.

And there were the many many disemboweled rodents my cat left for me - right outside the back door. I don't mean to be graphic, really, but there is no other way to describe what this cat does to these rodents. I can remember so many early morning phone conversations where I interrupted the other person with , "Oh My God," and they'd say, "what did your cat get this time?"

Felix the Cat. The cat in the picture. I know he looks innocent - scholarly even. But let me tell you this cat is a natural born killer. My kids set up and took this picture one night with their favorite babysitter. I thought he looked like a professor. It showed the perfect dichotomy that was my cat. Sweet, quiet and loving one minute - savage another.

So, on this morning, as I shuffled, bleary-eyed, into my living room, I glanced at something on the floor near the couch. It only took a split second for me to know what it was. It took a couple more seconds to realize who it was. Felix couldn't bring his prey into the house any more, now that we'd sealed up the cat door. There was only one rodent this could be. And it was spotted white and gray. This was my dear middle daughter's pet hamster, Munk.

This realization came upon me like a jolt stronger than caffeine. I was wide awake now. Within seconds I figured out that she'd probably escaped from her tank during the night, Felix sensed her presence upstairs, and did what any decent mouser would do. Why he brought her down to the living room is a mystery, but what a relief that the girls wouldn't stumble (ew - bad word) upon her in their room.

I ran upstairs to dear hubby (thank GOD he hadn't gone to work yet), whispered, "I need to show you something downstairs. RIGHT AWAY." When I pointed, it took him a little longer to realize what he was looking at. But then his jaw dropped and he covered his mouth, a lot like I had done, and cursed. I asked him to "take care of" the hamster and went in to pour myself a cup.

What was I going to tell the kids? Who had let the rodent out? How long had she been scampering around upstairs? (this thought kind of unnerved me - as with all our small caged pets, I don't like to think much about them being out of their cages). When did the murder occur? What was I going to tell the kids???

I got them on the buses without anyone noticing the missing hamster. I spent the whole day thinking about it and discussed it with lots of people. (It seems everyone has a hamster or gerbil story, btw. As my friend said, we should write a book). I went from planning to purchase a new hamster, just like Munk, to telling them she'd died in her sleep, peacefully, to telling them the whole truth. "Honesty is the best policy," my dad said. And then my brother-in-law echoed the same thing when he stopped by in the afternoon. I really did not relish the thought of telling them anything. Couldn't I just go back to bed and start the day over?

The neatest thing happened, though. When my 11-year-old son arrived home, I decided to tell him first, alone. I waited until he had a snack, and we were sitting relaxed at the kitchen table. I have some bad news for you, honey. "Not Kermit, mom. Please don't tell me Kermit's dead." "Not Kermit, no. It's Munk." Right then, I remembered the talk we had about Santa last year. I'd told him the truth about Santa that day (he had asked, point blank, for "the truth") and I told him that the good thing was that I could promise never to lie to him again. I told him the whole truth about the hamster, slowly and tactfully, but fully.

You know what he told me? This incredible, wise 6th grader said, "You can't tell the girls it was Felix. Especially Middle Sister. She would get really mad at Felix and then dad might want to get rid of him. I feel sorry for Felix, mom. It isn't his fault. It's his nature to kill rodents." But, what should we tell her, my wise sage? Pause. "Tell her that Munk got out of her tank, fell down the stairs and died of a broken neck. This way, you won't have to show her the body." Good thinking. "But that 's a lie, buddy." Another pause. "We can tell her the truth at another time. Maybe when she's older. We just can't tell her now mom. She'll be too upset".

He was absolutely right. I didn't chant "honesty is the best policy" to my boy, and I didn't regret letting him think that sometimes a white lie can be protective.

We made it through that day, bad news and all. Middle child was, as expected, very very upset. She begged to see "her little Munky" and I refused. She wept to her best friend and by bedtime was feeling much better.

We haven't had the funeral yet. And when we do, I won't be surprised if Felix the Cat stops by to pay his respects. After all, he didn't realize he'd hunted down a family friend. He was just doing his job.