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Chapter 3. Come Back Little Snuffy
As in most close mother-daughter relationships, there was a great deal of tension and fighting between my mother and my grandmother. I experienced my grandmother as a very nurturing and caring person. But, she also had enormous "Irish Pride" and was not given to outward displays of affection or soft words. Her ways were the old Irish ways of hard work, responsibility and stoicism. I recall her often telling me, "Stand up straight!" "Keep your head high." "Pride is the one thing you always have, even if you have nothing else. No one can take it away from you."
She was harder on my mother, who, I think represented great disappointment to her.
My mother, unlike Nanny, was given to moodiness and displays of temper and emotionalism. It was uncommon in the 1950's to have a marriage fail and my mom seemed to take the breakup of her marriage very hard and very personally. Instead of going on with her life and regaining confidence in herself, she retreated into a world of escapism and depression. I experienced my mom as elusive, demanding, critical and hard to really know. Despite all that, I loved her and felt great responsibility (especially as an only child) for her state of happiness or lack thereof.
When I was 9-years-old, my mother had the opportunity to sublease a small Park Avenue apartment for two years from a relative. We moved 8 blocks away from my grandmother.
I hated the new place. It was tiny, dark and cramped. There were no kids on the block to play with and worst of all, my mom insisted on leaving Kitty Kelly with Nanny. "She will be happier there because she's used to it," she told me. "You can see her whenever you like." In many ways my mom was right, because there was no fire escape in the new place for Kitty Kelly to wander on and spook neighbors. And my grandmother loved and took good care of the cat. But, I didn't agree with my mom and greatly missed my "baby."
Nevertheless, on weekends we usually visited Nanny and quite often I stayed with her.
One evening, when returning form one of these visits, a very friendly stray kitten about 5-months old wandered up to us on the street between our apartment and Nannie's. "Oh, Mommy, can we keep him?" "PLEASE, please?" My mom was not happy about bringing a cat to our new apartment. But she also didn't have the heart to leave him on the street. "You can keep him, IF you promise to take care of him," she replied. "Feed him, clean up and when we go to Nanny's, you will have to take him with you." I was thrilled and ecstatic!
I scooped up the grungy kitten in my arms and for the first time, I was happy to "go home."
We named the 5-month-old mackerel tabby kitten, "Snuffy." He was playful, affectionate and had the loudest purr in the world! Once again I had something to cuddle, love and take care of. I constantly picked him up and carried him around.
Over the months, Snuffy became accustomed to the trips back and forth to my grandmother's place on the weekends. He got along well with Kitty Kelly and never budged or fussed when I carried him in my arms during the 8 block walks between apartments.
That is, until one night.
It had been a routine weekend at Nannie's when I scooped Snuffy into my arms and my mom and I left to return home. However, on the corner of 85th Street and Lexington Ave, a fire truck went by, its loud siren suddenly piercing the night and spooking Snuffy out of his wits. Before I could react, Snuffy bolted from my arms and ran with the speed of a terrified rabbit up the block on 85th Street. I tried to follow as fast as I could screaming at the top of my lungs, "Snuffy, Snuffy, COME BACK"! "Oh God, PLEASE, PLEASE come back!"
I ran until I thought my heart would burst, but I lost sight of the kitten who ran for his life and disappeared somewhere under the dozens of parked cars. A few sympathetic passersby joined me in the search, but none of us could find any trace of Snuffy. I called and called his name but there was no response or sight from him. Snuffy was gone.
My mother remained on the corner during the time-consuming and frantic search. After a while she began to lose patience. "We have to go now," she yelled while I vainly continued to call and search. "WE HAVE TO GO!"
I was hysterical and inconsolable. Once again, there was an overwhelming sense of failure and loss. Why didn't I hold on tighter? Why couldn't I catch him? Where could Snuffy possibly be? My mom tried to console me with the words, "Don't worry." "Someone else will find and give him a good home." But, I had no reply. Not for one moment, did I believe that.
For weeks and month following the loss of Snuffy, I continued to look for him and question owners of local stores. But no one ever reported seeing him. It was like my beloved kitten disappeared into thin air, never to be seen again.
Decades later that experience still lives with me. I am vaguely haunted every time I pass the corner of 85th Street and Lexington Ave for the memory of Snuffy is still there. The little corner grocery is long gone, replaced by an apartment building. But, the vision and lesson of Snuffy stays:
Yes, cat carriers were available for sale in the 1950's but we did not have one.
And yes, "nothing ever happens" until the day it does.
And then it is too late to do the job right.