Kato

Kato

“I am fond of pigs. Dogs look up to us. Cats look down on us. Pigs treat us like equals”

-Winston Churchill

The first child my parents ever had, before my sister and I, was their first pet Kato. Kato, named after Inspector Clouseau’s sidekick, was a reverse siamese cat. So rather than being mainly beige with little bits of black around his tail and face, he was mainly black with little bits of beige. By the time Marin and I came about Kato was very much used to being an only child. He had also just been through a very traumatic move from San Diego. My older sister Marin was the first to arrive and Kato was pissed. To prove his point he went and threw up on my mom’s pillow. Then, toddler Marin decided to slather Kato’s entire body in petroleum jelly. Utterly enraged Kato decided to become a hermit and moved downstairs into the storage room on top of a black suitcase.

By the time I came around Kato had turned into somewhat of a myth.

“We have a cat” Marin whispered to me. Intrigued I followed her down the cement steps I had cracked my head on a couple years prior, and went into the dark storage room. The electrician that had installed the lights accidently put the switch way too high, so Marin had to find a broom and used the handle to push the switch on. The dim bulb flickered on and walls of shelves full of unopened ice cream machines, unimpressive artwork from Marin and my preschool, and old fraternity and sorority paddles were illuminated. She led me down the cluttered aisle until we hit the luggage section. There, atop a dusty, hair covered black suitcase, sat a small blackish grey pile of fur. Marin courageously poked it. The fur pile hissed back. Marin gave it another poke. Then Kato slowly lifted his annoyed head to see who the hell kept poking him. For the first time, I saw his face. Annoyed, small, little head. With beady black eyes and tiny little fangs that desperately wanted to bite me.

“I love him” I screamed and wrapped my little arms around him and buried my face in him. Moments later I discovered I was allergic to cats, as my eyes began to swell shut and little read hives began to pop up along my arms.

From then on, Kato became a legend. The little hermit in our basement became a fun fact at school and a trophy to show our playdate guests. We’d race down the cement stairs, grab a broom and flick on the light, and lead our skeptical guests to the black suitcase.

“See! We do have a cat!” We’d exclaim excitedly. Then Kato would hiss loudly and angrily, all part of the show!

“Uh, he seems kind of grumpy.” They would gather.

“Yeah, don’t pet him.” We advised.

Kato was also an outdoor cat. Which meant that somehow, sometimes, he would abandon his suitcase, climb up the cement steps and have my mom let him out. Marin and I would make up loads of conspiracy theories about him. That he was dating the neighbor's’ cat; that he was in a fight club; that he secretly loved us. The only thing that ended up being true was that Kato got in a lot of fights. He probably had a lot of pent up rage towards my parents or something, and took it to the alleys of St. Paul.

After one of his alley excursions, Kato came back pretty beat up. He was missing a big chunk of his ear and had scratch marks all over his head and body. Keep in mind, at this point in his life Kato was 18 years old. My parents decided it was time to put him down. I was heartbroken. I went down to the basement, in my lime green with pink elephants on roller skates nightgown, and tried to lovingly pet him. I guess he was just tired of resisting, because he just laid there and took it. The next day my mom and I took him to get put down. We went to the upstairs part of the vet that I had never been before. They took Kato in the back and I wept softly while reading “All Dogs Go to Heaven” since they didn’t have a cat heaven option. Suddenly, the door opened, the pet executioner lady walked back in holding Kato. He was alive! She set him on the table in front of us.

It was a miracle! She somehow figured out a way to to make Kato immortal, or so I assumed.

“Do you want to pet him?” The cat executioner lady asked me, her eyes full of pity.

“Uh sure.” As soon as I began petting him I noticed a plastic tube attached to him. The tube was connected to a syringe tip that the cat executioner was holding. Before I knew it she pushed the syringe and Kato died. The cat executioner took him away and I was shocked.

“Are you ok?” My mom asked me.

“I didn’t know they’d killed them right in front of us!”

So let my experience be a lesson, if you go to put down your 18 year old cat with your mom, you should know that they do murder them right before your eyes. Life’s tough.