TheBanyanTree: Life Stories 17

[Tobie Shapiro]

October 1, 200000000000000000006


Dear Givers and Recipients,

	Every day, I take out my journal and write a couple of 
stories.  And every day, I sit at the computer (oh, except Saturday. 
That's Shabbos.) and type up a couple of stories, maybe three, maybe 
one, depending upon the length.  So far, I have not caught up with 
myself and come up empty.  It could happen, though.  Not any time 
soon, but it could happen.

 
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Introduction

	We had numerous outdoor cats when we lived in Maryland.  They 
were all grey shorthairs who more or less adopted us by hanging 
around our house until my soft hearted mother put out bowls of food 
for them.  Then they'd grow familiar with us and eventually they 
would be invited in.  There was Puff, Muff and then Serepina. 
Serepina was named after a cat in a children's book.  I can't 
remember the book.  But I remember Serepina.  She was the only cat 
that adopted us who was more than one colour.  My memory is dull, but 
I think she was a typical tabby.

	Serepina got pregnant and grew fat like she'd swallowed a 
football sideways.  I asked my mother about this fatness, this 
growing formation, and she explained all about sex and pregnancy and 
that Serepina would give birth to little kittens.  There was no 
questioning of where the husband was.  It was assumed that he was 
just the sperm donor and moved on to other neighborhoods, since 
Serepina was not available any more.  She'd been done.  (So is that 
how it is?)  When Serepina gave birth, there were five tiny mouse 
like creatures all wobbly and blind, their big swollen eyes still 
shut, attached to her rows of nipples, pumping their teensy paws to 
press the milk out into their mouths.  Cats can't suck very well. 
Their muzzles aren't formed for that, and so anyone who tells you 
that they climb into babies' cribs, attracted by the smell of warm 
milk on their lips and suck the breath out of them is lacking in some 
fundamentals.

	We discovered Serepina and her five kittens in the neighbor's 
window well.  But the man of the house, Mr. Levine, didn't believe us 
until we dragged him out back to take a look see.  "Well, I'll be 
damned!" he nodded, throwing up his hands.  The kittens grew rapidly 
and we tried to name all of them, but couldn't keep track of which 
was which.  They began playing with each other, pouncing and rolling, 
standing up on their hind legs and batting their paws.  I worried 
about them being outside in the cold at night, but my father was 
allergic, and the explanation that domesticated cats had given birth 
and raised kittens outside for millennia seemed reasonable.  Still, I 
bothered my mother about it, until she prevailed upon my father to 
provide some shelter of some kind for the mother and her kittens.  He 
took an old television cabinet, scooped out the innards, and my 
mother hung a cloth over the back.  Here was Serepina's and her 
family's new house, with a picture window in front.  We put it on the 
side of the house near the chimney, and Serepina moved right in.

	One evening, we returned home from being out somewhere 
exciting.  The car pulled up in the driveway, and we climbed out.  I 
saw one of the kittens in the grass and crouched down near it to 
play, but the kitten was just lying on its side, all its legs 
stretched out as if it were meaning to stand but had fallen over.  So 
I picked it up and placed it down standing up.  It fell over again. 
I lifted it again and stood it up on its legs, and after a second of 
balancing there, it fell over again.

	My mother came over and explained that the kitten had died, 
and the stiffness was rigor mortis, a new word for me.  Rigor Mortis. 
In this way, I was introduced to death.  I can't remember what my 
mother did with the corpse.  Three of the five kittens died this way. 
The other two grew up and spread out in the neighborhood.

 
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How I Met the 'Cello

	My cousin Joell, my father's sister Selma's daughter and 
eldest child, was about a year or two older than my older sister.  I 
loved Joell.  Always did.  She was sweet and smart and funny, and 
when she told you something, you knew she really meant it.  One 
summer, we came out west to California to visit my mother's family in 
San Francisco, and we travelled up to Portland, Oregon, to visit 
Selma and Milton, Joell and her baby brother, David.  Selma and 
Milton had a cabin up near King Lake, over the border into Washington 
state.  It didn't take too long to get there.  We'd sit in the back 
seat and sing.  This was the time before seat belts.  We sang a song 
that Selma had taught her children:

	"Sit down, and face the front.
	Sit down, and face the front.
	Sit down, and face the front,
	And don't upset the DRIIIIIIIIIII-ver.
	'Cause we don't want no
	Bang up, Smash up, everybody cry-up."

	That summer, Joell was taking 'cello lessons, and Selma 
brought out her 'cello for Joell to play for us.  She sat on the edge 
of a chair in the corner of the living room of the cabin, and she 
played, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."  I was transfixed.  The 
'cello was the biggest thing I'd ever seen, so much bigger than my 
father's violin, and it stood upright and leaned in against Joell. 
To play it, you had to wrap your arms around it.  The sound that came 
out was deep, reverberating.  I decided at that instant that I wanted 
to play the 'cello.  But I had to wait.  It was torture waiting to 
grow enough to take 'cello lessons.  Two whole years went by with me 
begging and watching my arms, legs and hands seemingly stay the same 
size.  When I was seven, my parents got me my first 'cello.  My 
mother started taking 'cello lessons, too, but soon, she had to stop 
because her belly got so big with my future sibling that she couldn't 
reach the fingerboard anymore.  I continued.  I continued and 
continued.  I've played the 'cello my whole life.  I have to wrap my 
arms around it to play, and it feels so requited.

 
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-- 




Tobie Helene Shapiro
Berkeley, California   USA

tobie at shpilchas.net