Ernesto Gato

I miss my cat, Ernie. I got Ernie when I was 2. He was named after Enie of Ernie & Bert in Sesame Street. You know, were they gay? They were gay weren't they. The first closeted gay puppets on TV. Crazy!

Anyway, I tortured Ernie. I used to squeeze his back until he snapped at me, and I would bug him until he would fight. I would blow in his ears until he couldn't stand it and flicked them repeatedly, figured out it was me and hissed. I tried to give him baths and force him into a bucket of cold water. I did all the mean things you would do to an animal that you loved. I'm sure I threw him too, but I never swung him by his tail, although I wouldn't have put it by me.

I loved my cat. He slept in my bed almost every night. If I opened the covers he would go down and nestle in my belly and I would curl around him, and he would purr purr purr. Sometimes he would sleep on my head. I would wake up and he would be lying curled up right on my ear with his tail under my nose like a moustache.

Ernie would come sit on my lap at the table and eat whatever food we gave him. He really didn't jump on top of the table or steal food, or beg, he just was interested enough in it that we gave him some. At a certain point we gave in and just started setting a place for him at the table. He seemed happy about that, and everyone else was pretty much into it too. I mean, it wasn't like he just ate meat. My mom would put a piece of lettuce on the table and he would eat that too.

For most of his life, he just got dry food and milk. He didn't always eat the milk, but the food seemed to work fine for him. His favorite food however was cantaloupe rind. We would put a cantaloupe rind down and he would lick it across the floor and back. Such a strange cat.

Ernie was a seal-point Siamese, and we did have him spayed, still, I think he had an uncommonly nice personality. Clearly he was capable of putting up with me.

My favorite story to tell is about the Moosheses. They were a family that lived across the streets, and they had 3 daughters, one of whom was my age. They were the kind of girls that played with Barbies. Girly girls.

One day, that little girl and I, after swimming, decided that we should introduce Ernie, my cat, to her poodle. Brilliant! So, she brought her poodle over to our backyard, and she, in her swimsuit, hoisted her poodle up, and I, in my swimsuit, hoisted Ernie up, and we made them kiss, rub noses, however you want to describe this insanely stupid act. Ernie, well, was not happy, and clawed his way up my bare chest, up my face, on to the top of my head, and lept far away. The poodle and the little girl left. So, being bloody, scared and abandoned, I went inside, crying to get help from my brothers, who were in the living room watching TV. Hearing my sobs, my brothers looked up at my bloody face and chest and said, "Wait 'til the commercial. Go in the kitchen and clean yourself off." Luckily my mom came home and they got in big trouble, I'm not sure, maybe I did too.