Of Cats and Dads

There are a few things I can say for certain that my Dad hates with a passion. Any sports team from Boston. Wearing a suit. The color red. And cats. It has always been a fact in our family. Like our last name is Primeau. Dad hates cats. Everyone knows it. We didn't think to question why he hated cats. We just accepted it. (I did ask him once, and his response was that once a cat peed in his shoe. Talk about holding a grudge!)

I've mentioned that my Grandma Primeau had cats all over her yard and the exterior of her house. If you walked up to the house, the cats came over to you and rubbed on you and wanted to be loved. Except when my Dad showed up. When we pulled into the driveway, we saw cats all over. As soon as Dad stepped out of the car, the cats scattered. Suddenly, there wasn't one cat to be found. They wouldn't show themselves until he left. Even the cats knew he hated them.

There were frequently kittens at Grandma's house. Grandma was always encouraging the grandchildren and our friends to take a kitten home. She never asked Laura or I to take one home. She always kind of laughed about my Dad's reaction.

The summer of 1994 was my transitional summer. I graduated from high school in June, and left for college at the end of August. I chose to go to college in Indiana- 800 miles away from my family. I spent much of the month of August making my rounds saying goodbye to friends and family. I went to Grandma's one afternoon, and of course, there were kittens. She had been trying to get rid of the kittens for a while, and no one would take any. I didn't either.

When Mom came home from work that night, she had two stuffed animals from the Lion King (the movie came out that year, and the merchandise was everywhere). Mom and I decided to play a trick on Dad. We put the stuffed animals in a box that was open on the top. Dad drove a big truck, and you could hear him coming into town. In the summer, after we heard his truck, we'd sit on the porch waiting for him. This particular evening, I sat on the porch with the box on my lap, and as Dad pulled into the driveway, I petted the stuffed animals.

Dad backed the truck into the spot by the brook, and opened his door. He opened the door while he finished up his paperwork, and that was our sign that we could go over and talk to him, get his lunch cooler and thermoses and things. As soon as Dad opened the door he started yelling. "Absolutely not! Get back in the car and take it back to my mother's house." (He knew I was planning to go to Grandma's that day). He was FURIOUS! He was swearing and yelling. My mom (who was a cat person in her pre-Dad life) tried arguing with him. She told him "Just come over and look at them before you say no." She and I were laughing, and Dad's anger kept rising. He said he was going to call his Mother and give her a piece of his mind, because she knew better. He would not have a cat, no way no how. By the time he reached the porch, he was boiling. And then he saw that the cats were only stuffed animals. He said "Well, that better be the only cats that come into this house!" Then he did let out a laugh. Mom and I knew exactly how he would react, and he didn't disappoint.