| Biographical Non-Fiction posted February 22, 2020 |
  |
A childhood remembrance
Charlie's Gone Missing
by Mrs. KT
The last time I saw Charlie was during the early evening hours of Friday, July 6, 1961. I remember the date because I had just returned from my best friend’s birthday party, and Charlie was making himself a nuisance as Dad hand-washed our 1959 Ford Sedan parked in the middle of our driveway.
Dad did not appreciate Charlie’s help at all, especially as Dad was doing his best to “spiffy up” his prized car’s interior for the planned Sunday get-together with my grandparents. Charlie kept brushing up against my father's pant legs, jumping inside the car, and meowing pitifully.
“Take Charlie inside, Diner,” Dad instructed, and I could detect more than a little bit of frustration in his voice. "He just keeps getting in my way."
I ran around the car to grab Charlie, but despite his well-fed fluffiness, he was too fast for me.
The next thing I knew, Charlie jumped out of the backseat of the car and scooted under the evergreen bushes that surrounded our home’s outdoor lamppost.
“Charley’s just being a stinker, Dad. But he won’t bother you anymore. He likes it under those evergreens. I bet it's cool under there. Let me help you wash the car. And I’ll tell you all about Kathy’s party.”
I prattled on and on about my exciting afternoon when my dad asked me to go inside and get some Windex to wash the car’s windows.
I soon returned with the Windex and some of my mother’s cleaning rags. My job was to wash the interior windows while Dad washed the exterior.
I felt so important as I went from the backseat to the front seat, opening and closing doors, and making certain that the windows were streak-free. Even a best friend’s birthday party didn’t compare to doing “guy-stuff” with my dad.
I honestly forgot all about Charlie.
In fact, once the car’s windows were sparkling, I went inside for good – eager to repeat my day’s birthday outing with whoever would be willing to listen.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized Charlie was nowhere to be found.
I looked everywhere for him. My older sister and mother joined in the hunt.
But no Charlie.
“I think Dad and I really hurt his feelings,” I remember sharing with my mother between sniffles.
Now, my mother was not very fond of Charlie as he often liked to “lay his fuzzy arse” among her vast array of perennials and try to catch her precious song sparrows by lurking under the bird feeder. Nonetheless, she turned a sympathetic ear to her youngest daughter’s tearful concerns.
She also had many errands to run that Saturday. Being ever so practical, she suggested that I could go to Saturday Mass and pray for Charlie’s return.
The fact that my mother would make such a suggestion is still a source of laughter in the annals of my childhood memory bank. My mother was none too religious in the traditional sense. But I had just made my First Communion, and the Lord and I were on excellent speaking terms. Truth is, my mother really didn’t have the time or patience to spend her Saturday morning searching for a missing black and white cat.
Off the two of us went to St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church in our newly-washed Ford Sedan.
Once there, I dutifully prayed for Charlie’s return. I even made a few heartfelt promises to God that involved not being so chatty, not laughing too loudly, and being nicer to my sister if God would be so kind as to find Charlie and return him to me.
I was waiting outside for my mother’s return after Mass when Fr. Chester walked by me on his way back to the rectory.
He asked me why I had attended Mass on such a beautiful summer Saturday morning. I immediately poured out my woeful circumstances to him.
“Did you pray to St. Anthony for Charlie’s return? St. Anthony is, after all, the patron saint of lost objects.”
“No, Father. I just prayed to God. I know Him better than St. Anthony,” I replied.
Just then, my mother arrived.
I can still hear Fr. Chester’s laughter as he proclaimed, “Well, Diane, it appears your prayers have been answered! Unless you own two cats, your Charlie is sitting almost on top of your mother’s head!”
And sure enough, there was Charlie in all of his glory, simultaneously clinging to my mother’s head and the top of the driver’s seat, meowing louder than I ever thought possible.
“It’s a miracle!” I cried! “God found Charlie!"
My mother parked the vehicle and disengaged Charlie from her usually well-coifed updo of jet-black hair.
She stepped out of the car and laughingly said, “Well, Father Chester, I don’t know much about miracles, but the real miracle is that Charlie is now a Charlotte! There must be at least four black and white kittens under the driver’s seat of our car!"
And there were …almost...
Once home, my father begrudgingly removed the front seat of the car only to find not four, but six black and white kittens. All of them bore Charlie’s distinct markings.
Charlie must have slipped into the sedan as my dad and I were busily washing windows and decided that under its front seat was the perfect place to give birth to “her” kittens.
Charlie had kept hidden there all through the night. Even as my mother and I drove to church that morning, “she” made no sound. But when my mother finished shopping for groceries and turned on the car to come and retrieve me, “Charlotte” made “her” presence known.
“Charlotte” turned out to a loving mother. Her kittens were eventually placed in equally loving homes. And I do believe I remember my mother developing a true kindness for "Charlotte" and her babies even as they romped throughout her gardens.
As for me, I did attempt to be nicer to my sister, but that was a work in progress. And I never did succeed in becoming less chatty or refining my laughter.
But to this day, I have a soft spot in my world for black and white cats and the power of heartfelt prayers…
P.S.
Now I bet you are wondering why none of us knew “Charlie” was really a “Charlotte” all along.
The truth is my parents purchased “Charlie” from our local humane society the previous year. The attendant there told us, as a matter of fact, I might add, that the gender of cats is determined by color. Multi-colored or calico cats are always female. Bi-colored or same-colored cats are always male.
Yup.
No one bothered to do the “flip the tail test.”
But I can assure you that none of us made that mistake again…ever!
Charlie writing prompt entry
The last time I saw Charlie was during the early evening hours of Friday, July 6, 1961. I remember the date because I had just returned from my best friend’s birthday party, and Charlie was making himself a nuisance as Dad hand-washed our 1959 Ford Sedan parked in the middle of our driveway.
Dad did not appreciate Charlie’s help at all, especially as Dad was doing his best to “spiffy up” his prized car’s interior for the planned Sunday get-together with my grandparents. Charlie kept brushing up against my father's pant legs, jumping inside the car, and meowing pitifully.
“Take Charlie inside, Diner,” Dad instructed, and I could detect more than a little bit of frustration in his voice. "He just keeps getting in my way."
I ran around the car to grab Charlie, but despite his well-fed fluffiness, he was too fast for me.
The next thing I knew, Charlie jumped out of the backseat of the car and scooted under the evergreen bushes that surrounded our home’s outdoor lamppost.
“Charley’s just being a stinker, Dad. But he won’t bother you anymore. He likes it under those evergreens. I bet it's cool under there. Let me help you wash the car. And I’ll tell you all about Kathy’s party.”
I prattled on and on about my exciting afternoon when my dad asked me to go inside and get some Windex to wash the car’s windows.
I soon returned with the Windex and some of my mother’s cleaning rags. My job was to wash the interior windows while Dad washed the exterior.
I felt so important as I went from the backseat to the front seat, opening and closing doors, and making certain that the windows were streak-free. Even a best friend’s birthday party didn’t compare to doing “guy-stuff” with my dad.
I honestly forgot all about Charlie.
In fact, once the car’s windows were sparkling, I went inside for good – eager to repeat my day’s birthday outing with whoever would be willing to listen.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized Charlie was nowhere to be found.
I looked everywhere for him. My older sister and mother joined in the hunt.
But no Charlie.
“I think Dad and I really hurt his feelings,” I remember sharing with my mother between sniffles.
Now, my mother was not very fond of Charlie as he often liked to “lay his fuzzy arse” among her vast array of perennials and try to catch her precious song sparrows by lurking under the bird feeder. Nonetheless, she turned a sympathetic ear to her youngest daughter’s tearful concerns.
She also had many errands to run that Saturday. Being ever so practical, she suggested that I could go to Saturday Mass and pray for Charlie’s return.
The fact that my mother would make such a suggestion is still a source of laughter in the annals of my childhood memory bank. My mother was none too religious in the traditional sense. But I had just made my First Communion, and the Lord and I were on excellent speaking terms. Truth is, my mother really didn’t have the time or patience to spend her Saturday morning searching for a missing black and white cat.
Off the two of us went to St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church in our newly-washed Ford Sedan.
Once there, I dutifully prayed for Charlie’s return. I even made a few heartfelt promises to God that involved not being so chatty, not laughing too loudly, and being nicer to my sister if God would be so kind as to find Charlie and return him to me.
I was waiting outside for my mother’s return after Mass when Fr. Chester walked by me on his way back to the rectory.
He asked me why I had attended Mass on such a beautiful summer Saturday morning. I immediately poured out my woeful circumstances to him.
“Did you pray to St. Anthony for Charlie’s return? St. Anthony is, after all, the patron saint of lost objects.”
“No, Father. I just prayed to God. I know Him better than St. Anthony,” I replied.
Just then, my mother arrived.
I can still hear Fr. Chester’s laughter as he proclaimed, “Well, Diane, it appears your prayers have been answered! Unless you own two cats, your Charlie is sitting almost on top of your mother’s head!”
And sure enough, there was Charlie in all of his glory, simultaneously clinging to my mother’s head and the top of the driver’s seat, meowing louder than I ever thought possible.
“It’s a miracle!” I cried! “God found Charlie!"
My mother parked the vehicle and disengaged Charlie from her usually well-coifed updo of jet-black hair.
She stepped out of the car and laughingly said, “Well, Father Chester, I don’t know much about miracles, but the real miracle is that Charlie is now a Charlotte! There must be at least four black and white kittens under the driver’s seat of our car!"
And there were …almost...
Once home, my father begrudgingly removed the front seat of the car only to find not four, but six black and white kittens. All of them bore Charlie’s distinct markings.
Charlie must have slipped into the sedan as my dad and I were busily washing windows and decided that under its front seat was the perfect place to give birth to “her” kittens.
Charlie had kept hidden there all through the night. Even as my mother and I drove to church that morning, “she” made no sound. But when my mother finished shopping for groceries and turned on the car to come and retrieve me, “Charlotte” made “her” presence known.
“Charlotte” turned out to a loving mother. Her kittens were eventually placed in equally loving homes. And I do believe I remember my mother developing a true kindness for "Charlotte" and her babies even as they romped throughout her gardens.
As for me, I did attempt to be nicer to my sister, but that was a work in progress. And I never did succeed in becoming less chatty or refining my laughter.
But to this day, I have a soft spot in my world for black and white cats and the power of heartfelt prayers…
P.S.
Now I bet you are wondering why none of us knew “Charlie” was really a “Charlotte” all along.
The truth is my parents purchased “Charlie” from our local humane society the previous year. The attendant there told us, as a matter of fact, I might add, that the gender of cats is determined by color. Multi-colored or calico cats are always female. Bi-colored or same-colored cats are always male.
Yup.
No one bothered to do the “flip the tail test.”
But I can assure you that none of us made that mistake again…ever!
Dad did not appreciate Charlie’s help at all, especially as Dad was doing his best to “spiffy up” his prized car’s interior for the planned Sunday get-together with my grandparents. Charlie kept brushing up against my father's pant legs, jumping inside the car, and meowing pitifully.
“Take Charlie inside, Diner,” Dad instructed, and I could detect more than a little bit of frustration in his voice. "He just keeps getting in my way."
I ran around the car to grab Charlie, but despite his well-fed fluffiness, he was too fast for me.
The next thing I knew, Charlie jumped out of the backseat of the car and scooted under the evergreen bushes that surrounded our home’s outdoor lamppost.
“Charley’s just being a stinker, Dad. But he won’t bother you anymore. He likes it under those evergreens. I bet it's cool under there. Let me help you wash the car. And I’ll tell you all about Kathy’s party.”
I prattled on and on about my exciting afternoon when my dad asked me to go inside and get some Windex to wash the car’s windows.
I soon returned with the Windex and some of my mother’s cleaning rags. My job was to wash the interior windows while Dad washed the exterior.
I felt so important as I went from the backseat to the front seat, opening and closing doors, and making certain that the windows were streak-free. Even a best friend’s birthday party didn’t compare to doing “guy-stuff” with my dad.
I honestly forgot all about Charlie.
In fact, once the car’s windows were sparkling, I went inside for good – eager to repeat my day’s birthday outing with whoever would be willing to listen.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I realized Charlie was nowhere to be found.
I looked everywhere for him. My older sister and mother joined in the hunt.
But no Charlie.
“I think Dad and I really hurt his feelings,” I remember sharing with my mother between sniffles.
Now, my mother was not very fond of Charlie as he often liked to “lay his fuzzy arse” among her vast array of perennials and try to catch her precious song sparrows by lurking under the bird feeder. Nonetheless, she turned a sympathetic ear to her youngest daughter’s tearful concerns.
She also had many errands to run that Saturday. Being ever so practical, she suggested that I could go to Saturday Mass and pray for Charlie’s return.
The fact that my mother would make such a suggestion is still a source of laughter in the annals of my childhood memory bank. My mother was none too religious in the traditional sense. But I had just made my First Communion, and the Lord and I were on excellent speaking terms. Truth is, my mother really didn’t have the time or patience to spend her Saturday morning searching for a missing black and white cat.
Off the two of us went to St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church in our newly-washed Ford Sedan.
Once there, I dutifully prayed for Charlie’s return. I even made a few heartfelt promises to God that involved not being so chatty, not laughing too loudly, and being nicer to my sister if God would be so kind as to find Charlie and return him to me.
I was waiting outside for my mother’s return after Mass when Fr. Chester walked by me on his way back to the rectory.
He asked me why I had attended Mass on such a beautiful summer Saturday morning. I immediately poured out my woeful circumstances to him.
“Did you pray to St. Anthony for Charlie’s return? St. Anthony is, after all, the patron saint of lost objects.”
“No, Father. I just prayed to God. I know Him better than St. Anthony,” I replied.
Just then, my mother arrived.
I can still hear Fr. Chester’s laughter as he proclaimed, “Well, Diane, it appears your prayers have been answered! Unless you own two cats, your Charlie is sitting almost on top of your mother’s head!”
And sure enough, there was Charlie in all of his glory, simultaneously clinging to my mother’s head and the top of the driver’s seat, meowing louder than I ever thought possible.
“It’s a miracle!” I cried! “God found Charlie!"
My mother parked the vehicle and disengaged Charlie from her usually well-coifed updo of jet-black hair.
She stepped out of the car and laughingly said, “Well, Father Chester, I don’t know much about miracles, but the real miracle is that Charlie is now a Charlotte! There must be at least four black and white kittens under the driver’s seat of our car!"
And there were …almost...
Once home, my father begrudgingly removed the front seat of the car only to find not four, but six black and white kittens. All of them bore Charlie’s distinct markings.
Charlie must have slipped into the sedan as my dad and I were busily washing windows and decided that under its front seat was the perfect place to give birth to “her” kittens.
Charlie had kept hidden there all through the night. Even as my mother and I drove to church that morning, “she” made no sound. But when my mother finished shopping for groceries and turned on the car to come and retrieve me, “Charlotte” made “her” presence known.
“Charlotte” turned out to a loving mother. Her kittens were eventually placed in equally loving homes. And I do believe I remember my mother developing a true kindness for "Charlotte" and her babies even as they romped throughout her gardens.
As for me, I did attempt to be nicer to my sister, but that was a work in progress. And I never did succeed in becoming less chatty or refining my laughter.
But to this day, I have a soft spot in my world for black and white cats and the power of heartfelt prayers…
P.S.
Now I bet you are wondering why none of us knew “Charlie” was really a “Charlotte” all along.
The truth is my parents purchased “Charlie” from our local humane society the previous year. The attendant there told us, as a matter of fact, I might add, that the gender of cats is determined by color. Multi-colored or calico cats are always female. Bi-colored or same-colored cats are always male.
Yup.
No one bothered to do the “flip the tail test.”
But I can assure you that none of us made that mistake again…ever!
|
Writing Prompt Write a story that begins with the line: The last time I saw Charlie ... (continue the sentence and story) |
 Recognized |
Photographs from google images.com
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. 
You need to login or register to write reviews. It's quick! We only ask four questions to new members.
© Copyright 2024. Mrs. KT All rights reserved.
Mrs. KT has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
