The Purrfect Prank

Posted on April 29, 2015 under Storytelling with one comment

Our only cat these days

I wasn’t always a “cat person” but when you raise four children, you are bound to acquire pets.  We nurtured out share of the animal kingdom when our kids were small, including a flock of chickens that we kept in our back yard in town.  We even harboured snakes and frogs.  But our trio of felines was the cat’s meow in our household.

The kids have flown the coop, along with the roosters and hens.  We nurtured our geriatric tabbies until the end.  These days, the closest I come to cats is having a cat nap.  Yes, at the tender age of almost 64, I have mastered the 20 minute power snooze.  It is the most amazing gift to be able to nod off for a short time and wake up feeling re-energized.  As long as it doesn’t happen in the middle of a meeting!

However, eleven years ago I might as well have been napping and I laugh about it to this day.

In 2004, I ran for mayor of our fine town.  I entered the race late in the game and had to do a lot of catch up.  Trying to mobilize blocks of voters became an important part of my strategy.  I launched a website to engage the youth.  I met with representatives of the Chamber of Commerce.  I even had lunch with a local congregation of sisters.  They promised to pray for me but didn’t show their hand.

Senior citizens take their civic duty very seriously.  Who better to approach for support than the silver haired crowd and, amongst this august group, who might provide the endorsement?  The Antigonish Manor held the solution: Peggy “A.B.”, of course.

I had known Peggy for many years.  This amazing 90+ woman had seen it all and done it all.  By all accounts she was the unofficial “Mayor of the Manor” and, if you could get Peggy’s support, there was a better than average chance you might get everyone else’s.   When Peggy called you with a request, as she was apt to do, you never said no.  It simply wasn’t an option.  “P.D. We’re having a birthday party for a few of the residents.  Would you be available to come to the manor and sing a few songs?”   I had learned that you just said yes to Peggy and went about re-arranging your schedule and your life to accommodate her.  My reward was always a fresh baked apple pie, and no one in the history of mankind made pies any better than she did.

I arranged to meet with Peggy to lay out my platform to see if I could get her royal assent.  We had a very pleasant chat on a wide range of subjects.  She told me what was most important to her cohort and I assured her that I would work diligently on their behalf.

And then she asked me a loaded question.  “Do you like cats?” I felt like my entire campaign might hinge on my reply.  I mean, you either love cats or you don’t.  “Did she or didn’t she,” raced through my mind. Relief washed over me as out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the most beautiful calico cat I had ever seen.  She was curled up on a chair in the living room.  I waltzed over and was almost about to pat it when I thought to myself, “Let sleeping cats lie.”

“Yes, I love cats,” was my enthusiastic reply as I started to mentally count up the possible votes in the manor.  She leaned over, whispering in my ear.  “We’re not allowed to have pets in this complex.  Would you consider adopting her?”  I felt a lump in my throat mixed with an ample dose of trepidation.  We already had three cats and the addition of a fourth might cost me a vote or two at home.  Remember, Peggy didn’t do “no” very well.  I did what most good politicians do.  I used delay tactics.  I told her that I would broach the subject with my wife and would get back to her within 24 hours.

After an exhausting day of going door to door, I arrived home and stated my case for a fourth cat.  There was absolutely no debate.  The vote was 5-1 in favor of the status quo.

I didn’t sleep well that night and the following day, after putting it off as long as I could; I picked up the phone and called Peggy to break the news.  I realized that any chance of getting the seniors’ vote was about to evaporate.  I started the conversation with my throat dry and constricted.  I hadn’t gotten very far when I heard convulsions on the other end of the line.  I thought that she might be having a heart attack right on the spot.  But, no, she was laughing … hysterically.  I could barely understand her but between belly rattling guffaws I heard the following: “P.D. How can I possibly vote for you as mayor when you can’t tell the difference between a real cat and a fake one?”

I had been “had” by this sprightly and mischievous nonagenarian.  She went on to tell me, that after I left, she attended an evening session of the rosary in the common room.  She explained that part way through, she broke the silence in the room with fits of giggles, realizing how she had gotten me good.

I lost that mayoral race by a few hundred votes and have often wondered if the cat controversy was my undoing.

With federal candidates about to come calling maybe I should plant one of those decorative little critters on the sofa.

Advertisement