THE SIBERIAN SOLUTION

My sister phoned last week to let me know that her "mind has been working for awhile" on a plan to help our mother. Perhaps, I thought, she has reconsidered the benefits of living near Mom. Maybe she is finally willing to help with simple household tasks, basic transportation, and just being there to protect Mom against her increasing vulnerability.

My mother, pregnant with Becky, holding a kitten called Miss Misty. (September 24, 1950)

"It's obvious that Mom has always been a cat person," Becky began, as I tried not to drop the phone.

"She hasn't owned a cat in over 25 years!" I managed to cough out.

"There's a reason for that. Pete was deathly allergic to flea bites, and Mom was worried that if she had a cat, it would have fleas. I kept telling her that she lived on the third floor, and there are no fleas on the third floor! We all know she needs a cat and it's obvious the time has come."

Becky holding her cat Pushkin. She has always been the designated cat-lover of the family. (July, 1984)

"So I've been researching Siberian cats," my sister continued, ignoring my silent astonishment. "They are intelligent, low maintenance, and affectionate."

"Can they change light bulbs? Mom had to pay someone last week to change a light bulb. She also had to go door-to-door until she found someone who would untie the knot in her bathrobe."

"Oh, Mom loves having Staff. She loves having servants." Becky quickly dismissed my concerns as irrelevant. "Putting that aside, there are health benefits and psychological benefits to these cats. She would really chill out a lot. But there is no DNA test. You can't just go to the pound and say, 'that looks like a Siberian to me.' To be sure, you need to go to a breeder. So I've been looking for catteries. And I found one in California! Guess which city?"

I couldn't even respond. I was stuck on the word cattery. "Is that synonymous for feline factory?" I silently wondered.

"LOS GATOS!" Becky practically shrieked. "Can you believe it?"

Me, leaning against my front door in Palos Verdes and relaxing with the neighbor's cat. Gomer always hung out in our yard. (March, 1967)

"What about her allergies?" I was beginning to feel stupid. I couldn't believe that I was still trying to have a conversation based on reality.

"That's the beauty of the Siberian," she cheerfully explained. "I was happy when the hypoallergenic cat came out, but they're $8,000. These cats only run about $1,000, and they're for people with allergies. They'll even send you a clipping of the fur so you can test yourself for allergies. You just tape the fur near your nose and eyes and see how you react. So I'm going to find out where these catteries are. You need to look in your local paper in case you see an ad for a Siberian cat."

Becky and I enjoying our Siamese cat, Singh. He disappeared the day we moved out of Los Angeles. He was never allowed in the house because of my mom's allergies and asthma. (August, 1961)

My father as a young boy, holding an unknown feline friend. (undated)

There was nothing more to say. True to form, Rebecca had expeditiously solved another of life's challenges. Why are my brother and I spending so many hours trying to figure out ways to help our mother? She simply needs to get a Siberian and "chill out." I got off the phone and picked up my own cat. Stewart may be just a domestic short hair, but as I stroked his fur and listened to him purr, I found myself saying, "Don't worry. It's all going to be okay."

My brother Bobby and Cat Boy in a peaceful place. Cat Boy was the first animal allowed in the house. He was totally spoiled by my mother. He was the only pet to become a long-time member of the family. When our parents were going through their divorce, my mother quietly had Cat Boy euthanized. ( photo about 1967).

copyright 2008 by Kathleen Stewart Goodrich