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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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DR. BOLLINKS, CAT PSYCHIATRIST
J. J. Brearton
I
Canarsie Smoochings knew he had to see a psychiatrist. He just knew. It was about time. Now, he was on the front step of the offices of Dr. Warren Bollinks. There were two steps actually, but you aren’t interested in how many steps Dr. Bollinks has, right?
How about the weather? Well, it was a nice sunny day, unusual for Seattle. It was mid-October, and the leaves had changed.
The sun dappled the enclosed front porch of Dr. Bollinks’s two-story house, converted to offices, across the street from the parking garage for the Seattle Psychiatric Center. Oh, no, Smoochings had never been in the SPC. He wanted to stay out of there. That’s why he was here, at Dr. Bollinks’s office, to keep himself from going totally out of his mind.
He pulled open the storm door and stepped onto the nice wood floor of the porch. It was painted gray. Is this too much detail? I’ll speed it up.
“Can I help you?” a portly woman behind a computer screen asked, as Smoochings closed the heavy front door, and listened to the window rattle. She was in a small room to his left, just beyond the foyer.
“I’m here to see Dr. Bollinks,” Smoochings said. “I’ve got an appointment.”
“Mister Smoochings?”
“That’s me.”
“You’re right on time.”
She got up and went across the room to a door with a sign on it that said, Dr. Bollinks.
“You can hang your coat up right there,” she said, pointing to a coat tree.
Smoochings took off his green raincoat and a Buffalo Bills Baseball cap, and hung them up.
“How do you do?” Dr. Bollinks said, as the door closed. Smoochings was now in Dr. Bollinks’s private office. Maybe you guessed that. I wanted to be absolutely clear about it, just in case you were confused.
“Fine, thank you,” Smoochings said.
They sat for a moment. Dr. Bollinks got together some papers and a pen.
“What brings you here, Mister Smoochings?”
“To be honest,” Smoochings said. “It’s my cat.”
“Your cat?”
“Yes. I know this sounds ridiculous, but my cat is driving me crazy.”
“How so?”
“She keeps yelling and screaming at me.”
“Yelling and screaming at you?”
“Right. Night and day.”
“Night and Day?”
“At the top of her lungs.”
“Name?”
“What, you want my name?”
“No, I know your name. I mean the cat.”
“Oh, the cat. Milli. With an ‘i.’”
“An ‘i’?”
“Right. We named her after that music group, Milli Vanilli. We named her Milli and the other cat Vanilli, because Milli was black and the other cat was white, you know, kind of vanilla color. Then Vanilli ran away. It was the wife’s idea, to name them that. Now she’s gone too, and my daughter. I never see them that much. It’s just me and Milli, and she’s driving me nuts.”
“She yells at you?”
“Right.”
“What does she say?”
“She doesn’t say anything really, just kind of yells. I don’t know cat language that well, you know. She pushes me around. Do this. Do that. She bangs on my door in the morning--pounding, just pounding on the door.”
“That bothers you?”
“Sure does. Can’t get any sleep. She gets up real early. That is, if she ever sleeps at night. It’s hard to explain. In the morning she pounds on the door to my bedroom. I know what that means. She wants to go out. Then I hear her outside, yelling. She’s hardly been out five minutes, and she’s yelling and screaming.”
“You mean meowing?”
“Oh, no, this cat doesn’t meow. She yells.”
“She yells? What else does she do?”
“Pretty much, when she’s not yelling at me, she’s sleeping, eating, drinking out of the toilet, staring at her bowl—she does that a lot—and if she’s outside, she’s ripping the heads off mice, killing birds, eating little bunny rabbits--you know, whatever regular cats do--then she jumps up on the screen. I can see her yelling at me, so that means she wants to come in. I have to let her in. The neighbors complain about her, you know.”
“Why don’t you get rid of her if you don’t like her?”
“What do you mean, get rid of her?”
“Take her to an animal shelter. Say that you’re having a problem, and can’t live with her any more.”
“Really? I can do that?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Gee, thanks, doc.”
Smoochings got up and shook Dr. Bollinks’s hand.
“Thanks a lot,” he said. “I’ll try that.”
II
The next day, Smoochings was at work at his job at Blandly Labs. He was a research assistant there, doing calculations on polar drift. He had to leave work early in order to get Milli over to the animal shelter before it closed. He left a note up on the computer screen inside his cubicle. “Had to leave early, personal business,” was the explanation.
So, there he was, after his ten-minute drive home from the lab, in his garage, getting on his heavy work gloves. Yes, these would work, he said to himself. The gloves reached almost to his elbows, needed protection against Milli’s claws. Back in the house, he looked around and found her on the upstairs landing. Quickly grabbing the startled cat, he rushed through the house and back into the garage. There, in the middle of the floor was the cat carrier box, somewhat ripped apart from the feline’s previous travels. As soon as Milli saw the box, she knew she was in for it, and tried to run over Smoochings shoulder. It felt like he was getting run over by spinning, studded snow tires, with little daggers thrown in, for good measure. He thrust her in the box and closed it up as soon as he could. Her black and white paws started coming out the holes in the box, ripping it apart. He knew he had to make a fast run to the animal shelter before she got out.
He had the motor running. It was a fairly short drive, through Sycaway, down Hoosick Street, over the Collar City Bridge and down 787 to Menands. He held the box lid down with his right hand as he drove. He didn’t have time to put on his seat belt.
There was a screech of tires on pavement as the car came to a rest in the parking lot outside the animal shelter. Grabbing the box, he scurried in the front door. Down the hall, he stood before the counter, panting.
“I’ve got a cat here. I’ve got to get rid of her.”
“You can’t get rid of cats here,” the woman said. “We’re trying to find homes for cats. This isn’t some type of dumping ground.”
“She’s driving me crazy. My psychiatrist said I have to get rid of her.”
“Your psychiatrist?”
Now the woman appeared concerned.
“Wait a minute. I’ll get the director.”
She then went into a back room.
No time for this, Smoochings decided. He put the box on the counter, and scampered out the front door.
As he hightailed it out of the parking lot, he could see the woman and an older man yelling at him from the opened front door.
Back in Sycaway, Smoochings sat on his couch for a few minutes, feeling quite satisfied.
He decided to call in to work, to see if there were any messages.
“Lab fire,” Debby said, when asked to explain why he didn’t need to come in the next day.
Wow, Smoochings said to himself, this is turning out great. That psychiatrist really knew what he was talking about.
He sat back down on the couch. What to do now?
The lights were all on.
The electric meter. He’d check that out. That’s what he’d do.
He turned out all the lights and headed outside. Rounding the right side of the house he went to the meter. Still the wheel turned.
Something’s on.
Back in the house he searched. The clock. Yes. Should he pull the plug?
He thought he’d lie down and think about it.
Soon asleep, he dreamed of a lion in the back yard.
He awoke perspiring. What was that he heard? There’s someone at the door.
He ran downstairs. Sure enough, there were some kids in costumes on the front step.
He’d forgotten. It was Halloween!
Opening the door, he heard the three kids assembled there announce, “Trick or treat!”
“Hold on,” he said, and turned to go to search in the darkened house for candy. There, on the table next to the door was a big bowl. But no candy was in it. Where did she hide it?
He hurried to the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets. Finally, over the refrigerator, he hit pay dirt.
Back to the front door, tearing open a bag, he gave each kid two tiny candy bars. “Nice costumes,” he said, handing out the candy. “Very scary.”
Watching carefully, they evaluated the candy as it dropped into their bags. It looked like they were happy.
“Thanks,” one of them said. They turned and ran away.
He looked around the darkened house. It sure seemed spooky. He turned on a few lights and sat down on the couch, next to the door.
Every Halloween it was like this. He’d sit near the door, waiting for the kids to run up and ring the bell. Problem was, the bell didn’t work. He had to listen for the sound of the button being pushed in.
The last thing he wanted was for some kids to come to the door, and not get any candy. He knew that that’s when you’d get a trick.
There was a good crowd that afternoon, and after a while, he had to stop giving each kid two candy bars, as he knew he was getting low. It was a bit boring sitting there in the absolute silence, waiting for the doorbell to be pushed in, but what could he do? If he put the TV set on, he couldn’t hear the kids.
A car pulled in the driveway. Doors slammed. The front door of the house swung open.
“Ahoy!” Jill yelled, showing him her bag full of candy. It was his 9-year old daughter, dressed up as Snow White.
“You look great, sweety bunch!” he exclaimed.
“Hi!” Darcy chirped, as she quickly followed Jill in the house. It was the lovely wife.
“Did you miss us?” she added.
“Sure did,” he replied sincerely.
Darcy had shopping bags under her arms. Every year on Halloween, she took Jill to see Darcy’s mother to show off her costume, and take pictures.
“Where’s the cat?” was Darcy’s next question.
“The cat?” he said.
“You didn’t let her out, did you?”
Her instructions had been not to let the cat out on Halloween. Darcy was afraid that kids would play tricks on Milli, since she was a black cat.
Yeah, Smoochings said to himself, as if kids could play tricks on Milli. It would more likely be the other way around.
The phone rang and Darcy answered it.
Smoochings heard her side of the conversation.
“Who’s driving you crazy? Our cat? Milli? What’s she doing there? You tracked us down with his license plate?” Darcy’s eyes were wide with amazement. “We’ll be right over. What do you mean she keeps yelling at you? Never mind, we’ll be right over.”
Oh, boy, Smoochings said. Now I’m in for it. Darcy and Jill loved the cat. When, Smoochings said to himself—when, God--when will I ever learn?
III
“She’s back,” were Smoochings first words, when he sat down again before Dr. Bollinks.
“Who’s back?”
“Milli. She’s back. I took your advice, brought her to an animal shelter, everything was great, then my wife and daughter came in and all hell broke loose.”
“I’m not clear on your wife and daughter. Have they been gone?”
“Well, yes. The wife, Darcy, got an apartment in the mountains. Closer to work. A temporary assignment, supposedly. She’s an astronomer, you know.”
“Really, I didn’t know that. How come she didn’t take the cat with her?”
“Good question. She said she couldn’t find a place that would allow pets.”
“So, how does she get along with the cat?”
“Fine, just fine.”
“The cat doesn’t yell at her?”
“No, just me.”
“How about your daughter.”
“Nope, just yells at me.”
“So, how’s it been going? Is your wife back now?”
“Well, yes. She says she needs to keep an eye on me. Afraid I’ll take the cat to the shelter again. She says she can’t trust me. That she doesn’t trust me any more.”
“Gee, I’m sorry Mr. Smoochings. I hope I didn’t cause any problems with my suggestion.”
“Your suggestion? Heck no. It’s worked out great. The wife and daughter are back, you know. Except for the cat. I mean, I really didn’t realize how much I missed them, the wife and daughter that is.”
“But you said except for the cat.”
“Yes, except for the cat. When they left, I noticed how much, how intensely, the cat was running my life. Now that they’re back, the cat seems to have to yell louder.”
“Louder? How come?”
“The noise. My God, the noise is deafening. With the wife around, all the TV sets are on, the clothes dryer and washer are going, the dishwasher is running, either she or my daughter, Jill, talking on the phone, and the cat screaming at me at the top of her lungs. You should see the electric meter.”
“The electric meter?”
“It’s like a blur, it’s spinning around so fast. Right back to where it was before.”
“Now, the cat, she seems to focus on you, is that right?”
“Just me.”
“Maybe you need to deflect the attention. Get her focus off you. Have you thought of getting another cat?”
“What, you mean have two cats banging on the door in the morning?”
“Well, perhaps the other cat would distract Milli. Deflect the attention.”
“Deflect the attention? You know, you just might have something there, doc. I think I’ll try it.”
Smoochings stood up, appearing cheerful all of a sudden. “Thanks, doc. That’s a good idea.”
Smoochings opened the front door of his house and entered the foyer. The large cardboard cat box was in his hand. It was about 6:45 PM on a Thursday evening. No, wait a minute, maybe it was ten of seven. Hold on, I’ll check my notes. What did I do with them? Ah, the hell with it. It was a little bit before seven. You don’t have to know the exact time, do you?
Anyway, that’s when the interrogation began.
“What are you doing with that box?” Darcy asked.
“Bob?”
“You’re calling the box Bob now?”
“No, Bob’s not the box. Bob is what’s in the box.”
Smoochings put down the box and pulled out a bright yellow cat.
“It’s Bob. Bob, meet the family. This is Darcy, your great grandmother.”
Smoochings put the cat on the floor. It yawned.
“Where’s Jill? I want her to meet Bob.”
“Basketball practice.”
“Oh, great. Well, let me tell you about Bob. He’s had a vasectomy, so we’re both kind of alike. Battlefield casualties. Purple hearts.”
“Bob, what kind of a name is that?” Jill said.
“Bob Cat is his full name. I thought that would sound tough. Kind of like a Bobcat.”
At that moment, Milli rounded a corner of the kitchen and looked in at Bob. Her back arched, her hair stood on end and she hissed.
“Ah,” Smoochings said. “Seems to be working perfectly.”
“What?” Darcy said. “What’s working perfectly?”
“Nothing. Never mind. I’ll just get Bob a bowl.”
In the kitchen cabinets, Smoochings found an old plastic bowl and put some dry cat food in it. He sat Bob down before it, and the little yellow beast dug in, but not for long. Once Milli caught the act, she quickly swatted Bob away, and started eating out of the bowl herself. Looking on with concern, Smoochings filled up Milli’s half eaten bowl. Now, Milli headed over to that. When Bob went back to the unoccupied bowl, Milli swatted him away. So, there Bob stood, the little gentleman that he was, watching Milli eat out of one bowl, then the other. Finally, gorged, Milli sauntered away. Reader, maybe you could have skipped this part. Are you unconscious now?
What was life like for Smoochings?
Milli continued her tyrannical behavior, but now it had a new dimension, torturing Bob. Poor guy, just when he’d settle in for a nice nap, Milli would covet the place, and swat him away.
Despite all this, Bob quickly put on pounds, somehow furtively getting enough to eat, but whenever Ms. Milli was around, he politely backed off. He knew who was the boss.
Now, two cats climbed the screens and yelled to get in. Two cats pounded on his bedroom door. The backyard patio was littered with the entrails they ripped out of the moles and mice they each captured.
Yes, there Mr. Smoochings was, with his lovely wife, Darcy, and daughter, Jill, while being bossed around by those cute little kitties.
Smoochings set the box down on the chair next to him.
“What’s that?” Dr. Bollinks asked.
“It’s Bob,” Smoochings said, and pulled the yellow cat out of the box by the scruff of the neck. He then put the box on the floor and Bob on the chair.
Bob stared at Dr. Bollinks and yawned.
“Why did you bring him here?” Bollinks asked.
“He’s concerned. Involved. He feels he’s involved.”
“You know his feelings?”
“Well, I can get the drift. Molly is beating the crap out of him. Treats him like hell.”
“She’s the top cat.”
“The what?”
“Top cat. That’s standard operating procedure. She’s older, right?”
“Yes, sure. She’s older.”
“Well, she’ll be calling the shots. You’re not disturbed that she’s calling the shots just because she’s a female, are you?”
“Me? Disturbed? Heck no.”
There was a pounding noise behind Dr. Bollinks. Smoochings now noticed a door that apparently led to a porch behind Dr. Bollinks.
Bollinks turned slightly, then back to Smoochings.
“Just the wind rattling the door,” he said.
“So,” Smoochings said, “you think it’s normal? Nothing to worry about?”
“Normal. Seems okay.”
“Do you think I’m okay, Doc? I mean, generally?”
“Yes, sure. You’re fine.”
“Great, Doc. I’m so glad to hear that.”
Smoochings got up and shook Dr. Bollinks’ hand vigorously. He then put Bob back in the box and departed.
Bollinks waited to be sure Smoochings was gone. He then turned and opened the door to the porch.
“Damn it! Could you just relax! Don’t you realize I’ve got patients in here?”
Martha could care less what he said. She strode in on all fours, in all her calico black and white slinkiness. She knew another cat had been there. After all, she was a cat herself. What business did Bollinks have bringing other cats around?
