Cindy
When my younger sister, Carol, was about 5, she still was terrified of dogs and cats. I’m not sure why, because she was never hurt by one. But if there was a dog or cat even across the street, she’d panic, start screaming and try to climb whoever was nearest. My parents decided that the best way to cure that was to get a kitten. So one day they brought home an adorable tiny orange and white tabby that we named Cindy, short for Cinderella. Mike and I were thrilled but Carol was nervous and kept her distance. As time went on, Cindy grew and became less adorable. It turns out she had a nasty disposition. My mother would sit on her favourite chair with her legs propped on the ottoman watching TV. Cindy would lie on her belly and chest and Mom would stroke her back, saying something like “Nice kitty, sweet kitty”. Then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, Cindy would bite Mom, jump off and run out of the room with Mom nursing her wound and yelling, “You rotter!” When we had company, we’d warn them not to move unnecessarily and especially not to tap or scratch the arms of the couch. Anyone who dared do either of those things inevitably felt Cindy’s claws tearing into the guilty hand. There were times when I’d be coming down the stairs from my bedroom and Cindy would attack my legs with teeth and claws. Needless to say, Cindy was not helpful in putting Carol at ease around animals. But ironically, she has a dog and is probably the biggest dog lover I know.