My Mother The Dowager Duchess was not an animal lover. Not by any stretch of the imagination. When she was a little girl, her mother got a cat to fend off any rat/mouse problem in their tenement apartment. My mother told me that one day, when she was around 9 years old, the cat jumped onto her lap and she sat and petted it for a while.
I said, “Wow. I can’t imagine you doing that.”
She said. “It was disgusting. I finally felt so sick that I pushed the thing off.”
My mother couldn’t understand how we allowed our California cats, Dobie and Maynard, to sit on the furniture. They weren’t allowed on tables or counters, but my mother found it just as bad that they were allowed on sofas and chairs.
Once, when my mother was visiting us in Santa Barbara, our long-haired, gentle, friendly cat, Dobie, walked by her chair. She reached down and stroked him absently before lifting her hand away in disgust.
I said, “How can you be like that? He feels like a fur coat! You love fur coats.”
“Well,” she said, “Fur coats don’t breathe!”
The Dowager Duchess did have her own “pet dog” for more than 25 years.
She had created him from yarn, felt, buttons, and cardboard. She gave him a red leather collar with a gold buckle. Even he had to sit on the floor.
So, while we were cleaning out the apartment, I allowed the old boy to sit wherever he wanted.
|MY MOTHER LOVED THIS COAT SO MUCH SHE KEPT IT FOR 68 YEARS.
(BUT I NEVER ONCE SAW IT ON THE SOFA).