This story was originally published on my vet school blog, “Wet Cleanup on Aisle 5.”
That’s the standard line in show business, because kids and animals are almost assuredly going to 1) do something wildly unpredictable, 2) upstage you, or 3) both.
Knowing this, I’m not entirely sure why I agreed to do a monologue in the play “Talking With” that involved not just an animal co-star, but a cat, for crying out loud. The show calls for a live cat, although plenty of productions substitute dogs, or even stuffed toys. Our director was insistent on a live cat.
A woman in town volunteered her “very mellow” cat for the job, much to his chagrin. True, he was very mellow, but he still didn’t appreciate being dragged out of his house, shoved into a box, and hauled up on a bright stage in a dark room full of people. Somehow, we both managed fine until closing night, which was something close to utter madness.
My usual cat co-star decided he’d had enough of the crazy lady who kept kidnapping him and lugging him to the theater, so he hid himself somewhere in his three story house, and, despite 20 minutes of looking by me and his owner, nada. To top it off, I had a raging sinus infection and a sore throat. This was not looking promising.
With only 10 minutes left before show time, I rushed to the animal hospital to kidnap Elliot, our big, orange office cat. Although he didn’t much care for the car ride, he was a natural backstage, walking around and chatting with everyone. I was clearly more nervous than he was, but then again, I knew what was coming.
My character was supposed to enter, carrying the cat, from the back of the dark auditorium, and walk through the audience to the stage. Despite the loud applause from the previous monologue, and the utter novelty of the situation, E did surprisingly well, and he settled into my arms as we headed toward the stage.
Once we hit the stage and the glare of the spotlights, though, he panicked and clawed his way over my neck, leaving two bloody gashes. He leapt to the floor, careening in wild circles, searching desperately for an escape.
Fighting back my own rising panic, I assumed what I hoped was a casual air and began crisscrossing the stage in hot pursuit, continuing my monologue with blood oozing down my neck and the sinus infection threatening to snatch what was left of my voice.
I finally nabbed him, not noticing that his back claw had caught my skirt. As I lifted him to my shoulder, the skirt came along for the ride… but I caught it just in time. I tossed Elliot in his carrier, slammed the door, and finished the monologue without a hitch.
After the show, someone asked how I’d trained the cat to do all of that. I just have a way with animals, I guess…
That bump on my neck is still my favorite scar.
