Black Cats

Before Vatican II, Catholicism wasn’t filled with a whole lot of God loves you. During the time preceding the revision of the church’s canon, God was a pretty mean guy—capricious. He would strike you down for the tiniest infraction. The old-school Catholic God was into smite. It instilled fear—especially into little kids. It seeped into our little kids’ thinking. That fear drove us to superstition on a wider scale. It’s why I feared stepping on a crack would break my mother’s back. Any small act could result in calamity---even death.

And the one superstition that really did me in was the black cat walking in front of you bad luck rule. I feared it to the point that if I saw a cat out and about I would try to determine its path and then avoid it.

And on the radio today I was reminded of something—what if you owned a black cat? Would you tip toe around it all day long? It sounds like a  lot of work to me --bound to result in an occasional slip-up. Or does owning a black cat exempt you from the black cat rule? Like buying a parking sticker for the lot near the train station exempts you from getting a parking ticket. And why isn’t a white cat walking in front of you a sign of good luck—like the smoke when you are waiting for a pope to be announced? Black smoke: bad: no pope . White smoke: good: new pope.

There is a commercial for Chase Bank right now that I enjoy. A Mom takes a picture of a check with her cell phone and she tells her child that that check is being transported to the bank. Then the Mom tries to take a photo of a lion and the child cries no no no! The child fears the lion will be transported to the bank too.

And I am happy to say that my mother’s back, while nagging with pain some days (she is 81), has never broken—even when I accidentally stepped on a crack—numerous times.

But that damn black cat—the one that lives next door—the one that tormented my beloved Jasper for 16 years---he is still around. And I still avoid him. Even though I should know better.