(gap: 2s) My mother was never one for pets. She saw them as messy, unpredictable, and a threat to the order she so carefully maintained in our home. Yet for my brother Jeff and me, the idea of having a pet was a dream that shimmered just out of reach—a longing that colored our childhood with hope and frustration. Every time we brought it up, her answer was unwavering, her voice firm and final: “No, we have discussed this and there will be no animals in this house. That’s the end of it!” The words would hang in the air, heavy and absolute, dashing our hopes once again.
Still, Jeff and I clung to our wish. We’d press our faces to the glass of pet shop windows, our breath fogging the panes as we watched kittens tumble and puppies yip. We’d pore over magazines, tracing the outlines of fluffy cats and loyal dogs with our fingers, imagining what it would be like to have one of our own. In whispered conversations, we decided that if we ever got the chance, we’d choose a cat—a soft, gentle creature, less likely to upset Mother’s delicate balance than a boisterous dog.
One golden afternoon, when I was eight and Jeff was seven, we were outside in the garden, the sun dappling the grass as we played a slow, meandering game of croquet. I was winning, and Jeff’s interest was waning, his mallet dragging behind him. We were just finishing up, ready to put the game away in the garden house, when a small, delicate cat appeared around the corner, her fur glowing in the sunlight.
Instantly, we dropped to our knees, our voices soft and coaxing as we called to her. For reasons we couldn’t explain, we decided she was a “her.” She approached us with cautious confidence, her tail held high, emitting a gentle, plaintive meow that seemed to speak directly to our hearts. In that moment, we were utterly enchanted, our longing for a pet suddenly made real and tangible.
“Jeff, go get some food,” I whispered urgently, my heart pounding with excitement. “No, you get it. I don’t know what to get,” he replied, his eyes never leaving the cat. “OK, but don’t scare her away.” I sprinted to the back of the house, slipping quietly into the kitchen. Cook was there, humming to herself, and I asked for a glass of milk. She handed it to me with a smile, unaware of the secret mission I was on.
I raced back, breathless, to find Jeff still sitting with the cat, who now looked at me with expectant eyes. I rummaged in the garden house for a saucer, rinsed it under the cold hose, and poured the milk. The cat lapped it up hungrily, her tiny pink tongue darting in and out, and we watched in awe, feeling a sense of responsibility and pride bloom inside us.
As the last drops disappeared, a wild idea took hold. We would smuggle the cat inside. Jeff’s nursery window opened onto a porch roof—a secret passageway we’d used for games before. “Go upstairs and open your window,” I instructed. He nodded and disappeared inside. I dragged a porch table to the edge, climbed up with the cat cradled in my arms, and called up to him.
“Jeff, are you there?” I whispered. “Yes, I’ll get her.” He was lying on his stomach, arms outstretched. I lifted the cat, feeling her soft weight, and he reached down, gently pulling her up. I moved the table back and dashed upstairs, my heart thudding with excitement and fear. In Jeff’s room, the cat was already curled up on his bed, purring contentedly. We lay beside her, whispering about how to keep her hidden, what to name her, and what adventures we’d have. The cat, oblivious to our plotting, fell asleep, her tiny body rising and falling with each breath.
Suddenly, the door creaked open—Nanny. Panic surged through us. We froze, barely daring to breathe, and quickly covered the cat with Jeff’s bedspread. “Hello, you two. Game over?” Nanny’s voice was cheerful as she put away laundry. We forced ourselves to act normal, making small talk until she left. Relief washed over us, but we knew we’d have to be even more careful.
Tea time arrived, and we had to leave our secret guest behind. We snuck a few chicken sandwiches into a napkin, a forbidden treat, but no one seemed to notice. Throughout tea, our minds were elsewhere, our feet tapping anxiously under the table, eager to return to our room.
When we finally returned, the cat greeted us with a delighted trill, weaving between our legs. She devoured the sandwiches, crumbs scattering across the bedspread. We watched her eat, fascinated by her dainty movements, feeling a sense of kinship and wonder.
As dusk fell and supper ended, it was time for baths. We reluctantly placed the cat back on the porch roof, whispering promises to return. We told Nanny we were too tired for a story, hoping to avoid any more interruptions. She seemed surprised but agreed, tucking us in with a gentle kiss.
The moment she left, I crept to the window and let the cat back in. Jeff wanted her to sleep with him, but as the eldest, I insisted on going first. He grumbled, but relented. The cat curled up at my feet, her warmth a comfort as I drifted into sleep, feeling a happiness I’d never known before.
Dawn crept in softly. I woke before Nanny could enter, gently lifting the cat and placing her back on the roof. Nanny arrived moments later, commenting on how nice it was to see me up and ready. She helped me dress, then woke Jeff, who was still groggy from the excitement of the night before.
We went down for breakfast, the secret of the cat burning in my chest. Before leaving for school, I snuck back upstairs and let her in, worried she might escape or be discovered if left outside. We left for school, the thrill of our secret making us giddy, completely forgetting that the maid would come to make our beds.
While we were gone, disaster struck. The cat, left alone and frightened, had an accident on my bed—a terrible mess, the kind that could not be hidden or ignored. The smell, the stain, the evidence of our disobedience was undeniable.
When I returned from school, the maid’s face was grave. “Your mother wants to see you right away in the drawing room,” she said. My heart sank. I’d forgotten Nanny was off that day, and I foolishly hoped it was about our afternoon plans.
But Mother’s plans were very different. Jeff and I entered the drawing room, our coats barely hung up, to find her waiting, her face thunderous with anger. “Let’s talk about the cat, you two.” Her voice was cold, and I felt a chill run through me. She had found out.
“Your cat made the most awful mess that I have ever seen. The maid nearly quit. I had to get the gardener to help take your bedding outside to hose it down. I don’t think we’ll be able to get that lovely spread clean!” Her words were sharp, each one a blow. I felt shame and fear twist inside me.
Jeff and I stood frozen, unable to speak. “You will both get the spanking of your life for this. There is nothing more I have to say to such disobedient children.” Her verdict was final, and dread settled over us like a heavy blanket.
Mother took me first. My heart pounded in my chest, my hands trembling as she called me forward.
She pulled me over her lap and pushed my head down as low as she could. I put both hands on the rung of the chair to keep from falling on my head. . I was lying there , right in front of Jeff. Jeff and I had been bathed together often, so we had seen each other, but somehow this was different.
Mother began to spank me very hard. The spanks were not gentle at first at all. It was obvious that she had been lying in wait for me ever since the disaster of the morning. Spank, spank, spank, they struck my bottom – all over it. I wiggled around to avoid the spanks, but I was no good at that at all. She had me pinned down totally. Mother spanked my upper legs as well and the side of my thighs – I don’t think she missed anywhere at all.
The spanking went on forever. I thought I was going to die right there. My bottom was on fire. Never had mother spanked me like this. Then, with no warning or a single thing said, she lifted me up and put my panties back on me. Up came the white stockings, and she smoothed down my dress. I was told to stand in the corner.
Then mother took Jeff. I peeked, and saw her unbuttoning his pants. Jeff was crying his eyes out. She placed him over her lap. She lit into his bottom as well, but I don’t think it was as hard. Either she was tired after spanking me so hard and long, or she figured that I had been the ringleader (as usual), and Jeff was simply following my lead.
Jeff was absolutely howling – one would have thought he was being killed. His little bottom was all red when she finished. Jeff had to stand in the corner too.
We never got our cat again. We never saw her, and no-one told us what they did with her. We never dared to ask. I got a parakeet later on in my formative years. That was seen as acceptable, and I kept the cage very clean.
Today, we have a house full of animals, and Jeff has as well. He lives in northern New England and has an antique farm with all sorts of animals. Sometimes we have to become grown-ups to play out our heart’s desires.
