I don't know what caused the change in my parents. All I know is that one morning when I was seventeen , they had gone shopping -- as they had every weekend for as long as I could remember -- and when they returned , they were not the same. Before , they had been ... well , my parents. I loved them despite their many flaws. Now they were strangers to me.
I first noticed the change in Mom. She was putting canned goods into the cup board above the sink. I was drawing at the kitchen table. Drawing was a favorite hobby of mine. The only thing I liked to draw in those days , were pictures of Jesus.
"We need to get rid of the cat ," Mom said. "He needs to be incinerated."
She paused a moment , as if to consider it. "Yeah , that's what we'll do."
I stopped working on my drawing to gape at her. Dad was a few feet away from me , taking items out of a grocery bag. He too paused to stare at her. I thought he would be as shocked as I was. He wasn't.
He said ,"OK. But we can't incinerate him. We don't have an incinerator. We'll have to shoot him."
"Too messy."
"Stomp his head?"
"No."
"Strangle him?"
"No!" Mom shouted.
"Well , we can't incinerate him without an incinerator!" Dad shouted back.
"I'll think of something!" Mom said , glaring at him.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. All I could do was gawk stupidly at them while they had argued about which was the best way to kill the cat. The cat that had been a beloved family pet since I was ten or eleven years old.
"I know what we'll do!" Mom said. "We'll boil him and make stew out of him."
I'd heard enough. "What the hell is wrong with you? You love that cat."
"Of course we do , dear. And we'll love him even more after we've made stew out of him."
She grinned and licked her lips , as if she couldn't wait to get started.
"Get the cat ," she said to Dad."
"Nobody's touching that cat!" I said. I grabbed Dad by an arm. He turned quickly , shook off my hand , and back handed me across the jaw. I went down hard , but felt nothing , it happened so fast.
Leaning over me , he said ,"Unless you too want to be made into stew , don't interfere again."
I couldn't believe it. That was the first time that Dad had ever struck me. I saw neither anger or remorse in his eyes. Only indifference , as if he really didn't care what I did.
I hesitated , considering whether I might over power them and prevent them from killing the cat. But after being struck , I knew it would not be wise to antagonize them further. There was madness in their eyes , and whatever had been the cause of their disturbing behavior , I wanted nothing to do with it. All I wanted to do was get away from them , so I ran to my room and slammed the door behind me. I was afraid that Dad would try to force his way in , as he had on occasion when I had fought with Mom. But when nothing happened , I threw myself on the bed and cried until I couldn't cry anymore. I wasn't crying because I had been struck. I was crying because I didn't know who my parents were anymore , and for a helpless cat that would soon be made into stew.
A few minutes later , the door flew open and banged against the wall. Dad raised his shot gun and pointed it at me. Mom stood behind him , smiling , her hands hidden behind her back. I knew she was hiding something , even though I couldn't see it.
"You have two choices ," Dad said. "You can join us , or not join us. If you choose not to , you die." He cocked the shot gun for emphasis. Again , all I saw was indifference.
"No! You can't shoot him!" Mom said. For a moment she smiled so sweetly that I thought there might be hope for them. But then she raised her hands over her head , revealing what she had been hiding.
An ax.
"Let me chop him to a million pieces , and then we can have cat/Sam stew!"
I stared at her , wanting to break down and cry again. But I didn't want to show weakness in front of them. This woman had given birth to me. Had waited by my side until I had fallen asleep again , after a nightmare woke me. And now she wanted to murder me! I never would have dreamed it in my worst nightmare.
An idea came to me. I hesitated for a moment , but a moment was all I had. The bedroom window was open , letting in a cool breeze. It was late in the evening , just minutes from sunset.
With a gleeful grin on Mom's face , her and Dad came slowly into the room. Dad aimed the shot gun right at my face , and Mom raised the ax even higher.
"It's time for cat/Sam stew!" she said. A bit of saliva dribbled down her chin. "And I'm so hungry!"
I made my move then. Turning quickly , I took three steps and dived for the open window. I was afraid my head would bounce off the fly screen , sending me back into the room , but it came off easily. At the same time , there was a deafening blast , and half of one side of the window frame was blown out.
I must have blacked out when I hit the ground. I came to in my bed. Mom was sitting on the edge , smiling down at me , the same way she used to when I was a boy.
"I just had the strangest dream ," I said. "You and Dad were trying to make stew out of me and the cat. Isn't that weird?"
"Yes , it is ," she said. "But it wasn't a dream , dear."
"What?"
From somewhere in the house , Winston screamed. Mom reached down beside the bed and picked up the ax off the floor. I shoved her against the wall and shot up off the bed. As she struggled to get up , I quickly stuffed a few shirts and pants into a duffel bag. However , before I could zip it shut , she was back on her feet , reaching once again for the ax.
"That wasn't very nice of you , dear ," she said , obviously flustered at my unwillingness to let her make stew out of me. "Just where do you think you're going? Do you think you can get away?"
She raised the ax above her head. "Please don't make this more difficult than it already is , dear. Just close your eyes and it will be over before you know it."
I had no intention of letting her make stew out of me. I slammed her back into the wall , this time much harder. This time she did not get up. She lay there , moaning in pain. I felt a momentary pang of guilt. Had I broken her back? I wasn't planning on sticking around to find out.
I grabbed the duffel bag and hurried from the room , hoping I didn't run into Dad. But he was nowhere in sight. The house was now deathly quiet. I could no longer hear Mom moaning in pain. All I could hear was my own labored breathing. I wondered if Dad was hiding nearby , waiting to prevent me from reaching the front door. I eyed every corner cautiously before I passed it , and every possible place he might be lurking.
Finally , I reached the door. It was locked , bolted , and chained. My hands were shaking so badly that it seemed to take forever to unlock it , and slide back the chain. Then I yanked it open and stumbled down the steps on legs that felt like rubber , and ran down the road.
Behind me , Winston screamed again.
