Achoo! Now, What’s Millie Going To Do?

The moment I met mother-in-law Millie, I knew she was trouble. If you’ve ever had a strong aversion to a complete stranger, you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.  

On Friday, my windowsill siesta came to an abrupt halt with the sound of a soft knock at the front door. Petite, elegantly dressed in black, with her dark hair immaculately coiffed was our new visitor. She paused for a few moments outside the front door, surveying the scene as though she came to judge it before her dramatic kohl-rimmed eyes met mine. From my perch on the windowsill, I felt provoked. Who was this dreadful woman? And how dare she look at me with that disdainful look on her face?

“Hi Millie, it’s so lovely to see you,” said Mum, as she kissed our guest on the cheek. “Martin’s away on a business trip until tomorrow. Come on in.”

She gestured to an armchair right next to the bookshelf where I was sitting. “Here, take a seat.”

Millie walked over and perched on the chair, trying her best to minimize physical contact with it, as though she’d been asked to sit on a compost heap. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Mum asked.

“Some sparkling mineral water will do, thanks Eleanor,” Millie replied.

“I’ll be right back,” Mum said as she scurried off into the kitchen.

As Millie waited, she glanced around the place as though everything about it was way too inadequate. I squinted my eyes to zoom in on her features. She appeared to be in her seventies, and looked like she was well-accustomed to genteel refinements and of course to having her own way.

“So how’s everything going in the Hamptons?” Mum asked, as she opened a bottle of Voss.

“Oh anything is better than this dump,” Millie replied.

Mum let out a sheepish grin and poured the effervescent water into a crystal glass with a flourish. Somehow this repulsed Millie even more. She held her breath until she seemed about to explode. Then she sneezed. She fumbled inside her handbag and fished out a chantilly lace-edged handkerchief to wipe her nose. Then she glared at Mum who was wearing a concerned expression.

Next thing you know, Millie’s eyes began to fill with more tears. She took a few more deep, labored breaths. And then, she sneezed again. As she dabbed her face, she scrutinized the room, looking from one side to the other, until her eyes met mine once again. This time, her look of disapproval deepened into pure despise. 

“Bless you!” said Mum sympathetically as Millie sneezed yet again. 

“Get that...that thing out of here!” she said pointing at me furiously. “Don't you know that I’m allergic?”

“I’m so, so sorry,” said Mum, shuffling towards me. 

“I want that”—Millie flicked her hand dismissively as she wheezed—“away from me! Look at this place! It’s full of cat hair!” Tears streamed down her face faster and faster, and she sneezed again and again. “Just get it out of here!” she demanded. 

“I, I’m terribly sorry, Millie” said Mum. “But I don’t think that’s possible.”

“Why not?!” Millie asked. Her voice went up a notch.

“‘Coz the windowsill is his place. He—he likes it there.”

“Are you crazy, Eleanor?!” Millie exclaimed trumpeting into her handkerchief. “How can a cat be more important than—”

“I’m really sorry, Millie. But he’s no ordinary cat, and you know that!” 

The furious woman realized she was out of options. “This place is disgusting!” she said. Her voice was even more shrill. “I’m getting out of here!”

She rose from the chair and continued to mumble a stream of swear words under her breath. Of course, she saved the best for last. The harshest word for a cat to hear—”vermin.” 

Never had I witnessed a tirade so dreadful nor a departure so threatening. Millie turned around outside the front door, wagged her index finger directly in Mum’s face, and yelled, “Believe me, you haven't heard the last of this, Eleanor!”

Without saying another word, Mum shut the door. “Dammit,” she muttered under her breath. Water rushed to fill her eyes and she wiped the tears away quickly with the sleeve of her sweater, but they continued to fill up with water again. She finally resorted to just blinking them away.

The day’s events left me feeling rattled. Unsettled. Disturbed. It wasn’t just that mother-in-law Millie was allergic and a cat hater. What surprised me more was how taken aback I was by the strength of my own feelings. And so I decided to seek solace from Mum. She always knew how to make me feel better even if she didn’t feel so good herself.

My paws led me to the master bedroom where she was sitting in bed reading a book. Her feet were crossed neatly at the ankles and her face looked soft and radiant. I’m always amazed at Mum’s lightness of spirit despite such unpleasant episodes. In fact, I felt delighted to see her. But of course, I wasn’t that quick to show it. We cats are far too sophisticated for that, remember? Instead, I walked over and sniffed at her feet, making sure not to directly acknowledge her. But this didn’t get her attention. And so I did the next best thing and rubbed myself against her legs.

“Oh there you are my lovely boy,” she said, put down the book and lifting me onto her lap. Her fingernails massaged my forehead gently, just how I liked it. She then hummed my special song as she stroked my fur. From her lap, I could see the reflection of the of the orangey pink-hued sky across the World Trade Center.

“Beautiful evening isn’t it?”

For a few moments, we both sat in silent contemplation. Well, not complete silence, because I was purring loudly. I was also distracted by a few wisps of my fur floating in the air which prompted a funny thought. Emotions—they’re so often tossed around this way and that by forces beyond our control, but sometimes all we can do is let them ride.

“Goodnight my little lion,” Mum said, as she leaned over me to turn off the table lamp. I continued to purr until we were both asleep.