Ida Mae Katz

Ida Mae is pregnant again!

Her swollen stomach drags along and her pendulant breasts wobble as she waddles to her corner, plunking down to rest. Anything is too much to think about or to do as she moans about her condition and contemplates the added responsibility of more kids. It is becoming an annual event. You would think she would know better-you know-learn from example and experience?

After all she was brought up in a Christian home, bright and clean and loving. Maybe it was the loving that she craves. God knows we try to show it but it is exasperating when she up and did it again. Her fleeting trysts with first one beau and then another. Maybe, just maybe, this one will be different; this would be the one for her. The boys in the neighborhood apparently know her well, perhaps too well. Was it one of them this time? Or maybe it was behind Cline’s bar in the parking lot. Just one of the boys passing by.

Tom was handsome, reddish gold hair, big, innocent eyes, and a suave tongue. He was around a while, calling at all hours of the day and night-almost like stalking her. Poor Ida Mae, defenseless to his charms. They fought. Oh, did they fight! Screeching at each other, punching and biting and pulling hair. She came home bleeding one night and from then on we would discourage him from coming by. He got the message. How long ago was that? Can we count back the months? Or do we care now.

She never kept her children long, sent them to adoption as soon as they could be weaned. She would wail a day or two and we would try to comfort her. After a couple days she had forgotten what it was all about, licking her wounds and preparing for the next love tryst.

A cat’s life indeed!

2 thoughts on “Ida Mae Katz

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s