MY FABULOUS FIRST FELINE FRIENDS, RAINBOW AND FLUFFY (WITH A SPLASH OF 1970’S POP CULTURE)

She was just a doll, but I wanted hair like Longlocks.

 When I was younger, I wanted long, luxurious hair. Back in the 70’s, I remember how many of the television stars wore their hair extra long and how their long locks would cascade down their backs and often reach their butt cheeks. There was a show called the Little People (aka the Brian Keith Show)  that took place in Hawaii that featured Shelley Fabares with the ultimate long, flowing hair. There were the Magic Garden chicks—Paula and Carol whose pigtails would reach at least half way down their backs. (I think Carol’s hair was actually longer). But for me, it was mostly about Jan Brady. In retrospect, she was not as pretty as Marcia but oh boy, were those golden locks that reached all the way down her back absolutely gorgeous and I loved how she swung it back and forth. I mostly had short hair when I was a kid and was reduced to putting a yellow towel on my head and swinging  my "pretend" hair back and forth. I  loved Cher's gorgeous dark long hair, too. Forget that awesome body and Bob Mackie costumes, I simply would have died for Cher’s luxurious, long locks.

But the chick with the greatest hair of all was a real doll. Her name was Longlocks and she and her friend Dawn were popular little fashion dolls back in the early-mid 1970's when I was growing up. I spent many hours creating adventures for Dawn, Longlocks and their other "friends." I had a real friend named Arlene who looked just like Longlocks and wore her silky, dark hair pulled back in a giant ponytail. Which brings us to the part where I got my first pet, a cat named Rainbow from Arlene when I was almost eight.

Rainbow was not a long-haired cat. In fact, he was the proverbial domestic short hair with a torso that was mostly white with some tabby markings on his back and a raccoon-like tail. Rainbow really wasn't the handsomest creature but I always wanted a pet and I remember the day I got him.

Rainbow, Fluffy (yawning-- not hissing) and that ugly velvet living room chair.

It was a Sunday. How do I remember that? Because just about every Sunday, my dad would get me a Quarter Pounder from McDonald’s down on Main Street.(a Mickey D’s that is still standing). Shortly after Arlene and her mom dropped off Rainbow, I downed a quarter pounder and sat in front of the t.v. watching Apple’s Way in black and white. (Apple’s Way, starred Ronny Cox, Kristy McNichol, Vincent Van Patten, a hottie, Pattie Coohon and brought to you by the same folks who gave you the Waltons). We did not get a colored t.v. set until 1981 when I was in high school but that never stopped me from watching hours and hours of daytime and nighttime television. Not a soap fan yet but I loved those family dramas, sitcoms, reruns, Saturday morning shows, game shows and talk shows. Just about every night, Id lay on the icky green carpet in the livingroom watching Merv Griffin with my dad. One of my biggest ambitions used to be to become a contestant on the Price is Right (I can just hear Johnny Olson calling me to “Come on down!”)  I would have died to be on Match Game or Hollywood Squares. I used to dream of matching Richard Dawson, winning $5,000 and getting a pre-Family Feud hug and kiss. Or I disagree with Paul Lynde or Joan Rivers, circle gets the square and I win a trip to Puerta Vallarta. (Eww—too darn hot and icky water. Probably cash the damn trip in). Forget Jeopardy, I was too dumb. I didn't have any brothers or sisters to play with but I now finally had my own pet to keep me company and watch all of my favorite 1970's tv shows with.

Anyway, Rainbow was a cute kitten. He was so little when we first got him that we fed him with a doll bottle. I think we gave him some Tender Vittles and canned food called Lovin Spoonful. (Even back then I liked any product that referred to a sixties or seventies rock and roll band). I would often wrap him up in a blanket and dress him up in my doll’s clothes. There was this velvety black coat that he let me slip on him and a straw hat, too. Got away with it for a while but wish I took a picture of that little boy feline who looked like an old grannie. Rainbow liked hiding in Mister Coffee boxes and fetching buttons that came off the icky green velvety living room chair. When he was little, it was still okay to pick him up and pose for pictures. I have a few cool shots of me dangling Rainbow dressed in my school girl garb while I still had my two braids. My mother was the one who mostly fed him, held him and scooped the doodie.  He was very sweet at first and then turned into Cujo shortly afterwards and I became very afraid of him.

You could not touch or pet that cat without risk of ending up in the emergency room. Rainbow was the only cat I knew that would actually go up to you and deliberately try to scratch you. My friend Marc was so afraid of Rainbow, he would run away from him if the cat got within a few feet. Once when I cut out of school, I went home and saw Rainbow sleeping in my bed. Ooh, how cute, sleeping kitty, I thought to myself. Hadn’t I learned? Rainbow took a chunk out of my lip. He held on for about 15 seconds which seemed like an eternity. Blood gushed out—fortunately it wasn’t that serious but I still have a little scar on the bottom of my right lip. Serves me right for ditching class and heading home to watch the Young and the Restless.

Rainbow had me convinced that all boy cats were evil. He made horrible growling sounds if you went within a few feet of him. He guarded my mother like a watchdog, sitting endlessly by her side and following her around the house, even into the bathroom. Whenever there was a chicken cooking in the oven, he would sit by the door until ding! The timer went off, my mom removed the bird from the oven and Rainbow would beg and of course, be given several pieces. But eww. Once the chicken was discarded, Rainbow would retrieve the carcass from the garbage, make horrible growling sounds and drag the damn thing around the house, as if it was some award-winning prey he just captured. This would continue for several minutes before one of my parents would dare to grab it away (had to be mom—since she was the only one safe from Rainbow’s wrath) and throw the damn bird’s remains down the incinerator chute.

Rainbow was the only cat I ever had who actually could be bothered to “fetch.” We played a cute game where I’d pull a button from the icky green velvety chair that easily came off because it was falling apart , throw it and he’d bring it back to me  covered in cat saliva. This could go on for several minutes and was  quite entertaining.

One time when my grandparents were visiting, back in the mid 1970’s, before they moved down to Florida, Rainbow did a disappearing act. We looked everywhere—under the beds, in every closet, behind the fridge, in the hallways. Actually scared that I may never see Rainbow again. But sure enough, after at least an hour of “sleuthing” through our apartment and hallway better than Columbo, Rainbow sashayed out of a closet, bleary-eyed and stared at us dumbfounded as if to say, “Have you fools been looking for someone or something?”

Rainbow was an “only cat” until the fall of 1976 when my best friend, Fluffy entered our lives. I was in fifth grade. Fluffy was named after the Bradys’ cat (even though their Fluffy only appeared in the first episode. Perhaps, Tiger ate her after Mike and Carol’s nuptials). My Fluffy was a grey tabby with white socks. I remember when she first arrived. I came home from school and there she was lying on my mother’s bed. She was still a kitten when my mother got her from a neighbor. It was love at first sight. Rainbow was clearly my mother’s cat and Fluffy became my constant companion. She slept with me, cried with me (I always experienced lots of angst) and sat on the couch with me watching Charlie’s Angels and Starsky and Hutch on Wednesday nights. My mom never liked Fluffy. Not sure why not.  My mother gave me  a kanipshin-fit a couple of months after we first got Fluffy. I arrived home to find Fluffy on my mother’s bed. Then my mom informed me that she took Fluffy to the pet store across the street from our apartment that day with the intention of leaving her there. It was a Monday and the shop was closed, so Fluffy got a reprieve. I cried a Hudson River of tears and my mother relented. Fluffy stayed yet I recall that for the next few times when my mom had her friends over for canasta, she’d offer up my beloved pet as she passed around the candy dish filled with those yummy black and white non-pareils.  She may have been joking but thankfully, Fluffy stuck around for the next fifteen years.  No velvety doll coats for her but I did take pictures of her wearing a little blue Mets helmet (which was really the container for soft-serve vanilla ice cream from the ballpark).

"Grown-up" Fluffy, in Mets gear, amongst some other baseball stuff and my inflatable Paul McCartney doll (wearing his Mets cap, too!)

Fluffy nearly died when she was five. It was the summer of 1981. I had just graduated junior high school. Not a particularly great time for me. My parents were separated and my mother was acting like a teenager. She was hanging out with young potheads, smoking the stuff herself and going out to nightclubs fairly often with a couple of her friends. Thankfully, I do not remember her bringing home any male companions but there was a very embarrassing moment before I get to the Fluffy incident.

It was the night of my junior high school graduation party. Somehow, many of my classmates actually showed up, even though I was not very popular. I remember we had a great time listening to Beatles, Stones and other great music on my old stereo that had a turntable that skipped if you walked too hard. So everyone was really careful not to pound their feet. We ate lots of pizza and sipped lots of soda. No alcohol. But my mom allowed the young potheads to come to the party and they did the expected—they smoked weed in front of my adolescent friends. So did my mother! I was mortified! Thankfully, she did not offer any to the kids. However, I do remember that she tried to get me to try it on a few occasions. I always said no. Saw how loopy it made her and her partying pals and I was never interested.

A few weeks after that, Fluffy fell out of our fifth floor window. My mother was out, working some temporary office summer job. I knew something was terribly wrong when I was eating chocolate ice cream and Fluffy was not around to lick the bowl. Chocolate ice cream (usually Breyer’s) and Sunkist orange soda were my two dietary staples for the summer of 1981. “Snack time,” I’d proudly announce as I headed to the freezer to scoop out my frozen treats. Fluffy would follow me around from the time I dished the ice cream into the bowl to the time I finished eating it and she could proceed to polish off any remaining contents. Well, I had two bowls of Breyers with no sight of Fluffy. That’s strange, I thought to myself. I looked at my mother’s bedroom window that she insisted on leaving open (which I knew wasn't a good idea with two cats in the apartment). The air conditioning was not working properly and for a couple of weeks, it was left open with not a problem. But luck ran out on that day. My friend Marc called me and I told him that something was wrong. I hadn’t seen Fluffy for a couple of hours. He said he’d check outside, by the front of the building. A few minutes later, he called back. I found Fluffy. I ran downstairs. She was lying on the ground, pretty startled. She was conscious and not bleeding. Very still. We managed to scoop her up into a box, put her in a shopping cart and rushed her to the vet hospital on Northern Blvd. The doctor examined her and said I should leave her overnight to be observed, which I did.

The next day, the vet told me she had a few broken ribs and a collapsed lung. “But take her home,” the doctor said. “There’s not much we can do. Keep an eye on her. She’ll probably heal on her own. If not though, she should be with you.” Marc was great. He spent the night sleeping on the living room floor and helped me keep an eye on Fluffy.  We were both up for most of the night, holding vigil. Fluffy ate and moved around a little but was pretty quiet. (Yes, my mother was home. But Marc and his mom were so much more comforting to me at this difficult time than my own mom, who seemed to be more concerned with her teenage-like antics).

Fortunately, Fluffy made a miraculous recovery. Within a couple of days, she was back to normal and that damn window stayed closed for the rest of the summer. (It eventually went back up with a screen secured into place). Thankfully, never had another “flying cat” incident again.

Fluffy and Rainbow were a cute couple then and for the next several years. They’d sleep side by side with their paws wrapped around each other and give each other baths. For a while, they’d take catnaps in a little red doll carriage I had until I was about twelve. Then they’d mostly be curled up in bed or on the sofa. Very sweet.

Rainbow giving his beloved, Fluffy a bath in an old doll carriage, amid the clutter in my mother's bedroom.

Well, Dawn dolls, playgrounds and Saturday  morning cartoons can't last forever and neither do our pets.  Rainbow had a stroke when he was 13. (By then, I was a junior in college). He started favoring one side when he walked and his head was slightly tilted. He didn’t seem like he was in terrible pain. He was treated by our vet and seemed to get a little better. But then a couple of months later, he started walking strangely and his head began to tilt again. He didn’t seem happy and I knew it was time to say goodbye. Not a huge Rainbow fan but it was still sad when I knew the end was near. I knew how close my mother was to Rainbow and this was actually very tough for her so I took him to the vet for the last time myself.

Fluffy lived for another four years after Rainbow died.  Fluffy was a very large cat. (My mother actually referred to her as “the bull.” “She’s huge like a football player—no neck!” my mom retorted). Fluffy was a bully and not very nice to the next two sister cats we had, Pitzie (a sweet calico) and Mookie (an equally kind black cat—named after Met player, Mookie Wilson). Fluffy would chase them on top of the fridge and counters whenever she had the chance. She saw me through many life stages and through all of the trials and tribulations of childhood, the angst of adolescence, high school & college graduation and how I struggled with my career until I finally settled into my first teaching job. That's when Fluffy began losing some of her girth. She was 15. I knew something was wrong but she was still eating and besides being somewhat thinner, seemed okay. Maybe I was in denial.

I finally decided to take Fluffy to the vet a few months after she started losing weight. Thankfully, my father came with me. “She’s very sick,” our long-time vet, who still treats our family cats, stated. “I know,” I admitted. “How long do you think she has?” I asked, hoping to hear that I’d have my long-time furry pal for at least a few more months. “You need to leave her here today. She has a very large mass and can barely breathe.” “Mass? Can’t breathe? But she ate so well this morning!” I shouted. I totally trusted the doctor and knew she would not rush to put a beloved pet to sleep. I cried the same Hudson River of tears that I did the day my mom almost gave Fluffy to the pet shop some fifteen years earlier as I handed my pet over to the doctor and saw my furry friend for the very last time.

In the beautiful song, Friends by Elton John, he sang:
 It seems to me a crime that we should age,
These fragile times should never slip us by
A time you never can or shall erase
As friends together watch their childhood fly

Losing Fluffy was harder for me than the death of some close family members including my grandparents. As much as I loved them, I did not live with the grand folks and would only see them once a year during the summer vacation since they moved to Florida when I was in third grade. Fluffy, on the other hand, was by my side from the time I was ten until I was 25.  Maybe Fluffy knew that I was now starting a new career. It was a new beginning and time for her to move on. I flew through my childhood with this special friend who took me from “crayons to perfume” and she will always hold a special place in my heart--alongside those Dawn dolls, Bradys and Quarter Pounders.