Margaret Dilloway, American Housewife

A few months ago, we began to experience a rat problem. They lived in the bush behind our house, the morning glory that wraps the fence. Morning glory is the devil’s plant– it’s related to poison oak, so it can give you a rash; and if you leave torn shoots on the ground, it will re-root. This plant is literally tearing down the fence and harbors all sorts of creatures. Since Kitty disappeared, the rat population went out of control. Rats came into the garage and pooped ignominiously on Cadillac’s tools (there’s not even any food on the tools!) and tennis rackets. We feared disease and rats setting up winter shelter in our garage, or worse, our car. We set traps with peanut butter and caught up to 5 rats per night for weeks. While I watched television or sat at my computer in the evening, I could hear them chirruping and skittering around outside. I heard thumps on our patio roof and turned on the light to see rats in the trees. When we went out to the garage to go to the car or do laundry, the rats would be outside on the fence near the garage door, boldly staring at us.

I saw an ad offering feral barn cats that needed relocation– a new home with food and shelter. They could not be kept indoors. I thought the barn cats might be a good solution to the rats, and perhaps the cat would let us pet it one day. A volunteer brought over two he’d trapped in central San Diego. The volunteers had taken them to the vet, updated their shots, and had them fixed. “We picked BBs out of these guys,” he said. “It’s not safe for them where they lived.” One was a seal point neutered Siamese, and the other a gray Siamese mix female. “The female will never let you pet her,” he said. “The male might.” The male had already been fixed when they found it, indicating he’d once been someone’s pet. The volunteer thought the male would do better because it was darker, and said the coyotes might get the female because the light color makes her easier to spot.

We kept them closed up for a while so they’d know this was home. I did not see them for about three weeks. We opened the garage again. Another week passed and we didn’t see them. We thought they’d run off for good. We kept setting out food and finally saw the male once. The litter box went unused– except by the rats, who pooped in that, too, as though they were mocking our efforts.

But one day, the rat traps went unsprung.

Then, one night, we saw Girl Kitty eating her food in the garage. I had Son feed her wet food every evening as I made dinner. Soon, around five, she’d hang out in the backyard, waiting. I meowed at her. She ran away.

I did this every evening– meowed. She sat and watched me. Then she began to meow back, rusty deep meows that made her sound like an old smoker. When a kid appeared, she’d run off. I don’t know where she stays.

Then, she began waiting at the kitchen door at the appointed mealtime. One day, I took a spoonful of wet food, squatted, and meowed. “Mrrooow,” she responded, and came forward. She let me pet her as she licked the food off. She felt thin, her fur coarse.

One afternoon, Eldest went out to the garage and shrieked. A lame rat lay in the doorway, its back legs broken and useless. Girl Kitty had brought us a gift. Too bad she hadn’t finished the job. She probably thought we wanted the pleasure.

Slowly, she began letting us pet her every night. My kids took turns feeding her. She allows Little Girl, to her delight, to stroke her head. Girl Kitty purrs. Her fur is thick and soft now, her purr sounding like an engine with oil added. She will eat right in front of us. Yesterday she came to the glass door and meowed right at us, indignant at having to wait. Tonight, she returned a few hours later, coming out when Eldest went to the garage, to get more petting from everyone.

Little Girl has been asking for a Gil Webber doll. Again. I can’t believe I’m posting about Gil Webber twice on one blog.

To recap, we looked for one around Easter, and despite the best efforts of me, three Target stores, Toys R Us and the Mattel helpline, not a one could be found.

These days, old Gil is selling for over $200 on Amazon resale and over $150 on eBay. Crikey, as his girlfriend Lagoona would say.

There was a huge Monster High booth at Comic-Con with its designer, Garrett Sander, signing their Comic-Con exclusive doll– doll boxes, I should say. I thought of how I could befriend him in case he has a case of Monster High dolls he didn’t want anymore, (including a spare Gil Webber floating around in his trunk) as if he’d be totally excited to meet a women’s fiction author. Unfortunately, that doesn’t carry much street cred at Comic-Con, though it does get me a professional pass. I really need to write a book about zombies, or better yet, the next big monster.

Anyway, LG proclaimed, “Santa will bring me a Gil Webber doll.” I told her he cost too much– she’d been looking on line with her older sister. “It’s Santa. His elves will make it,” she said.

That Santa can do anything.

This inspired a lot of discussion in my mom’s group.A friend said her son asked for an expensive video game system. No dice, she said. “I’m sure you’re just telling me that so I’ll be extra surprised on Christmas,” he said.Burn, Mama!

Another friend’s 4 year old asked for Cinderella and her flying horse and carriage. Not the toy, the real thing, which she wants to keep in her yard so she can look at them. Because Santa can do anything.

A mom suggested we say Santa’s got a dollar limit, so you can’t ask for stuff above that limit– but that brings up another question– what about when the neighbor kid has a different limit? What do you say then?

Now, we do things like buy toys for needy children, but I guess she hasn’t put it together yet about why Santa brings some kids more than others.

Or perhaps she’s at the stage where she WANTS to believe, because if Santa really is real, then he will be able to produce Gil Webber, won’t he?

This whole Imaginary Seasonal Heroes thing is tricky. We have the Tooth Fairy, and the kids get $1. It’s usually a gold dollar. But some friends get $5 or $20 from the Tooth Fairy, and those kids talk about it at school, and then the kids who got $1 wonder, “Why doesn’t the Tooth Fairy like me as much?” It’s kind of terrible, the Tooth Fairy showing favoritism, as if your parents got your sister a pony and gave you a bunny costume.

And then some other yahoos do the Halloween Fairy, where the Halloween Fairy leaves cash in exchange for candy, so the parent can get rid of it. Why doesn’t the Halloween Fairy visit our house? I think the explanation for that was something like, “Well, we did see the fairy but Daddy thought it was an evil imp, so he shot it with your BB gun, and now it won’t come back.” *
Quit messing things up for the rest of humanity with your new Imaginary Seasonal Heroes!

Anyway, I know there’s a large possibility that she won’t notice the missing Gil Webber. But she hasn’t asked for expensive toys (well, Gil’s only supposed to be $15) and it’s the only thing on her list besides another Monster High doll (Operetta, I think). The gift we got her wasn’t on the list, in fact.

I don’t know why this is bothering me so much. Maybe because she’s had to face some hard truths over the past year. Her dear aunt died just before Christmas last year. Around that very same time, we had to give away our beloved puppy because of LG’s severe allergies. The kitty disappeared forever (I just hid his Christmas stocking from the kids). Great-grandpa just passed away this week at age 99– ripe old age, to be sure, and the older kids understood and were stoic; but Little Girl burst into hard tears. She had played plastic animals with him, he in his wheelchair, she standing, a table in between.

I don’t want to kill off another childhood-magical notion.

*We gave our candy to the troops this year (to which I thought, hmm, are we imposing tooth decay and obesity on our armed forces? but decided that their 2 hours of exercise each day will take care of the extra calories. They can brush their teeth.)