I have a cat.
Well — actually — I have two cats,
but owing to the fact that one of them
is seemingly in control of the household,
she really has me.
There’s only one cat that I have.
He’s a lovely little cat — rambunctious,
full of energy, a real boyo, as they’d say.
Struts around like he owns the place,
runs around when he’s not strutting.
Totally in control. Totally clumsy.
Bumps into things, knocks things over,
pulls the drain plugs out of the bathroom sinks
and carries them around the house
like they’re his captured prey.
He’s a purebred cat — that’s to say,
his mother and father were probably
brother and sister —
so things that street cats would just shake off
(a simple upper respiratory infection)
lay him down for the count.
Kind as we try to be to him,
providing every material and emotional comfort we can,
he still manages to get sick.
He doesn’t do it intentionally — he couldn’t —
but it always makes me feel the same way:
that I can never set a foot right with this cat,
that I’m always backpedaling,
that I should always be doing better for him.
We had to spend six weeks away,
spared no expense on a kennel —
or rather, not a kennel:
the home of someone who came to us
highly recommended as trustworthy.
It was not going to be a bad six weeks
for him or his stablemate.
He really didn’t like it.
Within two days, the owner contacted us
at four in the morning: he had to leave —
he’d developed an ear infection
that could jeopardize her ability
to take other cats.
My wife and I felt terrible.
We hustled in the middle of the night
to find another place where he could go,
where he could be treated.
It wasn’t easy — not by any stretch —
but we did it.
After six weeks we came back, picked him up,
and thought: Fantastic!
Ear infection, treated. Sinus infection, treated.
He’s going to be perfect from now on.
He was not.
Still rather sickly —
so after a week at home, back to the vet,
and sitting in the reception area I felt
exactly the same way:
man, I just can’t set a foot right with this cat.
No matter what we try to do for him,
it never has the effect we want.
He’s never perfect and healthy and happy.
He’s always somehow sickly.
(I should clarify: he’s not suffering.
He eats plenty well, runs around and plays,
still pulls up the drain plugs,
still knocks things over and bumps into things.
He’s totally fine.)
It just seems like I can never
set a foot right with this cat.
I have a son.
In exactly the same way as I have the cat,
I have a son and a daughter —
and whereas the daughter is the princess of the house
(she rules it, therefore she has me),
my son is mine.
Exactly the same as the cat:
with my son, I just can’t ever seem
to get a foot right.
For one thing, between the ages of six and ten
he was constantly sick — nothing serious,
but always a persistent cough or fever or cold
that made it difficult to string together
a solid week at school.
It also didn’t help that in 2020,
when he was about four,
we had to become exiles in America
to escape COVID.
That didn’t do a tremendous amount of good
for his swimming — and that says nothing
for his reading, his writing, his ability
to interact with kids his own age at school.
In America we did our best —
or we thought we did.
We enrolled him in a small school
just so he could have some social interaction.
That lasted a few weeks,
until schools in America were closed down
and we went to online learning.
We then thought we were doing our best
by going back to China after eleven months in the US —
eleven months where he could run around
in the park across the street from where we live,
play with my mother,
have some semblance of a normal life,
being a rambunctious boyo.
Yeah — we traded that:
a two-day ordeal flying Boston to San Francisco,
where my son — distracted — ran straight for
a heroin needle someone had left on the walkway!
Then a long delay: three hours
presenting paperwork and tests
to the desk team at San Fran
before boarding a flight to Shanghai —
a hundred and fifty people
in white Tyvek suits…
and us, wearing face masks.
On arrival: quarantine for 24 hours
in a hotel that was, let’s call it, substandard —
if not cockroach-infested and bloodstained.
We managed to string together
about a year of normal life.
Normal, but for the fact
that we were constantly monitored,
temperatures taken,
and any of us that seemed in any way untoward
were segregated, congregated,
stabilized, normalized —
or just jettisoned.
When COVID really hit China in 2022,
it got a lot more serious:
locked in our apartment
for 76 consecutive days.
76 days of no school for my son,
no swimming, no football,
no playing with kids his own age.
Nothing.
Again I felt as though
I just could not set a foot right by him.
After months of being poked, prodded, tested,
we had the opportunity to move to Dubai —
not the least – much cheaper than Shanghai,
the weather much nicer as well.
For quite a while it seemed
like a massive trade up:
beautiful weather, constant sunshine.
(Occasionally it would rain for half an hour
and the entire city would have to close
because the streets were flooded.)
For the most part it didn’t seem like
the setbacks we’d had in America or in China —
just the occasional head cold, sinuses,
things he’d get accustomed to,
assimilating to a classroom
of kids his own age again,
something he really didn’t have the chance to do
for very long in Shanghai, or in Boston.
I finally felt as though
I’d done a good turn by him.
That’s right about the time the “conflict” came.
I assure you: there is no sadder day
in a parent’s life
than the day you have to look
into your child’s eyes
and lie straight to their face —
telling them “everything is totally fine,
just be calm…”
How could I say that to him,
knowing that inside I was
a panicked, nervous wreck?
Nevertheless, we persisted,
and we came through totally fine.
As I observe the cat —
who hasn’t learned to play nicely with the other cat,
who (I don’t think) can swim or read or write —
I look at my son,
and I know he can swim,
I know he can read and write,
I know he can assimilate to his sister
when he wants to assimilate to his sister.
I just can’t shake the feeling
that I can’t set a foot right by him.