Hang In There

The smokey alley was bitterly cold that night. A blustery wind stampeded through the narrow space between buildings, but none of us left our perches.

I was but a kitten when I saw that interview, resting on the edge of a fire exit, peering down through a heavily mullioned window of a first floor studio apartment. Others were staggered over piles of cardboard boxes or sitting on the closed lid of a dumpster. The apartment’s owner, a human, had the habit of leaving the TV on over night, presumably the static was to drown out the rustling of us cats on the other side of the brick wall.

Ironic that what the humans did not know, was the TV static was the thing drawing us to that alleyway. For TV static was essential for feline television programs, as we cats, with different eyesight from the humans, could see beyond the static frequencies and under that cover, transmit our own stories in the early morning hours before the human broadcasts snapped back on.

“Welcome back to the program everybody,” said the long haired tabby loafing on the news desk. The letters “NBC” prominently displayed behind her. “As always, I’m Tabitha Shaw. We have a very special guest this evening and I would like to invite him to share his story for you all” she introduced, as an elderly, grizzled, tangerine coated cat with milky eyes leapt to the desk and ambled into view. A quiet murmur spread through the group.

“Joining us tonight, Mittens Brando.”

The murmur grew to a discordant chorus, echoing through the alley, until a light flashed above in a 5th story window and the crowd of cats settled back down.

“We’re glad to have you here, Mittens. Yours is a story that almost all the feline world is familiar with, but perhaps none know of the origin, or even know the name behind one of the most prominent feline faces of the mid-1980s. Take us back to the beginning. We want to hear it all. How did you become such a prominent centerpiece of popular culture?”

The alley fell silent. So silent, the mice freely wandered about, snatching a meal without hesitation from the discarded food that sat around the trash cans we laid upon. Each cat and kitten intensely peering through double paned glass at the shimmering screen.

Mittens Brando began his story.

“Well, in the beginning, I was simply known as Whiskers. I can recall being born in the corner of a rundown barn, on a pile of hay left behind from when the horses still resided there. I have memories of my mother, and my siblings, but only about a week’s worth. One day, one of the humans came into the barn, scooped us all up, except for my mother and placed us into a box. Then all I saw was darkness. I could hear the hum of a car engine and occasionally a hand would reach in and grab one of my siblings, like the talons of the great birds, and I would never see them again. Where they ended up, I do not know. I was the last of the litter left in that box.”

“I ended up at Meow-der She Wrote Animal Shelter in Nebraska. A poor pun apt for the level of creativity you’d expect of the town where it was located. Life was rough in the shelter. Only one wall had windows so we were afforded just eight hours of sunlight a day to lay in. And the children that visited each day were given but one treat to feed us.”

An audible gasp echoed through the alley.

“The only thing that kept me going was my dream. To be a star. To be like the cats on the wet food commercials I’d get glimpses of when the humans left the office door open. Or to be like The Aristocats or Garfield in the movies they put on when it rained and nobody came into the shelter. At that time, not knowing they weren’t real cats.”

He said this with a soft chuckle to himself but I sensed an air of disappointment in his tone.

“Anytime we didn’t spend napping, I was performing for the other cats in the joint, rehearsing the Meow Mix jingle or working on my “I hate Mondays.”

“So how did you make it all the way from dusty Nebraska to sunny California?,” the host asked.

“My chance would finally come shortly before my third birthday. Matilda Martindale, the newest pop sensation, just happened to be from the same sleepy town in Nebraska as the shelter I was in. And decided to donate a big chunk of money to support the shelter. She came in for big photo shoot and tour of the shelter and I knew this had to be my chance. As quickly as I could, I awoke from my mid-morning nap and after several rounds of stretching, I made my way over to her. This was my moment. I had studied countless hours of performance cats and knew instinctually how to captivate an audience. I gave a couple loud yet playful meows. The humans love when they think your talking to them. Followed by another big stretch as I grazed across her leg. And for the finale, I flopped down to the floor, and with my paws drawn in, and my eyes locked on hers, I rolled over and let her pet my belly.”

Another round of gasps erupted from the group. Ms. Shaw, who had been sipping from the saucer of milk to her side nearly knocked the dish off the desk.

“Yes, my friends. I showed the human the most sacred of areas for feline kind. But you would all do the same, were you in my position. Needless to say, from that moment on, Mattie was in love with me. She carried me to her tour bus and we drove off into the sunset, destined for Hollywood. My dream was coming true. Or so I thought.”

“Everything had started out so great in that first month. Mattie and I went everywhere together, walking red carpets of all the award shows, dining at the finest restaurants. Everything I did, whether it be sleeping on my back with my paws stretched out, or licking the left over whipped cream from her ice cream bowl, the paparazzi were devouring it. They loved me.”

“But success would be fleeting. Soon Mattie sett off on a world tour, and I was left with her nasty housekeeper, Helga. She despised me, despised all animal-kind in fact, and certainly had no notion of allowing me back into the spotlight. Weeks turned into months of not seeing Mattie. And on the rare occasions she came back to LA, she was gone within a couple of days. My breaking point was the moment Mattie returned from Paris, this time carrying a Pomeranian in the bag under her arm. I was relegated to the east wing of the house. It felt as if I were back in the shelter. I quickly grew unhappy. My dream was disintegrating right in front me and I knew I couldn’t keep going without clawing back. I left that house one night and never looked back.”

“I was a nomad then. Wondering the back alleys of Los Angeles. I had short stints with a few of the animal acting agencies. But the directors would always be “looking for a younger kitten” or “short-hairs weren’t selling right now.” I was popping into shelters just for the opportunity to have my photograph in the window. Yet nothing came to me. I was at the end of my line, disheveled, hungry, so strung out on catnip benders that the bodega owners wouldn’t even let me sleep among the loafs of bread. I heard word of an old lady in Calabasas that was taking in street cats. Heard you get all the kibble and ‘nip you want. Sounded like a good deal to me. Until I was making my out there through the streets of LA.”

“And this is the moment that altered the course of your life, correct?” Tabitha Shaw interjected.

“Correct.” Mittens Brando replied.

“One morning, I’m walking along the sidewalk, minding my own business, when suddenly a dog comes stampeding down a driveway. No leash, mind you. I will say, these humans ought to crack down on leash laws. This city has dogs running wild out there. But anyway, I climb up the tree lining the sidewalk before the dog bears down on me. I make it to a limb of the tree and settle down there. Eventually, the humans hear the dog barking and draw it back inside.”

“Now is the part of the story I’m not proud of. Earlier that morning, I had found some primo catnip and a can of tuna just sitting on someone's porch. And I may have eaten the entire can of tuna and indulge in a smidge of the cat nip. Needless to say, I was full and a little tired when that dog forced me up that tree. And the mere act of climbing made me disoriented. When the dog had finally left, and the coast was clear for me to get down, I wobble on the tree limb and lost my balance. Had I only not grabbed for the branch, I would have landed gently on my feet, as we all do. But in my confused state, I reached out and clawed the bark. I dangled there, paws extended and fixed to the branch. In that moment, a man walking down the street spotted me and ran over to help. But paused first, and stared at me, inquisitively. He fiddled with the camera around his neck, brought it to his eye and I saw a flash, heard a click before he grabbed me off that tree. By the frayed sweater vest and khakis, I had a hunch of his profession but once he pulled me in close and I could smell the disappointment, I knew he must be a high school guidance counselor. And yes, my fellow felines, if you haven’t yet figured out who I am, I am the cat on the ‘Hang In There’ poster.

“I knew it!” shouted a yellow Persian.

“He’s up at the vet office off of Santa Monica Blvd!” yelled a Siamese. The other cats letting out a wild hiss in unison at the mention of “vet.” The noise stirred the humans awake and they shouted “Hey, shut up out there!”

“Astonishing. Truly astonishing.” Tabitha Shaw said. “And how has your life been affected since that moment?”

“Well, I think you must understand why I’m in this position.” he said. “The poster exploded in popularity, and I became synonymous with Human Resource departments at mid-level sales companies, last minute gifts you buy at the Hospital, and walls of college freshman attempting to be ironic. And while I now had a home, with Greg the guidance counselor, I was the laughing stock of the artistic feline world. My dream not only dead, but shattered in dramatic fashion. The irony being that the only living creature that couldn’t be inspired by that poster, was the cat at the very center of it.”

“What a dramatic, and dare I say, surprisingly human tale you have given us this evening, Mr. Brando,” Tabitha Shaw responded. “Unfortunately, that is our time for tonight, and we hope you’ll join us next week when we talk to the star cat from ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ and spoiler alert, we may find out Audrey Hepburn was a dog person. Goodnight.”

With that the static faded away and waving flag materialized onto the screen. The national anthem overtook the rustle of the static. And the litter of cats returned up the fire escape to their individual apartments. We never spoke of that night again, and once again, Mittens Brando faded from our memories, except for passing the poster shop on 15th street. However, that night would stick with me, as I pursued my own dreams, reminding me to hang in there.