I remember some time ago, while my mother was still alive, that my brothers and I use to, on rare occasion gather in the kitchen late at night and have a quiet party. This would be myself and brothers 2 and 3 and long before brother 4 came along.
I cannot remember clearly if this was on the very first occasion that we did this, but I suspect it was earlier amongst these rare occasions. Brother 2 or 3 would bring a bag of weed…you know, Mary Jane, Grass, dope, the happy plant or coffee or even chicken. I wasn’t much of a dope smoker so I would bring beer. It would be late, and any bags we might have would be tossed thoughtlessly on the floor. Mom and Dad were well asleep by now but we kept the noise down to be sure not to disturb them, We would smoke and drink, talk quietly and have a pretty good time. It was one of these times when I first felt that all of us were all adults for the first time. We were all in college, we all had jobs or one sort or another and the future looked bright.
I don’t remember what we talked about specifically but I do remember my attention drifting to one of the bags that lay on its side on the floor and I could clearly see the tail and hind quarters of Mrs. Fist or Fisty as she explored the bags interior. I remember bringing up the subject of an old cartoon strip called “Fat Freddy’s Cat.” A change occured in the conversation. My brothers quickly caught on and before you could say Mixedpixel we had the cat, Mrs. Fist, trapped in the bag. We were gentle with her and had managed to work the bag upright so that she was sitting on the bottom and she appeared to my eye as if she were about to lay down and take a nap. Brothers 2 and 3 shot gunned Mrs. Fist two or three times each and laid the bag back down on the floor on its side and all three of us promptly forgot about it. I don’t believe that Fisty or Mrs. Fist, which ever name you prefer, left that bag for the rest of the night.
It was some time later that we would get together a second time. Maybe Mom was still alive and maybe she wasn’t as my recollections of what was happening in the larger world are a bit sketchy. My brothers and I had once again gathered in the kitchen late one night with similar party favors and again began to enjoy each others company. Once again the bags in which we brought the beer or the junk food were tossed on the floor and left there. I remember there was a great deal of laughter. We were still happy and still had a hopeful out look of the world, I think.
Again my gaze wandered and again I spotted Ms. Fist. this time she was crouched in the bag in such a way that I could only see her part of her head and her huge hopeful eyes. She stared at me and then her gaze drifted to first one of my brothers then another. I pointed it out to both of them and I quickly became apparent to all of us that Mrs. Fist liked to party. That is how the cat became bagged.