Alexander Our Maine Coon and My Dad's Expensive Shoes, Part Two

by Jim

I found all of the trappings of his corporate identity that had been stripped from him; they were piled on the sofa in an expensive heap.
That night, for the first time, Dad ate dinner in his bare feet and a tee shirt at the big formal dining room table.
My sarcastic youngest brother looked under the table, grinned and said: "Dad, those were YOUR shoes on the front step! I expect you to dress like a gentleman! You shouldn't come to dinner without your shoes on! Show some respect! Keep your shoes on through dinner!"

Dad just pressed his lips together and glared at him. He was the only one at dinner without shoes on!

My brother went on. "And a tee shirt! Where is your necktie sir?! And your socks!"

Silence.

"Dad - Someone who wears a size ten might steal your shoes." Laughter.

"That's enough!" snapped Dad. "And yes, the old rules about wearing shoes and dressing like gentlemen at dinner are over."

Alexander now dictated my Dad's wardrobe in his own house - what he was allowed to wear, and what was forbidden, for the sake of the cat?s health and well-being and Dad?s clothes: After that day, I would find his always beautifully polished shoes on the front step on work days, with his dress socks always neatly folded inside. That became the pattern. As he got less and less formal, he would leave them on the seat of the car on sunny days. On rainy days he would take them off and stuff them in his briefcase. On snowy days he would come in his full suit, gloves and overcoat and quickly strip his footwear off inside the door. Before the cat could get his paws and claws on his tie or suit or watch, he would change immediately and put on jeans and a tee shirt or sweatshirt.
Twice Dad did accidentally step on Alexander again. But the cat wasn't hurt those times.
The crisp click of his shoes around the house had completely stopped. In the morning, Dad would dress completely in his full formal business attire, and then put on his shoes and socks just before leaving after breakfast; it was the only time I ever saw him in a suit now. On Saturdays his tasseled loafers were there on the step and he would be barefoot in his khakis and polo shirt. One night he and Mom came home late from a formal dinner and I found Dad barefoot in his white tie and tails; his patent leather pumps rested on the front step.

The crisp click of his dress shoes around the house had stopped, replaced by the soft pad of his bare feet.

Alexander transformed my Dad's identity and his image against his will, but he eventually and grudgingly became used to it. That was the first day of Alexander's triumph and the eventual transformation of my Dad.

He was never again the dapper, distinguished and dignified gentleman around the house that he was at work; he almost always went barefoot around the house from then on and his general attire became much more casual. Dad went from a man who ALWAYS wore shoes and a shirt and tie at dinner to a man who NEVER wore shoes at any meal. On Saturdays he would even sometimes skip shaving. That had NEVER happened before.

For three years Alexander had been pushing my Dad to allow him on to his lap, and now Dad had put up the white flag and surrendered. Alexander had won the battles of the shoes and the chair.

We then gave Dad gifts of sweatshirts and jeans and funny tee shirts - things he would NEVER have worn before. He hated to wear them at first and said they were humiliating, but soon he was changing into them when he got home. It was the only way to protect his business clothes. For now Alexander was Dad's friend and never left his side.

"I suppose he likes me" said Dad one day, grudgingly.

That was as close as Dad would get to admitting that Alexander was now his friend.

But he continued to pay a high price for Alexander's friendship.

In a real sense, this was now Alexander's house. He set about transforming my Dad - he started with his shoes, and then other things began to change. He saw it as being brought down a few pegs. We saw it as a wonderful change that brought us closer. For now he was just Dad, without all of the extra stuff.

That cat even took away my Dad's NAME!

My formal and commanding father was always called William or "sir" by everyone; he insisted on it. But there was a day when the delivery man dropped groceries off one evening and saw my Dad with his new look - a sweatshirt, jeans and bare feet. He asked me if my Dad had lost his job!(!) He said my dad looked like a blue collar guy now!

Dad patiently explained that this was not true. But soon the whole neighborhood thought it was true and it took some work to convince them otherwise.

After that he called my Dad "Billy," instead of sir! This was soon used by others in our town, including our neighbors, and including the garbage man who sometimes called him "Billy boy!"

Somehow the image of Dad without his perfect suit and his necktie tied just right and his fancy shoes had brought him down a few pegs in their eyes.

"BILLY!" he cried. "They call me Billy! If I was allowed to wear shoes again, maybe I could go back to being William! It's all because of that cat! Maybe I should beg Alexander to allow it!"
?No Dad. You?ll have to allow other people to see you without your shoes on!?

I even bought him a sweatshirt with the name 'Billy' on it. He didn't like it - but he did wear it.

But if he lost authority with them, he became far accessible and lovable to us. Alexander's cheerful demands had brought our Dad off his pedestal and closer to all of us. Dad in a sweatshirt was a lot more fun than Dad in a business suit. A shoe-less Dad was a shock at first, but we found that he was much more relaxed and cheerful.

My Dad strongly resisted the new name and image and status, but he had to live with it. Yet if Dad was no longer William or 'sir', Alexander was always called by his full formal name!

Who was the owner? They had traded places. Alexander dictated the rules and my Dad obeyed.

No more neckties on in the house. No more cuff links. No more silk business socks. No business suits. Not even a wristwatch - and certainly no mirror-shined shoes.

I am certain that although Alexander appeared lazy and relaxed, he was really a brilliant cat. He intended to take over the house and he knew just the right way to go about it. My Mom and my brothers and me already loved him and would let him do whatever he wanted. My strong-willed, strong-minded, cat-hating, impeccably dressed Dad was the only thing in the way... So he had to be dragged down off his high horse!

I am certain that Alexander had won his total victory through his own careful planning:

He had decided that he would use manipulation and guilt to force my well-dressed Dad out of his fancy shoes and socks - in his own house, and even by order of a doctor! - take him out of his expensive clothes, strip him of his name and his authority, and push him out of his magnificent leather chair to fit with his own requirements for our family.

Once that was done, it was just a matter of time before Dad would take his appropriate place, according to Alexander!

There was a time when Alexander was very sick. Dad took care of him and helped him back to health. He would greet my Dad every night and would often sleep in his chair! One night, during the cat's illness, I came home and Dad was sitting on the floor of his den shoeless in his 'Billy' sweatshirt, while Alexander was sleeping in his leather chair. What a difference from a few years before, when Dad sat in the chair in his pinstriped suit, tie and polished shoes, carefully ignoring Alexander's plea for affection! Dad sighed and rolled his eyes.

I remember the old saying: Dogs have masters, Cats have staff. He had insisted on keeping his independence from Alexander. But that cat would not allow it. He now had my Dad completely under his spell. For a long time my Dad had ignored and insulted him. Now he was reduced to taking orders from the cat!

Dad paid a very high price for refusing to acknowledge Alexander's demands, for the dressed-down, humbled, vanquished patriarch was now Alexander's barefoot servant!

The immaculate suits and ties of a high-ranking executive, the sharp, smart click of polished shoes and the formal name of William did not fit with Dad's brand new lower position in his own home. After all, servants do not wear expensive business suits, so Alexander could now allow Dad to be too well-dressed!

But the new name of Billy, his new blue-collar attire and his bare feet were perfectly appropriate for his new subservient status - the role our Maine Coon had chosen for him! The new Dad was the creation of a cat!

When Alexander died after a long life, Dad grieved more than any of us.

Even today my Dad is still Billy. Even my mother started calling him that! After Alexander died, he tried to force people to go back to calling him William, but it didn't work. He was never again called 'sir'. Somehow he had been changed inside as well. He was now known as Billy, a likable and approachable guy.

And he never did go back to wearing shoes in the house, or even at dinner. When he retired he grew a beard and gave away those expensive suits, ties and dress shoes. He sold his Porsche and bought a pickup. Today you would never think he had once been a very formal man who wore neckties at the table or insisted on keeping his shoes on!

He could never again return to his old self. He tried, but the formal gentleman he had once been had been taken away by Alexander and replaced by a new identity. Alexander would be proud.

RESPONSE:

What a wonderful story! And you are right - Alexander would be proud of how he "improved" you dad. Thank you for sharing with us!

Donna - House Full Cats Mom