Squeak and the dryer

This is another memory that isn’t technically mine, but is definitely part of my growing up memories.

We got Pip Squeak from a friend of my mom’s. She had a lot of cats, but they didn’t like Squeak very much. They would back her into corners and box her ears. The friend just couldn’t stand to see Squeak beaten up like that, so she asked my mom to please give her a good home. So we did.



Because of her experiences, Squeak really learned to love dark, secluded places. She never mewed. She also had a lot of wax buildup that made her very hard of hearing. Which in turn made her a very not good mouser. No, really. Like one time mom was out on our porch (aka laundry room) and Squeak was laying on the floor. Mom watched a mouse run across the room, so she hollered at Squeak to go get it. Squeak just stared at her like “What do you want?” Mom effectively scared the mouse, though. You know that scene in Cinderella where Gus keeps running into Lucifer’s paw, bounces off, then runs right into it again? Well, picture that, except the mouse was running into Squeak’s side. And still Squeak had no clue. Despite her obvious failings as a cat, we still loved her quite a lot. So we forgave her quirks.



One day Mom washed some white shirts, but left them in the dryer too long. Someone had also left the dryer door open. Later in the day Mom realized that the shirts would be all wrinkled, so she shut the door, turned the dryer on tumble press for 20 minutes and left. 20 minutes later she came back, opened the dryer door and saw blood all over the white shirts. Mom’s first reaction was annoyance. “That dumb cat put a mouse in my dryer!” And then came the bombshell. A tiny and very weak, “Mew.”



Mom always pauses in the story here to let the world know that she could handle injuries with her kids. She had made several trips to the emergency room and was able to keep control until she knew that her kids were safely being taken care of by medical professionals. Then she would allow herself to lose it emotionally. Apparently Squeak didn’t follow the same rules. She lost it immediately. Jalin came to the rescue. “Mom, you take care of the clothes, I’ll take care of the cat.”



Squeak was drenched with sweat. She didn’t have any open wounds, so we assume she must have vomited the blood. Surprisingly, she survived the dryer. She hid in the coat closet for most of the day (probably to stay away from us kids that desperately wanted to pet her and make sure she was ok). 

That night my dad was down watching TV and looked down to see Squeak looking up at him pleadingly. Typically he wasn’t really one to hold and pet cats, but he had pity on Squeak and told her to jump on up. But she was simply to weak to make the jump. So he picked her up. And he sat on that chair until the wee hours in the morning, until she was ready to get off; he just didn’t have the heart to make her get off so he could go to bed.



She healed surprisingly well. She finally started to meow. She could hear. She could (and would!) catch mice. She even became a bit more playful and social. She just wouldn’t ever let you touch her tail with any force from that day on.