Sister Dressed Me Funny

FROM the BOOK

Anthony Buccino

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Bell The Cat

By Anthony Buccino

The first time I met John I delivered a big roundhouse punch into his belly. He never knew it was coming.

He had just transferred into our Nutley catholic elementary school that morning. Sister Genevieve had introduced him to the class.

At ten o'clock recess, outside in the playground next to where we could look down into the cafeteria kitchen window and watch the old fat ladies with silver hair in buns getting lunch ready for the kids who got to stay for lunch, where we could smell the smells of cooking vegetables and meatloaf and whatever kids who ate in school ate:

POW! Welcome to the second grade, kid.

When I joined Cub Scouts the next year, John's mom was our den mother. She said we'd have to put on a skit for the rest of the pack at one of the monthly pack meetings.

We hemmed and hawed, but she would not let us out of it. We had to get on the stage in the cavernous Holy Family School auditorium and put on a skit for the entire pack.

Not me, I mumbled.

"Mister Anthony," she said. She always called me Mister Anthony when I had done something wrong or she needed to get my attention before I did something wrong.

"Mr. Anthony," she sternly said, "you will be in this skit."

She cajoled us to do a skit in front of the entire pack, and our parents, and whatever nuns had wandered across from the convent to catch a glimpse of the young boys in blue doing a skit.

She could make us do the skit, but I told her I would not say any lines. At that she conceded, as long as I took part in the skit.

Like a committee designing a horse, we invented a camel. We elected to be four mice and a cat in our skit.

Each Cub Scout in my den who played the part of a mouse had a paper mask that he colored-in himself and tied on in front of his face.

The early iconoclast, I played the part of the cat.

Let all the other Cub Scouts in my den quiver in fear of me, for my part, I had my cat mask and one roar.

All I had to do was pull down my mask and go on stage at my cue, roar and chase the stupid mice away. This would be my reluctant acting debut. Cue the lights!

The first mouse has a brilliant idea. He suggests that one of the mice should put a bell on the cat so they could hear when the cat was coming to get them. Since it was his idea, he said, he shouldn't have to be the mouse to bell the cat.

The second mouse said it was a great idea, but that he couldn't put the bell on the cat for one reason or another.

The third mouse said pretty much the same as the second.

And the fourth mouse said the same thing too.

If there was a fifth mouse, he said the same as the other three or four mice.

Through all our rehearsals, week after week, John's mom reminded the mice, before you go on stage, put on your mask.

And to me, "Mr. Anthony, don't you forget to pull your cat mask down when you go out and roar. Nobody will know what you're doing if you don't have your cat mask on when you meow. If you forget your mask, everyone will think you're a nut if you go out on the stage and meow at the mice. Whatever you do, don't forget to pull on your mask when you go out and meow at the mice."

Piece of cake, I told her. How could I possibly forget to pull down my mask before I go out on the stage to meow at those stupid mice.

I don't have much of a line, which is the way I like it. I'm not on the stage very long, which is the way I like it.

All I have to do is pull down my mask and go out on the stage in front of the entire Cub Scout pack, everybody's parents and some priests and maybe a few nuns and all I have to do is meow menacingly and chase the stupid mice around the stage.

When the big night came, the auditorium was filled to capacity and beyond with hundreds of kids from every den and every Cub Scout in the pack.

The other dens put on their skits, and our den practiced once more in the hall.

John told me I forgot to pull down my mask. I said I didn't have to because we were just practicing and it didn't count.

His mother reminded me to pull down my mask when I burst onto the stage and meowing menacingly, swiping my paws like a cat chasing mice.

She could have saved her breath. While these dumb mice are discussing their plan to put a bell on me, I'm pacing offstage, nervous as a cat in a room full of pit bull terriers.

On cue, I'm pushed out on the stage. I meow fiercely. I swipe the air with mitted paws, swinging at scattering mice. They are looking at me like I'm nuts. Hey, you dopes, I'm the cat, I'm going to get you dumb mice. And off stage we exit.

John had the nerve to tell me I forgot to pull my cat mask down. What did he know! Then the second mouse said the same thing. Another dummy!

And the third mouse said they were right. Eat cheese and die!

The fourth mouse huffed and puffed and told me I wore my mask like a hat instead of a mask. Stick your tail in a mouse trap! Dopey mice all stick together, I purred, then pulled the mask off my head.

First published in The Belleville Post, Nutley Journal on September 21, 1995.

This is about half of the published version
or less than 1000 of the 2170 words in the original.

Adapted from

SISTER DRESSED ME FUNNY by Anthony Buccino

Available on Kindle

Copyright ©1995, 1996 by Anthony Buccino, All Rights Reserved