My mother was not a “fraidy cat”, but she did not like being startled. She had this little hoot she made when something surprised her. It could have been a spider, a snake or, in Florida in her later years, one of those wretched roaches that seem to be in the cleanest of homes. And hers was always spotless.
But this time it was caused by something else.
Stuffed animals have always had a special place in my heart. I don’t remember needing one to sleep with me as a child, but even today, at 61 years, I have to fight the urge to buy stuffed “critters” to give to others or to keep for myself. My parents picked up on this early. Now, I wonder if this was passed on to me by my Mother or Dad, because there was always a stuffed animal under our tree for one of my Christmas gifts.
My favorite one was a chimpanzee, and I became the parent of a new Zippy every couple of Christmases. (I suppose it was good training for caring for our four little primates later.) Zippy’s body was hairy and cuddly and his hands and face were made of rubber, very realistic and lifelike to see.
I have tried to imagine how it happened. Now, as I look back, I think one of my brothers, or even my Dad, must have set up the ambush. I know I was not responsible. But there, stuck in a door, about people height, was a hand, reaching out for my mother as she came through the hall.
“Whoooooo!!” she hooted as she jumped back and her heart raced. And try as she could, only the culprit ever knew who had set the trap, but we all laughed for many years over Margaret’s Christmas Scare.
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