The Tale of Boobookitty

BY: Nicole Falardeau

     It was early summer and I was four years old. The weather was nice in Hessville and the air didn’t smell like it usually did. My mother was taking us to the union hall on Kennedy Avenue. It was time to pick up our large brick of yellow cheese, one canister of peanut butter and powdered milk. We drove out of our old white garage, in my father’s black car that looked like a limousine. I felt like someone special, riding around in the back seat of that black beauty. I feel like Princess Diana today. I’ll do the princess wave at the in the next car.

     We arrived at the union hall two seconds later and we waited in line with everyone else. I cannot remember any faces, but I can remember the noise of loud talking and cigarette smoke. I was holding my mother’s hand, as I stare into the back room. There were a lot of old people playing Bingo. It was quiet, and I was listening to the bingo caller,

     “B 2, G 52, O 72, O 69.” The bingo caller called out.

     “BINGO!” some old lady with blue hair cried out. She was waving her blue bingo dot stick in the air. Her big arms were flopping around like Jell-O.

     The boos and hisses began to fly and the old lady was smiling from ear to ear. I saw her grab some money and stuff it into her shirt. I guess she forgot her purse at home. I didn’t understand why they were booing her. We couldn’t “boo” at pre-school when we played picture bingo at school. Grownups are really weird.

     My mother shook my hand, so I would walk forward in line. A kid could only daydream while standing in a line this long. Finally with our bundles of government nourishment, we climbed back into the black limo and Mom drove down the road. Our next stop was the Salvation Army Thrift Store. We had become regulars. Mom parked in the back. I ran around the building, straight through the door and straight to the back room. That’s where all the toys and books would be. Who cared about clothes and shoes and stuff we really needed. Kids needed toys and a lot of them.

     I believe most of the toys that were donated to the Salvation Army were 10 or 20 years old – ancient to me. A young thrifty shopper like me would find some great treasure. On that one great pleasant day, I found a treasure on the shelf. It was a handcrafted, adorable but dirty stuffed cat doll. It was a simple shape of a cat sitting. The fabric was soft but durable and had pink patchwork pattern. The cat’s head had brown button eyes, the nose and whiskers were made of black embroidery string, no dangling by a thread. There were tears along the seams also. I fell in love with this Kitty. With glee in my heart, I ran to my mother and asked her to buy it for me. She was at the cash register with a pile of clothes on the counter. She looked at me and said “No, we don’t have enough money.” I was sad, and I’m sure I started to cry. The woman at the counter showed pity on us. She told my mom we could have the toy. You can imagine how happy I was.

     Mom sewed up the tears or booboos as I called them. She washed Booboo Kitty in the washing machine and the cat looked brand new. She was pretty, pink and my new friend. I was able to sleep with Booboo Kitty that same night.

     I kept Booboo Kitty all for over 20 years. When my husband and I moved into our first home, I packed up my entire stuffed animal collection in a black garbage bag. The bag sat in the basement for a month. I knew it was time to throw the bag away. On garbage day, I put the bag at the curb and I never looked back. I didn’t realize I had just thrown Booboo Kitty away too. I was very sad when I realized what I did. There was nothing I could do. Kitty was gone.

     This simple cat doll which was priced for five cents was gone. The cat doll that I hugged when I was sad, which was often, was gone. I wish I could tell that person who made Booboo Kitty, how special it was to me.