The Rule

Mummy had one rule when I was a child.

It was this: never think about cats.

I never questioned it. The fact that it was a ridiculous command never crossed my mind until I was years older.

But there was one simple problem with this rule that I did notice even as a young boy. It was that anytime she told me this, it made me think of cats.

The harder I tried to stop thinking of cats, the more I thought of them. Their adorable fluffy faces and those precious little feet.

But of course I never told Mummy that when she reminded me not to think about cats it made me think of them more. So I just beat myself up, constantly chanting to myself not to think of cats and, consequently, thinking about cats.

By the time I realized that this rule made no sense and stopped obeying it, I was obsessed with the creatures, and as soon as I moved out, bought three.

Now I live a life full of cats and I can think of them whenever I want.

Just recently, I found out through a family friend that my dear Mummy had once been attacked by a clowder of alley cats and had been traumatized. This was probably the reason for her one rule when I was growing up.

Poor Mummy must have had a hard time constantly telling herself and me not to think of cats, which of course would have caused her to think about just that.

Cats.