Mission: Improbable: The Moth Radio Hour
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This is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm your host, Jay Allison. Life is littered with obstacles. Pretty much every day, if you're like me, some days I glide over them, other days I bang my shins pretty hard. Today I'm gliding, but not expecting that to last. Every once in a while, we're faced with a challenge that feels impossible, or at least highly improbable. Maybe not as extreme as scaling the world's tallest building or jumping in between airplanes, looking at you, Tom Cruise, but ones that feel like our own personal mission improbable. Our first storyteller is Gabby Rohn. She takes on the notoriously futile task of cat training. Here's Gabby to tell you all about it live at the mall.
It's 2011 and I'm walking down the hallway of my apartment building. I'm headed to the management office because I've decided I need to get a dog. I just moved into this apartment building, and it is not pet friendly. But I've done my research. I know all the laws in Michigan about emotional support animals. I've saved a month of my rent as collateral against damages. And if that doesn't work, I didn't put concealer over the deep purple bags under my eyes. It's about 88 days into me getting maybe three hours a night of sleep, and I'm just hoping my sob story tugs at my landlord's heartstrings. You see, about three months prior, I was robbed while I was home. It started with a knock on my door, which in the grand scheme of things is a very courteous way to start a crime.
A man told me to get on my knees and face the wall. I was robbed. I called the police. I filed a report. I moved apartments. I spent my nights vigilantly lying awake listening. And I spent my days having panic attacks every time a friendly neighbor knocked on my door to introduce themselves. With a dog. I could train it to listen for me, and I could get some rest. My landlord was like, oh my God, no, absolutely not. I hate dogs. You can't get a dog. I don't care what letter you get from the state. If you get a dog, I'll poison it. But I'm not heartless. You can have a cat. Conveniently, his niece had just found some kittens behind the carport, and if I go to the sixth floor, I can have my pick of the litter.
A baby kitten is probably the animal least capable of protecting me. And conventional wisdom tells you, you cannot train a cat. But between my sleep deprivation and my desperation, I figure, Maybe I can defy the odds. Maybe I can train this cat to hear a knock and then hit a button that makes the sound of a dog bark, or train it to launch itself at the heads of intruders. The orphaned, neonatal 14-ounce cat I take home that day needs to be fed via syringe every two to four hours. Which is fine, because I'm not sleeping anyways. This kitten and I, I decide we're gonna go to work. I knock, and then I feed her. And as she gets older, I knock and then I throw a treat at the door. Weirdly, it's working, like she's responding to the knocks.
And one day, after a few hours of training, I'm standing in my kitchen making some waffles in the toaster and just watching the freezer burn melt off under the hot orange coils, daydreaming about when I used to feel safe enough to have pizza delivered, and how at my old apartment there was this great pizza place, this mom-and-pop wood-fired place that would get the cheese to crust. Pop! The toaster! startles me, and I go into full fight or flight. I can't breathe, I'm shaking, I'm hyperventilating, I fall to my knees, my cheek pressed against the cold tile of the kitchen floor, and I'm thinking, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. And I wonder, can I die from a panic attack when I feel a tap on my forehead?
What challenges does Gabi Rome face while training a kitten?
And through the tears, I see this little four-pound cat looking at me. And I think, oh my God, did all those nights of bottle feeding actually create like a close emotional bond where she's like checking on me? And then she taps me again. No, this cat does not care about me or my emotional breakdown. She heard a knock, and she would like her treat. Please. Silently, she's urging me, can you just get over it already?
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