Hype: Favorite Children's Book (Mog the Forgetful Cat)
Our favorite stories must say something about us, especially when we choose them before we know how to form a public identity. I had many favorite picture books as a child, but the one I found most compelling was Mog the Forgetful Cat by Judith Kerr. It was only while writing this essay that I discovered that Kerr also wrote When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit (as well as many other Mog books and children’s books), so now I have a clue as to why my favorite childhood story has such sad undertones.
If you’re curious, here’s a read-aloud of the book on YouTube.
I mean, look at Mog up there with her sad yellow eyes. As the title promises, Mog has a hard time remembering the mundane details of life…like whether she has eaten, or how to get back in the house, or the basic limitations of being a cat. She annoys her family by making messes and eating their food and getting in the way, not out of the maliciousness we typically attribute to cats, but out of sheer absent-mindedness. Is anyone else relating to this?
Mog’s only apologist is Debbie, the family’s little girl. One night, Mog finds Debbie asleep and licks her while Debbie happens to be dreaming about a scary tiger. Her screaming makes the whole family angry at Mog for the night, so Mog runs outside. She sits outside and thinks “Nobody likes me…And they haven’t even given me my supper.” (Of course, Mog has been given her supper. She has simply forgotten.)
Everyone feels this way sometimes, but especially children. As a kid, you’re always confused. If it's raining in the garden, will it be raining in the street, too? People laugh if you ask. And somehow you’re always in the way, standing in front of the TV without realizing it or talking when your teacher is making a subtle point. You’re always breaking something that turns out to be important to someone else.
I’m the kind of person who never totally grew out of this way of being, probably through a combination of absent-mindedness and social anxiety. I’ll be driving and forget where I’m going, and when I pause at the intersection to remember, someone will honk furiously at me. I want to please other people in spite of my carelessness, so I worry. I think, “Nobody likes me.” Like Mog, I’m not devastated by this discovery. I just have a few dark thoughts in the dark garden of my mind before forgetting and moving on to some other nonsense.
The story doesn’t leave Mog in this sad state. Her forgetfulness comes in handy for a change. Because she has forgotten that she’s eaten, she pays attention to the kitchen window, where she sees a man standing at the sink holding a flashlight. Unbeknownst to Mog, he is stealing the family’s valuables. Judith Kerr also illustrated the book, and she did a funny job with the burglar. He looks to me like a French clown, and his only attempt at a disguise is the thinnest strip of a mask. He obviously isn’t equipped for a life of crime. Fortunately, Mog meows a giant meow to ask the burglar for her dinner, which causes the burglar to drop his bag of stolen goods (including silverware and an alarm clock). This alerts the family, who calls the police.
One of the funniest parts of the story to me is that while the policeman is admiring Mog’s watchcat skills, the parents and the burglar drink a cup of tea together. They’re all friends now. After all, Mog has saved the man from a career he really wasn’t suited for. It all adds to the ambiguity of the story.
As a reward for her crime-fighting, Mog gets a medal and an egg every day for breakfast. The family appreciates her now that she’s done a service for them, protecting their alarm clocks and forks.
The sadness I felt for Mog wasn’t wiped away by this happy ending. To be loved you have to stop a crime-in-progress? I didn’t think that was fair. But now I know that life often works out that way. People have no patience for you, but then they might adore you one day for something you did on accident. Arbitrarily, you’ll get an egg for breakfast every day…until they forget, and then it’s back to dry kibble.
Mog the Forgetful Cat prepared for me books by Shirley Jackson and Franz Kafka and Thomas Ligotti. The story makes no moral sense. Mog was treated unkindly, and then she made a lucky mistake and was rewarded for it. This book taught me that there is no justice and that love is fickle. Or as Ecclesiastes 9:11 says, “...the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong…but time and chance happeneth to them all.”
And so, my dear and few readers…I wonder what your favorite childhood book was, and how/whether it prepared you for adult life. Maybe your favorite book was rosier than mine, and so it set you up for disappointment with adult life. Feel free to let me know!