Sandy Skoglund "Radioactive Cats" (1980), photograph
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A loud crash shakes the floor. The chair, worn from years of abuse, bangs on the ground, its seat shattering off its iron bar supports. Felines scatter in every direction jumping on counters, shelves, and rusted radiators. I stay resting on the table as one by one the cats return to curiously inspect the broken chair lying lifeless on the ground.
“Who knocked over the chair?!” the old woman, I presume her name is Beatrice although I’ve never actually heard anyone address her by name, often screeched instead of talking. Her voice kept the same tone throughout all situations. She comes hustling over, shifting her weight from one foot to the next armed with a menacing smirk across her face. The tattered nightgown that frequently covers her heavyset frame hangs loosely above Beatrice’s wide feet stuffed in slippers decorated with stains and holes.
“Which of these filthy rats did it?!” she squawks at the older man sitting adjacent to me.
“Mmhmm” he replies.
“I’m telling you Harold, we’re gettin’ rid of these things! They cause nothin’ but trouble.”
“Mmhmm.”
She swats a pair of black cats away from the discolored refrigerator and continues her one sided conversation.
“Honestly, I can barely move in this place, how we supposed to live like this?”
“Humph” Harold grunts.
Beatrice struggles with the weight of the door.
Don’t do it, I think.
In the same moment it takes for her to dislodge and open the refrigerator door, what seems like thousands of cats converge on Beatrice in a swarm of calicos, siameses, and mutts.
“Ah, get away!” Beatrice screeches. “Go on, get, I got nothin’ for you.”
The cats are persistent, however, and they continue to meow and scratch at her feet, so much so that I almost want to jump from my perch and join the begging.
“Harold! Are you just gonna sit there? Help me get these things outta my way!”
“Mmhmm,” Harold offers.
I creep towards the edge of the table and peer down at the herd of cats below. It started with just a few of us, wandering in to sleep or seeking shelter from another animal, but soon at least twenty of us subletted this dwelling with Harold and Beatrice.
“Go on, see I got you something.” Beatrice begins throwing small bread crumbs as groups of five or six cats chase down the snacks in different directions.
They’ll just be back for more, I think.
Beatrice then disappears into the fridge, her two legs protruding out of the door. The refrigerator light flickers and Beatrice can be heard muttering to herself from inside. I think I might jump down to join the rest of the group who wait for Beatrice while she shifts her weight around the crevices of the fridge. I quickly decide against it, choosing to watch the chaos from above rather than get clawed and bitten below.
After what seems like hours Beatrice stops moving in the fridge. She pauses, seems to be satisfied with her findings and emerges with two cartons in her hands. In her left, she carries a half full carton of milk with the label falling off the side and in her right a carton of eggs, now lopsided with only two remaining. Beatrice continues to try and shoo the felines away from her feet while she attempts to make her way to the counter across the room.
“Help me Harold, don’t just sit….AHHH!!”
While trying to gain assistance from her husband, Beatrice steps on one of the many tails in her path. In doing this, the feline hisses and shrieks causing a ripple of commotion throughout the mass of cats. The felines start to run in every direction entangling themselves in Beatrice’s heavy feet. Beatrice lets out a second scream as she tries to regain her balance and watches her two cartons fall to the floor.
The eggs fall with a loud thud but go completely unnoticed as the milk hits the ground. The carton first falls on its bottom and then tilts to its side, simultaneously, all of the cats turn there heads to stare at the new treat that would soon be available. One moment passes, and then another, the milk still not spilling onto the floor. From my view I’m the first to see the milk begin to slowly descend to the ground. It comes out thicker then it should and its consistency is like that of honey or maple syrup.
This can’t be good, I think.
At the moment the “milk” reaches the floor the cats converge on the liquid and begin to inhale it.
“Harold! These things are eatin’ our food! Do somethin’!” Beatrice yelps. She attempts to get the cats away from the milk but it doesn’t work. I stay on the table not wanting to get involved in the madness below, especially if the only prize was the expired milk. The cats below continue to lick the floor clean and don’t seem to notice the strange texture of the beverage.
Suddenly, and without any forewarning, the cats closest to the milk, the same ones who had eaten the most, began to act peculiarly. Scratching everywhere, they began attacking their fur as if they had fleas. Although I can’t see any color, I could tell that they were turning a different hue then they were before. Previously, the felines were of diverse colors with a variety of stripes, spots, and prints. Now, the cats all looked the same and it was hard to distinguish from the species below.
“Harold! Are you seeing this! The cats are all green! Do somethin’ Harold! Get them out of the house! What the heck is happen’! Harold! Don’t just sit there!”
“Humph” Harold replies.
I simply stare at the newly green cats below, not knowing if I should jump down or stay safely away. I’m now the only one left who has not caught the disease spreading throughout the felines.
“Harold! Do Somethin’” Beatrice screeches.
Not waiting to hear Harold’s usual reply, I quickly jump up and scale the highest cabinets near the ceiling. I jump through the window situated on the furthest wall and run as fast as I can away from insanity going on inside, leaving Harold and Beatrice to deal with their newly radioactive pets.
“Who knocked over the chair?!” the old woman, I presume her name is Beatrice although I’ve never actually heard anyone address her by name, often screeched instead of talking. Her voice kept the same tone throughout all situations. She comes hustling over, shifting her weight from one foot to the next armed with a menacing smirk across her face. The tattered nightgown that frequently covers her heavyset frame hangs loosely above Beatrice’s wide feet stuffed in slippers decorated with stains and holes.
“Which of these filthy rats did it?!” she squawks at the older man sitting adjacent to me.
“Mmhmm” he replies.
“I’m telling you Harold, we’re gettin’ rid of these things! They cause nothin’ but trouble.”
“Mmhmm.”
She swats a pair of black cats away from the discolored refrigerator and continues her one sided conversation.
“Honestly, I can barely move in this place, how we supposed to live like this?”
“Humph” Harold grunts.
Beatrice struggles with the weight of the door.
Don’t do it, I think.
In the same moment it takes for her to dislodge and open the refrigerator door, what seems like thousands of cats converge on Beatrice in a swarm of calicos, siameses, and mutts.
“Ah, get away!” Beatrice screeches. “Go on, get, I got nothin’ for you.”
The cats are persistent, however, and they continue to meow and scratch at her feet, so much so that I almost want to jump from my perch and join the begging.
“Harold! Are you just gonna sit there? Help me get these things outta my way!”
“Mmhmm,” Harold offers.
I creep towards the edge of the table and peer down at the herd of cats below. It started with just a few of us, wandering in to sleep or seeking shelter from another animal, but soon at least twenty of us subletted this dwelling with Harold and Beatrice.
“Go on, see I got you something.” Beatrice begins throwing small bread crumbs as groups of five or six cats chase down the snacks in different directions.
They’ll just be back for more, I think.
Beatrice then disappears into the fridge, her two legs protruding out of the door. The refrigerator light flickers and Beatrice can be heard muttering to herself from inside. I think I might jump down to join the rest of the group who wait for Beatrice while she shifts her weight around the crevices of the fridge. I quickly decide against it, choosing to watch the chaos from above rather than get clawed and bitten below.
After what seems like hours Beatrice stops moving in the fridge. She pauses, seems to be satisfied with her findings and emerges with two cartons in her hands. In her left, she carries a half full carton of milk with the label falling off the side and in her right a carton of eggs, now lopsided with only two remaining. Beatrice continues to try and shoo the felines away from her feet while she attempts to make her way to the counter across the room.
“Help me Harold, don’t just sit….AHHH!!”
While trying to gain assistance from her husband, Beatrice steps on one of the many tails in her path. In doing this, the feline hisses and shrieks causing a ripple of commotion throughout the mass of cats. The felines start to run in every direction entangling themselves in Beatrice’s heavy feet. Beatrice lets out a second scream as she tries to regain her balance and watches her two cartons fall to the floor.
The eggs fall with a loud thud but go completely unnoticed as the milk hits the ground. The carton first falls on its bottom and then tilts to its side, simultaneously, all of the cats turn there heads to stare at the new treat that would soon be available. One moment passes, and then another, the milk still not spilling onto the floor. From my view I’m the first to see the milk begin to slowly descend to the ground. It comes out thicker then it should and its consistency is like that of honey or maple syrup.
This can’t be good, I think.
At the moment the “milk” reaches the floor the cats converge on the liquid and begin to inhale it.
“Harold! These things are eatin’ our food! Do somethin’!” Beatrice yelps. She attempts to get the cats away from the milk but it doesn’t work. I stay on the table not wanting to get involved in the madness below, especially if the only prize was the expired milk. The cats below continue to lick the floor clean and don’t seem to notice the strange texture of the beverage.
Suddenly, and without any forewarning, the cats closest to the milk, the same ones who had eaten the most, began to act peculiarly. Scratching everywhere, they began attacking their fur as if they had fleas. Although I can’t see any color, I could tell that they were turning a different hue then they were before. Previously, the felines were of diverse colors with a variety of stripes, spots, and prints. Now, the cats all looked the same and it was hard to distinguish from the species below.
“Harold! Are you seeing this! The cats are all green! Do somethin’ Harold! Get them out of the house! What the heck is happen’! Harold! Don’t just sit there!”
“Humph” Harold replies.
I simply stare at the newly green cats below, not knowing if I should jump down or stay safely away. I’m now the only one left who has not caught the disease spreading throughout the felines.
“Harold! Do Somethin’” Beatrice screeches.
Not waiting to hear Harold’s usual reply, I quickly jump up and scale the highest cabinets near the ceiling. I jump through the window situated on the furthest wall and run as fast as I can away from insanity going on inside, leaving Harold and Beatrice to deal with their newly radioactive pets.
I like it.
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