I never understood my mom’s love of cats. It was as if her life depended on these furry creatures to save her life. It wasn’t until much later that I realized why. My mom practiced Felidomancy, which is the ability to predict the future by observing a cat’s behavior. This is how the cat foretold the arrival of two humps.
My mom’s family, the Millers, lived on Phoenix Avenue in Elmira, New York, near the Chemung River on the southern tier of New York State. In 1946 after torrential rains, the river soaked banks near Dunn Field had expanded to the surrounding neighborhood. When they evacuated, her cat had to stay behind not being allowed onto the boat. She still recalls how crushed she felt leaving her feline behind. What if the cat didn’t survive?
The cat told of the oncoming rain that caused the flood.
Since cats don’t sneeze often, its continual sneezing must have been a curious thing. This unusual behavior would be overlooked by most, but my mom took note and realized there would be a lot of rain. A sneezing cat predicts rain for those of you who don’t understand Felidomancy. Her cat predicted the surplus of rain that would cause the flood of 1946, but what happened next was most perplexing to even the best-trained Felidomancy observers.
If you ever had a cat you know that at times they consume grass. It’s believed that cats do this when they have an upset stomach. Afterwards, the cat vomits. It’s really not a big deal; it’s very typical. But suddenly my Mom’s cat started consuming large amounts of grass, like she was a lawnmower. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but its herbivore appetite was not at all typical for a carnivorous feline and my mom took note of that, too.
Twice in a row the cat would stretch and arch its back on a regular basis, something of which it didn’t do before so my mom began to understand that the number two was significant. The seven-toed cat was also a hint; those two extra toes on each foot was another sign. Even those that practice Felidomancy regularly would have trouble in understanding this prophecy, which would be a stretch for any imagination, but my mom started to grasp the significance.
Then came the day she’ll never forget. My grandfather, Arthur Miller, could not have imagined the memory he was creating for his family’s legacy. This story would be passed onto generations that would never know him personally, but would know of him for what he brought home.
My grandfather had taken matters into his own hands and just saved Bailey from a death sentence. It says a lot about my grandpa since no one else stepped up to do anything. After he took his stand, he came home. It must have been a strange sight moving along the sidewalks in the day’s light, casting a peculiar shadow with the rope dangling behind him. The sight must have caused stares and jaw drops. After all, the rope was still attached to Bailey. With all the ups and downs of the valleys and peaks, little did my gramie know that in the second my grandpa came home she’d become the talk of the town.
I can’t say or elaborate how my grandpa was, other than I heard a number of people say he was a jokester and loved playing practical jokes. He had a sense of humor about him, so I guess coming home with this one shouldn’t have been too much of a surprise. However, he wasn’t joking around. He was dead serious. He brought home a camel named Bailey.
Growing up I never gave it a second thought how “different” this story was in comparison to other people’s family stories; however, I didn’t go about sharing my family stories with friends because, well honestly, I wouldn’t have been believed. Even by today’s standards it’s not ordinary, but considering it was in the late 1940′s when this arrival came, it was quite, well, unusual and most definitely not acceptable to the societal norm of that era. Even today people think I’m pulling one over on them.
Bailey stayed in the fenced-in yard where they fed it. It didn’t create any havoc for the most part, other than eating my gramie’s rosebush and attracting curiosity seekers. Yes, traffic did increase onPhoenix Avenue. If drivers didn’t already know, they would slam on their car brakes as soon as Bailey came into sight.
However, there is the Sunday school story.
The Sunday school teacher demanded to see Gramie. With her legs anchored to the earth and her arms pointed out from her hips, she bellowed out in a righteous tone: “Your son is making up stories.”
“What story is he telling?”
“Oh, I can’t believe what he’s telling! I know your son is lying.”
“What’s he lying about?”
“He’s saying he has a pet camel in his yard.”
“He does have a pet camel in our yard.”
The silence that fell and the shock that hit the Sunday school teacher’s face must have been precious. I’m sure she must have teetered from her stance and any righteous tone she held left her feeling winded.
The following Sunday all the classes took a trip to Phoenix Avenue to see the camel for themselves. Upon their arrival the Sunday school teacher righted herself to make the statement:
“See what a real camel looks like. This is what the holy family had in the desert.”
“Oooohhhhhhhhh.” The transfixed children replied in unison.
The two-humped creature standing before them continued chewing his cud like any other day while the children’s excitement with their ever-widening eyes gawked at him. However, this was unlike any other day for the church community. The rippling effect was unprecedented. The Hedding Methodist Church was the envy of some other churches that did not have the real McCoy.
In their deliverance from sin, Gramie and my uncle became very important people. My uncle wore an “I told you so” smile with each visiting Sunday school class while the self-righteous Sunday school teacher remained winded. I wonder if Gramie gave her a tuft of Bailey’s hair as a reminder that she shouldn’t have been so quick to judge with her self-righteous behavior, but I guess what is most important is that my Gramie and uncle had been redeemed.
It wasn’t long after that a complaint came from a nearby neighbor. They never found out who complained, but it was probably a neighbor that belonged to another congregation. What happened next is just simply hard to imagine.
Soon, they left Phoenix Avenue and moved to the town of Ashland on South Mountain near the northern Pennsylvanian border. This way they could keep the camel. However, who would have thought what they had chosen to leave behind: running water, a bathroom and electricity. My grandpa chose to live on a farm that had none of these conveniences. There was an outhouse that was far from the house, kerosene lanterns for light and water that had to be fetched from down the hill. My Mom cringes with this thought of how she had to carry the water by herself being so young and how heavy it was, trying very hard not to spill any. Whenever she retells this story she shakes her head and says: “Oh God, what had they done.”
When Bailey was moved to the mountain, he must have thought he was in heaven. The farm had very high grass that would be any camel’s oasis. Little did anyone know it would be Bailey’s demise. Before the summer was over, Bailey died with the surplus of fresh grass. Its digestive system couldn’t handle the amount and the gas build up of the fresh grass killed him.
However, Bailey made memorable history. The veterinarian was quoted that his most memorable moment was picking up a camel on South Mountain. It also left a huge impression on my mother and her brother, clipping a tuft of Bailey’s hair and placing it in a canister. Coming across this many years later when I was kid, my mom nonchalantly replied: “Oh that must be Bailey’s hair.”
My grandfather always maintained that camels are very clean animals. My Mom recalled this when we petted a camel one time: “It doesn’t smell.” They don’t pant and perspire little. It’s not what you’d probably think. There is the hair with tufts here and there and their eyes with long lashes that would make women jealous. And their milk is also more nutritious than cow’s milk, containing higher amounts of fat and protein as well as other nutrients. They have two toes on each foot, walk with a gait like a rolling ship and can reach speeds of 40 mph. I rode one once that had two humps like the one my Mom had. Sitting between the two protrusions was hard to see over them. I was little at the time.
Now I wonder if having this story part of my heritage places me in a “cool” category. How many other American families can say they had a Camelus Bactrianus growing up? I’m willing to bet they couldn’t even provide correct camel information or cat prophecies. The Egyptians would be proud of my Mother with her camel living in the Americas and practicing Felidomancy. It never occurred to me how this story stands out from other people’s family stories, until now, almost 40 years later—the life span of a camel.
