Wally

In my birth family we were all very different from each other. Walter, our father, was a Polish Catholic. Mom, Rosemary, a southerner who converted just before they married. I’m oldest. I was a tall, skinny tomboy. Helen came next, a chubby blonde with the most beautiful big brown eyes. She looked, they said, Like my father’s mother who was also named Helen. Then came Mary, who thought she was invisible because everyone was so busy when our brother Wally was born. Wally changed everything.

Wally had issues, crying, toileting, listening, understanding, cooperating and finally drugs. He did not do well in school and wrecked a few cars. He went to work for Boeing. Walter and Rosemary divorced. Mom bought a duplex close to Boeing to help Wally keep his job. He had a large unruly Pit Bull. When I suggested training he was so furious he ended our relationship.

Wally died four years ago leaving behind a large, angry, old pit bull. His neighbor offered to take the dog if I would take a kitten from the litter she was fostering. I did.

— Julian