"Mom Won't Like It" by Edward von Koenigseck
– “Jane can’t ever know the truth.”
The tide and wind pushed it ashore as surely as vengeance.
Edward von Koenigseck, of Ticonderoga, New York, has a 40-year background in technical publications. He is the author of two books - a college textbook Technical Writing for Private Industry, and a memoir, Island Park, and has also published several short stories. His other activities have been providing 92 different lectures on biblical history for the nonprofit organization Shepherd's Center, and was hired to create the curriculum for and teach two semesters on technical writing for advanced English students at Florida Institute of Technology.
Author’s Talk
Edward von Koenigseck
Raised in a broken home due to our father’s desertion, I, the youngest, was then five years old. The inevitable consequence of his absence was several years of harsh poverty and emotional trauma. During those years following his departure, our mother, born on a farm in Europe and possessing a limited education, was forced to suppress immeasurable suffering both physically and mentally as she struggled to feed, clothe, and house her five children while living on Long Island, NY. At times, painful decisions had to be made, and their resulting consequences endured. Life’s intricacies offer both positive and negative opportunities to create viable living conditions.
Mom Won’t Like It is not just a short story, it is a vile, unerasable memory permanently seared into my aged brain. Even now, 72 years later, every time I see a cat that unhappy event is thrust forward to hound my conscience. Three lives were impacted by a desperation-driven quest to seek relief from the presence of one innocent cat. Our mother, director of the tragedy, I the tool of her solution, and Jane, the young daughter whose beloved pet offered her hours of solace as our family of five were linked to Mother’s inability to live with the pestering presence of cat hairs. On the family farm their barn-reared cats were unnamed and not allowed in the house as pets; they served only to kill rats. For years after my dreadful and dreaded deed was done, to this day I still have no knowledge of what emotional impact the event had on our mother. Jane endured months of fretful conjecture as to the fate of her beloved pet Sniffer. I was forced to not only bear the guilt of knowing that by being a dutiful son I had created my dear sister’s emotional suffering but also had to deny her the horrible truth of my involvement in her loving pet’s demise. Through all the years after that event, until her loss to cancer, I found myself unable to look at my sister without feeling pangs of guilt; my conscience always shrank in fear at the thought of her hating me.
