Unsung Hero

Unsung Hero

July 25, 2008

The list of heroes is long and varied. Peter Pan vanquishes Captain Hook by tossing him to the ticking crocodile. Harry Potter saves the wizarding world from Lord Voldemort. Frog remains cheerful despite spending his year with the dour Toad. Amelia Bedelia triumphs over the illogical English language. Max becomes the King of the Wild Things and finds his dinner still warm. 

Yet there is one hero who goes unsung in the world of children’s literature, one hero whose name remains unknown, one hero who might only be described as wet. That hero, a moral compass for children everywhere, is the fish in The Cat in the Hat.

You recall the tale. Sally and her brother are withering away from boredom. It’s too wet to go out. It’s too cold to play ball. So they sit in the house doing nothing at all.  

BUMP!  The door flies open and in steps that rogue among rogues, The Cat in the Hat. Immediately the mayhem begins.

Now, as you remember, their mother was out, so when the Cat proposes some good games and some new tricks, Sally and her brother do not know what to do. Should they follow this leader into realms unknown or should they continue to gaze at the dribbles of rain on the window glass? 

At this moment, our hero speaks: “No! No! Make that cat go away! Tell that Cat in the Hat you do not want to play. He should not be here. He should not be about. He should not be here when your mother is out!”

 Note the commanding tone of our hero. He has no doubts about the wisdom of following Mother’s dictates. After all, what is the seat of all wisdom? A mother’s lap.

The Cat, recognizing a worthy foe, counters with smooth words and acrobatics. He hoists the complaining fish, trapped in his proverbial fishbowl (oh, the philosophical implications), into the air and, quoting the messenger angels, says, “Have no fear.  Have no fear!  My tricks are not bad.”  

The cat falls and our hero plunges into a nearby teapot — that universal symbol of hearth and home (at least in England). From there he continues to expound, “Do I like this?  Oh, no! I do not. This is not a good game. No, I do not like it, not one little bit!”  

His warnings, alas, go unheeded.

The Cat refuses to listen to reason and introduces his friends, or should we say his minions, Thing One and Thing Two. The fish, immediately recognizing the danger, shouts, “Put them out! Put them out!” But the children, enthralled by the charismatic Cat, ignore him. Thing One, Thing Two, and the Cat demolish the peaceful afternoon and most of the house. 

Belatedly, our narrator awakens to the danger of allowing unbridled passions into his quiet existence and says, “I do not like the way that they play!  If Mother could see this, oh, what would she say?”  

Too late!  Mother is in sight. What will they do, oh, what will they do?

Ever the hero, the fish rallies and counsels, “So, DO something! Fast!”  

Taking command, Sally and her brother order the nefarious Cat to clean up his act (and the house). As Mother enters the Cat exits with a tip of his famous striped hat. Mother, in parental innocence, asks “Did you have any fun? Tell me. What did you do?”

The question of the ages: When faced with moral choices, oh, what do we do? The fish, our hero, without status, without laurels, without even a capital F in his name, might answer, follow your conscience, listen to the wisdom of your elders, think before you allow outsiders to influence your choices in life. 

Yet, even with this paragon of wisdom, this philosophical giant, this, well, why don’t we just say it, this fish, living right in their midst, Sally and her brother cannot give an answer.  

As the fish smiles in his bowl, they gaze into the reader’s eyes and ask, “What would you say if your mother asked you?”      

(Thanks to Dr. Seuss. The Cat in the Hat, 1957)