St. Catherine of Victimhood has several blogs. Here’s a list. Click images to link. Note: Chuckles Travels is up and down, so links often do not work. Cathy seems to avoid paying the bill for the site.
Religion’s Cell is not Cathy’s blog, however it does have copies of her “story” as she published it on Chuckles Travels, so I will link to it.
One of the problems in recounting Cathy’s story is that in telling it, her narrative is fractured and disjointed. No doubt, somebody will inform me that traumatized people often remember events in bits and pieces. I don’t really care why it’s that way. The fact is that it is that way, and as a result, it’s harder to follow.
So I’m going to make it easier to follow by putting it all in as close to chronological order as I can.
Cathy usually begins her story with something about being kidnapped when she was three years old. But that’s not where the story starts. The story starts in the Ukraine, with Ed and Elizabeth Tozar.
According to the fake Facebook page linked above, Ed and Elizabeth Tozar immigrated to the US from the Ukraine (then part of the USSR) in 1962. In the narrative from Chuckles, Cathy tells us that the Tozars leased a house from Cleo Smith and were involved in a legal dispute with her at some point.
Elsewhere, we find out what that “dispute” was.
So, here’s the summary.
Ed and Elizabeth Tozar emigrated to the US from the Ukraine in 1962, escaping from the USSR. We’re not sure how they accomplished this feat.
They settled in or near Philadephia and not only rented a house from Cleo Smith, but also worked for her. They helped Richard Harris prepare for the so-called “cow pasture rally” that Carl McIntire held at Cleo’s farm. Cleo stiffed them on their wages, and so they took her to court and won their case. In retaliation, Cleo kidnapped three-year-old Cathy.
In addition to Cathy, Elizabeth Tozar had twin daughters, and a son (supposedly born after Cathy was kidnapped). Cleo marched into a grocery store and took Cathy while Elizabeth was shopping with the three small children.
And Elizabeth apparently just looked about and said, “Gee, I misplaced Cathy. What did I do with her? Oh, well, I’ll just have another baby to replace her.”
Numerous attempts have been made to find any mention of this story anywhere in the local newspapers, without success. Cathy was three. That would mean it happened in about 1967.
The argument is made is that supposedly the Tozars were recent immigrants from a communist country and very frightened of the police and therefore never reported their missing daughter. This is ridiculous. These are people who supposedly had been in the US for five years at this point. They weren’t afraid of the court system because they took Cleo to court and won (something else that mysteriously doesn’t show up in any court records). They weren’t afraid of Cleo.
And surely, if their daughter went missing after an acrimonious court case they won against a former employer, and that employer pops up with a three-year-old little girl, don’t you think somebody would have noticed?
Oh, yes, Richard Harris. He knew, of course, and just lied. That’s what “Elizabeth Tozar” says on Facebook.
There is also the problem of the escalator.
I don’t know about you, but I’ve never been in a grocery store that had an escalator. I have been in a department store in Europe that had a small food-shopping area (you couldn’t call it a grocery store) and there was an escalator there, but Cathy was supposedly in Philadelphia, even though Cleo lived on a farm in Buck’s County.
So there you have it.
Imagine the picture here. Cleo sneaks into a grocery store and spirits away young Cathy, carrying her up an escalator (!!) while her mother is busy selecting some tomatoes and distracted by newborn twin girls. Cleo then drags Cathy out to her car, and screams at her for crying. Odd that nobody else seems to have heard Cathy crying, including her mother.
She tosses Cathy into a 1966 green Cadillac, and hits the road to the farm, stopping only when Cathy wets her pants to toss Cathy into the trunk.
And thus begins Cathy’s life of bondage and sexual enslavement.
Scientists have long known that human beings have few, if any, memories of being under three years old. Let me give you an example.
When I was three, our family moved from one house to another. I have this really dim memory of being upset because I wanted to stay and watch the moving van and my mother made me go to the babysitter’s house. I have absolutely no memory at all of the old house, in spite of seeing multiple photos of the interior and actually visiting the property in real life as an adult. I have no other memories of being three at all, even though my grandfather was really into photographs and began taking home movies as soon as the technology was available.
And the story of how Sally wanted to stay and watch the moving van was a family story, told over and over again at the dinner table, so I really do not know if I am actually remembering anything at all, or if I just have heard the story so many times that I concocted a “memory” of it.
What is absolutely certain is that a three-year-old has no concept of “1966” or of “Cadillac” or even much grasp of the color “green.” It could be argued, I suppose, that Cleo kept the 1966 green Cadillac for years afterward and that’s how Cathy knows the make, year and model car used to abduct her, but there is no way that she “remembers” it.
She tells us that it’s “difficult” for her to “remember” all the events, but then goes on to tell us all the events, in pretty excruciating detail.
And the other argument that will no doubt be made is that the kidnapping was traumatic, and therefore she remembers it.
Of course, that’s a big problem, because supposedly victims suppress traumatic memories. (There is zero scientific evidence to back up this claim, but that’s the claim they make.) So either she can’t remember because PTSD, or she remembers vividly because PTSD. Cathy does not claim to have suddenly remembered all this stuff, though. She says she always knew it—hence, the latter claim.
And if you look this up online, you’ll find articles that claim that tiny babies remember stuff well, but typically those articles are filled with anecdotes like my moving story above (and anecdotal evidence is not evidence at all), and they often involve testing done, say, six months later to determine what a two-year-old remembers. That’s not what we’re talking about here. We’re talking about what a thirty-five-year-old remembers about being three. The answer is overwhelmingly “not much.”
Part 2 coming when I get around to it