Every mother feels societal pressures, but few have experienced as much parenting scrutiny as the mother from “The Cat in the Hat.” In this interview, she tries to set things straight.

Let’s just start with the obvious question: Where were you?

I know what you’re getting at, and let me just say for the record that my kids were not that little. They were 10 and 12. That’s the No. 1 thing I’m always criticized about, leaving young kids unattended.

What else do you get flak for?

Are you kidding? That I didn’t teach my kids how to entertain themselves properly. That I have terrible fashion sense, thanks to my polka-dot dress/kite. That I leave dangerous yard tools and birthday cakes with burning candles strewn around my house. That my son, you know, doesn’t have a name. And of course that I allowed my kids to catch other children with nets and lock them in a box.

Things One and Two?

They looked a lot like the Davis twins from across the street.

But didn’t you feel responsible when you found out what happened that day?

As if I could have predicted that a giant talking cat would pop by and destroy my house! Listen, it must say something about my parenting style that the mere sight of my feet would get everyone scrambling around, shaking with fear.

Still, you left your kids alone all day in your unlocked house, and they didn’t seem to have much awareness of “stranger danger.”

O.K., a), that cat was benign compared to my in-laws, who were always arriving unannounced. And b), we did have a baby sitter.

You mean the fish?

It was the ’50s. You’ve never heard of the “Aquatic Mom” parenting method? Back then there was always another new theory on how best to raise your children: get a goldfish baby sitter, treat your kids like Bulgarian moms do, go retro — acting the way moms did in the 1890s.

What did that involve?

Making your 5-year-old till a wheat field while you go work at the saloon, that kind of thing.

So all that pressure to be the perfect parent, it’s not new.

You think just because now you have mommy wars, and have to decide if you want to lean in or out or diagonally or whatever, and you feel obligated to tweet a photo of your kid who just dumped organic artisanal mashed potatoes on his head, you somehow have it tougher than parents — than moms, really — have always had it?

Do you think you’d get less flak about the cat “event” if you were the dad?

I’ve got five words for you: Man With the Yellow Hat. “Hey George, you sit here on the chain-saw assembly line, I have to go run some errands.” “Hey George, be a good little monkey and clean up this hot lava while I play with my geode collection.”

To be fair, his “child” isn’t human.

To be fair, he’s a grown man walking around Manhattan in safari gear, leaving his pet to drive fire trucks into lakes and paint skyscrapers. And everyone thinks that’s hilarious. I’m just saying. A Woman With the Yellow Hat would be carted off to Chez Lunatic while the monkey gets to host “S.N.L.” or something.

You sound a little bitter.

I’m just tired. Sally is in her 60s and still calls me at all hours, sobbing about her nightmares.

Giant talking cats in striped hats?

She dreams she’s in a fishbowl perched on top of an umbrella. Naked. In high school. When she’s supposed to be taking a final exam.

Sounds rough.

Well, you know. What would you do if this happened to you?