Sainthood may not be good enough an honor! Ms. Johnson invented the hand cranked ice cream churn as a way to reduce the time required to make ice cream. Ice cream was originally made using very intensive labor over several hours. Johnson essentially created a way to make ice cream faster and easier. 

Originally, there were many steps to creating ice cream. President Thomas Jefferson had an eighteen step recipe. Johnson’s brilliant idea changed ice cream making into a much easier and faster route to happiness. On September 9th, 1843, Patent numberUS3254A was issued for the. Artificial Freezer and antedated on July 29th, 1848.

A Philadelphia housewife married to Walter Rogers Johnson in Medfield, Massachusetts. Walter was a scientist and first secretary at the American Association for the Advancement of Science. Nancy, herself, was a very successful inventor. This was very uncommon in her days, because women’s legal identities were taken away when they married. Under the laws of coverture, women were not allowed to control their own finances, own property, or sign legal agreements. Men represented their wives, mothers, and daughters. Nancy was a bold and determined woman who empowered women, teaching them they can make their own way for themselves.

In 1843, she filed for her patent for the first hand-cranked ice cream churn (US3254A). Her invention was called a “disruptive technology” because it made it possible for everyone to make quality ice cream without electricity. This technology changed the way that ice cream was made forever and portions of her patent continue to be used today.

Johnson received $1500 during the course of her lifetime for her Artificial Freezer. She adapted her original patient and refiled September 9th, 1843. She sold the rights of the patent to William G. Young, a Baltimore native, who improved some on the ice cream freezer on May 30th, 1848. Johnson sold the rights of the patent to Young for $200.

People erroneously credit Young as the inventor, but it was a Nancy Johnson who made the world a better place.
  
There are some people who should receive sainthood for the amazing deeds they do. Heroes should receive awards. We need to recognize the people who have made a difference in this world.

September 9 should be celebrated around the world! Nancy Maria Donaldson Johnson should be known universally for ice cream.

You scream.

I scream...

We all scream for ice cream. 

And scream most loudly for Nancy.

Nancy Maria Donaldson Johnson, thank you, thank you, thank you. You made my life and the lives of so many better.

(Information derived from Wikipedia)

Marlene is available for her speaking engagements. She is an award winning author and her books are available through amazon.com and scribblersweb.com. Join www.MsRatWrites.com for her monthly newsletters.

    We have just returned from our vacation to Alaska. We went 21 years ago with our son, friends John and Margie Sawyer, their daughter Mylinda, and husband Chris Moore. It was the trip of a life time. But our lifetimes do change.

    This trip was a little different. Mylinda, Chris, and their 19 year old daughter joined us. They brought her mama, Margie. One of my dearest friends, Cece (Cecelia Landress) also took the trip. John, who is legendary in Georgia for his baseball coaching skills, can no longer travel. 

Things I learned:

1. I attended a conference that was a weeklong only to return to leave for Alaska in 4 days. I was in a swivet already. Already tired and leaving a ton of work behind, I was in tail spin by the time we got to the airport. (And yes, swivet is a word in my vocabulary! It is self-explanatory.)
2. Never let your husband and son do their own packing without checking behind them.
3. Never trust anyone who says “I already checked there.” When searching for his medication. Always, ALWAYS, check behind them. We unpacked and packed the suitcases THREE times. The medication was on the bathroom sink in the little plastic bag with the toothbrushes and paste.  Yep, always check behind anyone who swears they have already done it.
4. If you spend three hours in Atlanta Hartsfield Airport, you have done all of your time in Purgatory. We did it twice this trip. If you didn’t cuss out one person, your extra feathers will be waiting by your wing frame in Heaven. I have to say, after our luggage was misplaced on the return home, I may have lost a few of my feathers. With my bum ankle I transversed Hartsfield THREE times. Snell is sick. James is aggravated and wanting to go home. I think I have to start collecting feathers again. My wing frame is pretty empty.
5. Memories are what matters. Margie has Alzheimer’s. She is my best friend. We laughed at all the old things we talked about. We laughed several times as we told the same new stories. It is important to cherish the woman who was so powerful and wonderful and to love the woman who is there now.  People around us might think we have lost our minds, but who cares. She is laughing and she is still wonderful.
6. Alaska is the final frontier—as long as you don’t get off the boat.  It is now the retail capital of the world, I think. Jewelers try to pull you in off the street.  
7. Whatever price is asked, ask for lower. Then ask again. One more time. Never pay more than one-third of the asking price and I recommend that you think one-fourth or less.  Alaska is the land of opportunity for you to be robbed blind.
8. Never bring a coat to Alaska. You can buy great jackets in Ketchikan for $30. Buy it in Ketchikan. The prices go up as you go further into your trip. When we began unpacking on the ship I found the three of us had five coats and three sweaters. The coolest temperature we had was 51F in the mornings. The rest of the day was low to mid 60’s. Shirt sleeve weather for me. A sweater and jacket for them. I told you to always check their packing. 
9. Don’t buy anything on the ship until the last day. Find out if you have some money credits. Use that to get what they have on sale if you really want it. I “bought” three rings for $0.00. I had $45.00 in credits.
10. Never say never. When we got out of Purgatory Atlanta-Hartsfield airport, with our luggage, my husband said “I am never going anywhere that we cannot drive.” James agreed. Then said, “Are we still going to Hawaii?” “Not until a bridge is built, son. Not until there is a bridge.” Replied Snell. 
11. Yes, crying is permitted. I was convinced I had caught dementia from Margie. I could not remember things. Finding my way was nearly impossible. I was easily confused…more easily than usual. My temper was not just flaring, but flames were shooting into the air. You are tired. You are in a new place. People will and do run over you. Try to smile as much as you can. It scares people around you and they will back up.
12. Do not plan for any activities for the first three days you are home. I had a speaking engagement the day after we got home. The audience was very receptive. I got a lot of compliments. I don’t remember what all I said. I do remember taking my shoes off because I felt like I was swaying on a ship. 
13. Book a service to take you to the airport. I think this is really valuable in Atlanta, where road construction is our adventure park. There are several things to recommend a driver. One, you get there without having to fight the traffic directly and you do not have to find parking. Outler Transportation, out of Snellville, GA, was the group we used.  Delightful staff, very helpful, knew all the ways to get around the construction. He knew where to go to get us to the right airline place, too. Greg, the owner, was terrific.
14. Book a service to get you home from the airport. This will save you jail time. When you get off that air plane you are still rocking and reeling and your brain is swollen and non-functioning. You only have to find the driver. No check out in the terminal parking, just let him drive you out of the mess.  And calling it a mess is being very kind. No matter how aggravated you are, he is dealing with the imbeciles who are cutting in front of you, tailgating, and acting a fool. If I had been driving I probably would have cussed more, made ugly gestures, and rammed into a telephone pole when I fell asleep behind the wheel. God Bless Greg and the Outler Transportation Series. (770-560-2961. www.outlertrans.com) I want to give him a big thank you and share his information with you.  Seriously, kept me sane and got us home safely and with an understanding smile that I was a homicidal manic after the Atlanta Airport fun and games.

The trip was good. We had a great time. It is our last adventure with Margie. Our families have traveled many places together. This was our last hurrah. Know what? The airport, lost luggage, and diarrhea (Yeah, I left that part out), money hungry retailers, and everything else... I wouldn’t trade that trip for anything.

One last great thing. I taught high school art was called Art Woman or Ms. Rat. One of my former students, now friend, lives in Seattle. We have stayed in touch over the last 50 plus years. Richard Kromm came out to meet us. We had a couple of hours together. Richard and being with Margie and our extended family is what made the trip priceless. 

I’d do it all again, even the airport.

My father, James E. Ratledge was born November 21, 1916.  After he died, Mama said he never left.  He was still sitting in his recliner, waiting for her.  I believe it.  I think Mama is sitting on my right shoulder and Daddy is on left one.  Both are whispering in my ear. 

I can still see them walking hand-in-hand.   Daddy was over 6’4” and Mama was about 5’5” in her prime.  They almost always held hands.  As Mama would shrink, she would have her arm bent even higher and Daddy would lean over a little more.

They met on a blind date at the Atlanta Water Works while working at White Provision Company in 1943.  The old Atlanta Water Works was a favorite picnic place.  Mama said he was the handsomest thing she had ever seen.  She first saw him as he was approaching where she and her friends were. He was over 6 feet 4 inches, had beautiful blue black hair and a golden olive completion. He was wearing a white suit with a black shirt and a black sling supporting his injured arm.  She said that was it. He was too beautiful to forget. They married May 1, 1944.  Daddy never forgave World War II for separating them.  I have 746 700 love letters he wrote during WWII reinforcing his love.

Mama and his brothers called him Bob.  When he was young in the early 1900’s male children wore their hair long.  When it was time for James to get his big boy haircut, his two older brother teased him and called him “bobtail.”  He was Bob ever since.

    Daddy was a perfectionist and could do just about anything from electricity to plumbing and wood working.  He even did a little black smithy on the old forge at my Grandparent’s place.  Daddy and his mother flipped houses before there was such a thing.  Mama’s family place didn’t have electricity or running water.  Daddy put in their first furnace, stove, running water and bathroom.  You name it, he did it.

185, later changed to 585 was Daddy’s radio code number for the City of Atlanta Police Department/Atlanta Board of Education School Detectives.  In 1947 Atlanta developed specialized detective units within the agency. In 1952, The Atlanta Board of Education and the Atlanta Police Department joined forces and created the Atlanta School Detective Unit.  In 1953, my Daddy and Julian Stephens were the second and third officers to join Sgt. J. D. Nash, Commander. There was another School Detective Department being formed about this same time in another state. The only two in the nation. The School Detective Unit was the fore-runner of what we now call School Resource Officers in Georgia.  

Daddy was good at his job.  I don’t know about now, but he held the record for the most cases solved for over 15 years. I have all of his old reports.  Someday I am going to write that book I promised him. Now he is gone and I only have his paper reports to rely on.  I regret we never found time to write his book.

He did some interesting things in his life.  During WWII he escorted military prisoners.  I have his secret identification and name that he used.  One night while hospitalized, the nurses on duty asked Mama what Daddy had done for a living.  She told them about his having been a police officer. One of the nurses was one of my former students and spent a lot of time visiting with all of us.  Ellen told Mama that Daddy was talking about having a different name. Daddy had been part of the Secret Police.  The night Ellen was checking on Daddy, he was the other military policeman taking a Nazi prisoner somewhere “special.” 

Once it was learned that his father, Luther Edward Ratledge, had been a train engineer before becoming a police officer, and Daddy could do medical core and train repair, he was reassigned. Daddy built the first hot water shower on one of the medical trains in Europe. After that when they would be in a station somewhere Daddy teach other train personnel how he had run the lines so their trains could also have hot water showers. 

  One night when he was so sick and on morphine, he was back on that train.  I spent the entire night, rebuilding a train engine with him.  He would tell me what tool he wanted and I handed it to him.  In his drugged imagination, all those machines in that room were part of the engine. We did a good job, too.  By about 4:30 in the morning, he told me to “fire her up and let’s get moving.” 
​
When the Allied troops captured Adolf Hitler’s private train, it was damaged.  Daddy and his medical train happened to be in the same location.  One of the officers on Daddy’s train suggested they ask my father to look at the damage on Hitler’s train.  Rat could “jury-rig” anything.  I don’t know what was wrong with the train, but it couldn’t be moved further into Allied territory because of the problem. Daddy went over and did whatever was needed to get it moving again.  While Daddy was working on the problem, a team of US and other Allied personnel were cataloging every item in the train. 

 Daddy reported the repair had been completed to the officer in charge.  That officer was part of the team cataloging Hitler’s belongings.  He was in Hitler’s private dining car.  The officer picked up a small cream pitcher from Hitler’s table and handed it to Daddy thanking him for his help.  The pitcher has the swastika emblem and Mama wrote a note about what Daddy told her and stuck it in it. The cream pitcher is marked with the Allied catalog number. 

Daddy could do anything. Daddy was the builder, Mama was the painter and designer. He built his grandson an airplane swing with a 6’ wing span and working joystick, rocking horses, and any other thing he thought his namesake James could want. Daddy made a table that was James’ height and the legs could be extended to grow with him.   They did a lot of drawing and coloring on that table.  

He and Mama refurbished old houses to rent or sell.  Daddy made the entire kitchen set, stove, refrigerator, cupboards and even a sink with a turning faucet for the Kindergarten class of H.O. Burgess Elementary School (1955). That set was still in use some 10 plus years later. Our class had wooden animals to paint that he cut from scrap lumber, too. One of my classmates mentioned remembering them. I have several still.  He and Mama created the most beautiful gardens outside of Calloway Gardens you have ever seen.  He worked hard. And he adored Mama.

He and Mama taught me to be independent and self-reliant.  I learned how to lay a wooden floor, to use most any kind of tool, paint a room, fire a gun, swim, and defend myself physically and mentally.  He made sure Mama and I were loved and well taken care.  

Rat accomplished all kinds of things and best of all, Daddy was mine. And I miss him.  Mama used to say there will never be another one like Bob Ratledge.  No, there won’t. I bet Mama and Daddy are holding hands right now. 

1950 Daimler DE 36 Convertible
​

• One of a kind street rod or perfect for restoration.
• Original body and frame in good condition. Free of any significant rust. Built in England, it has right hand drive.
• Built by the original Daimler factory by hand, it is styled after the 1920-30’s style with wooden frame work.
• Ready for rebuild or restoration. This unique car can easily be converted into a one of a kind street rod. A rebuilt 327 Chevy motor is included. Easy restoration. 85% original. Restoration began, motor, dash and transmission removed, but still have them.
• $26,000. obo. Located near Atlanta, GA. 
• Contact William at 770-972-5595 or msratwrites@gmail.com

This was a dream restoration, but health and age has prevented completion. 

Hey Ya'll!
 
I am have been pitiful about keeping up with anyone. I would like to say it was because I have been very productive in all kinds of things. 
 
It ain't true. I don't know where my time goes, but it isn't for very productive things. We're clean. That’s about all I can say!
 
I did finish writing a book on learning styles. I have sent it in, but haven't heard back from the people who will do the publishing. I think I am going to go through Amazon for it. Tips, Tricks, Techniques for Self-Directed Approach for Easier Learning is the title. 
 
I am in the midst of getting the publishing on my first book back over to me. It is still under the publishers imprint.  
 
I am about to recreate the book I lost, Finding Home. I have 14 chapters, though not in order, that I retrieved.
 
My favorite short story is The Caretaker. I am submitting it to a contest this month. Keep your fingers crossed for it. No, you haven’t seen this one. I wrote it two or three years ago. It is long and therefore not acceptable to most contests. I hope to get a book of short stories out this year. It will be in there. 
 
I had oral surgery on Thursday. I have one side of my face swollen and I look like a monster, but it is getting better. 
 
Bless Snell, I have slept pretty well all of Thursday and Friday. I have a meeting on Sunday with one of my writing groups. I hope my face will be less swollen and my headache and mouth pain will be better. It has greatly improved this morning. I am president of the Southern Sisters in Crime group so I hate to miss. 
 
I am watching a huge pileated red pecker on the suet block this am. He is beautiful. All the smaller birds are there and just ignoring him.
 
James has branched out with his glass blowing and is making these incredible squids on rounded ball. The legs are very delicate, but just lovely. I included his fox as well, these are his two newest interests. I hope the pictures comes through. 
 
Hope all is well with you and your's.  
 
Marlene

Hey Y'all,
I am a bit behind on everything, not just the October news.  I think I have more pies than fingers and I am up to elbows in sticky stuff.

If you are in the Snellville area, I hope you can stop by the Elizabeth Williams Library this Saturday (11/3/22).  Local authors will be there to talk about their books and writing.  We also have the opportunity to sell our books. It begins at 1:00pm

On Nov 19, from 2-7:00pm, I and my friend Lynn Hesse will be at the Walnut Grove Festival at the City Hall.  Stop in so see all the beautiful decorations. 

Dec 3, three of my writing friends and I will be at the Snellville Performing Arts festival.  The program begins at 9:00 and ends at 2:00 pm.  

I wish I could say I have finished another book, but I can't.  I am trying, very hard.  I have Tricks, Tips, and Techniques for Using color to Enhance Learning and Study Skills.  I need to edit it and then send it on to someone who is a much better editor than I. Working on the title. Suggestions? Send your ideas to me (mrat30052@aol.com).  If your title is chosen I'll send you a book as a gift. 

I need only to organize and edit another book like Life is hard. Soften It with Laughter.  I am struggling for a good title.  It is another collection of humorous essays based on the foibles of life. Please send me your suggestions (mrat30052@aol.com). If your title is chosen you get the first book off the press as a gift.

If God is willing and the Creek don't rise, I hope both will be done by the end of the year. Unfortunately, I think the Creek have sharpened their arrows and are lurking in the back yard.

Are you a writer?  Monroe Walton Center for the Arts in Monroe , GA has opened up an Author's Guild and will sell your books. You must be published and you must join MWCA.  For more information contact Barbara Barth (bb-bjd@comcast.net).

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving and take care.
Hugs,
Ms Rat

​Marlene Ratledge Buchanan will be the guest speaker at the Gwinnett Country Retired Educator Association event on March 18, 2022. 


GCREA will be celebrating its 50th anniversary providing support to all people involved in  Gwinnett public education. It is a subsidiary of Georgia Educator Association (GAE), which Marlene joined in 1972.   

Ms Rat Writes March, 2022 Newletter
 
Rabbit, Rabbit, Y’all
            The chant of “Rabbit, Rabbit’ said upon the waking on the first day of each month brings you luck. Sometime in the early 1900’s this tradition started. No one knows where or when or who, but saying “Rabbit, Rabbit” supposedly brings good luck due to the rabbit being a symbol of spring and renewal. 
 
I am not superstitious. Not very much.  I like black cats. The number thirteen doesn’t scare me.  We married on December 13, 1975. So far, thirteen has been good to us.

I am not scared to walk under a ladder, but why take chances. My best friend Pickle (AKA Dotti) walked under a ladder, fell down and had a black for a week or more.  Why tempt fate?

Superstitions are interesting, but not dangerous. Knock wood.

If we are together and you hear me mumble “Rabbit, Rabbit”, it isn’t superstition so much as a trying to get any good luck I can. Oh wait….  Okay, I like superstitions that bring good luck, not bad. So I guess I am a little bit superstitous. Aren’t you? Just a little?
​
Spring arrives March 20
            Spring is almost here and I am ready.  The daffodils are amazing. The pear and cherry trees are starting to bloom. Things just seem happier and more maneage in the srping.
             
The Hummingbirds are the way to our area.  1/4 cup sugar to 1 cup water makes a great nectar.  Change it every other day.  Do not add color.  The birds are attracted by smell not the color red.
 
Soon, I can start bushhogging.  My favorite past time.   Please note the other matching pair of boots is in the bottom of the pond. Neither boots nor golf carts float.  You’ll have to read Life is hard. Soften It with Laughter to get that story.
Did you know? The Colors of Spring and Easter are yellow and purple. I was born on Easter Sunday—many Sundays ago.  Purple and yellow are my favorite colors.  I wonder if it is just a coincidence.

Events
I have been invited to speak at several programs this spring. I hope you will join me. All of the programs are designed to be light hearted and bring a smile, if not an outright guffaw! (I hope).

Please consider me for any of your gatherings. You can reach me online. (I’m cheap. Just let me sell my books.)

Our son James will be 40 in March. How did that happen? I swear I still feel the labor pains. I know I haven’t lost all that baby fat I put on while pregnant. Here he is at DAY ONE with his Granddaddy, James E. Ratledge.

And here he is pushing 40. Dang, time moves quickly.
​
A New Book
            Finally, I have a title for the next book. Smile! It smooths the Potholes of life. It will be another collection of essays based on the foibles of life—yours and mine.  I hope to have it out in May. Keep your fingers crossed and Rabbit, Rabbit.
            In the works is a collection of short stories? I don’t have a working title yet. They will be ghost stories with humor. I was thinking about Boo, Y’all. 
            Anyone want to read my stories as they are written for corrections and cohesiveness? Let me know if you do. It is almost like being an editor, but not quite. You get to have your opinion and your advice heard by me. I don’t think I am hard of hearing.
A Huge Thank You
As always, thank you for taking the time to read my newsletters. I welcome your comments and suggestions.
I write regularly for the GwinnettCitizen.com. My column is Hey Y’all, and can be found under the Opinions section.
Please check out my webpage and sign up for my newsletters. www.MsRatWrites.com
Happy Spring, Y’all
 
(Please forgive any mistakes. I know I make them. It just proves I am human and don’t have an editor.)
​

​Recently I was asked by several people about how I became a writer and got my books published. I didn’t exactly go about things in the normal way.

Snellville Patch was very popular at one time. I wrote a letter to the editor about topic of which I have no memory. The editor contacted me and asked if I would be interested in writing for Patch. I accepted and Hey Y’all was born. I wrote articles on the Snellville Saturday Farmer’s market, festivals, and events around town. I also wrote about some of the history of Snellville. Then the editor changed and Patch re-organized and I wasn’t needed anymore.

My friend Cece Landress wanted to write the great American novel-or at least a story or two. She and I decided to take a class taught by Carole Townsend. Carole has published many articles in newspapers and with a number of books to her credit.

Cece and I went to Carole’s book launch of Blood in the Soil. There we ran into Auveed Cawthon, owner and editor of the Gwinnett Citizen, a monthly newspaper. (www.gwinnettcitizen.com) Auveed asked if I would be interested in writing for her paper. I did and the rest leads up to my books.

I attended a newly formed group named the Walton Writers. There I met an author, Tori Bailey, who was developing her own publishing company. With her encouragement, I collected a number of my better Hey Y’all columns and added some more and created Life is Hard. Soften it with Laughter. I used this phrase a lot-long before the book.
 
Here is where my advice begins with you wanting to write. Join some author groups. Choose wisely. Explore Facebook and the Internet for potential groups to join.

There are two groups in our area that I strongly support. Scribblers Web and Walton Writers. Membership in both of these groups is free.

This first I would encourage you to join is Scribblers Web. It has a number of meeting in person locations My group is the Snellville Scribblers. We meet the third Thursday of the month at Main Street Restaurant and the last Monday of each month on Zoom. Both programs start 6:00 pm. 

Scribblers Web is designed to help you with the business end of writing and getting yourself published. I encourage you to join and peruse the past newsletters for a better feeling of the organization. We do not focus on critiquing your work, but you may share it with the group. This group has everything from cover artists, editors, web designers, publishers, and more. You are invited to submit your questions at any time. Look at the on-line bookstore and you will see we have writers from all genre.
Walton Writers, which you can find on Facebook at Magical Muse Moments Create, Paint, Write, meets the first Thursday of each month at 7:00 pm. Monroe Walton Center for the Arts  is the home of this group. The goal is to help you with the business end of writing, but also with an eye to work content. Monthly discussions on activities, events, and opportunities take place. Also, people are encouraged to share their work for critique/review.

Another part of the Magical Muse Moment is Second Saturday Mic Night. It currently meets on Zoom (7:00 pm second Saturday of each month). Authors, musicians, and all creative people are asked to participate by sharing their work with others. Participation will strengthen your presentation skills. The feedback you get from the others will strength your work.

I attended a number of writers’ conferences. Some were a complete waste of money and time. Again, choose wisely. Don’t pay to attend a romance writers group if you don’t like to read or write romance. Sisters in Crime is a great resource, but if murder isn’t your thing, look elsewhere.

I would encourage you to explore Atlanta Writers’ Club, probably the oldest writing group in the southeast, and perhaps beyond. There is an annual membership fee. AWC host monthly meetings in person and/or on Zoom. There are two general conferences a year. This year AWC will sponsor a meeting for independent authors; those who publish personally. You will get great information from attending any of these conferences. 

The best conference I ever attended was Southeastern Writers Association. It will be held in June at Epworth-by-the-Sea. I plan to go again this year.

My best advice for anyone who would like to write. Put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, or grammar. Just write your thoughts. It doesn’t matter what it says or how you say it. Just get it down. It is never wrong. It is just the beginning of a new adventure.

A southern humorist, Marlene has won the 2020 Georgia Independent Author of the Year for Life is Hard. Soften It with Laughter and 2021 GIAYA for A Place with a past. She is available for speaking engagements. You may reach her through www.msratwrites.com

Here is my latest essay—A Letter from the Queen. I hope you enjoy it. It is longer than most I have written.
A Letter from the Queen
Good Day, everyone. I am Figaro, Queen of the Buchanan Cat House. I want to tell you how things are around here. Mama has thrown a snit fit. A pretty good one for a human, but not as impressive as mine can be.
Apparently, Mama thinks she is overworked and overburdened. There are four of us superior beings and two humans living in this house with her. As far as we are concerned she has only one job. To feed us and to remember to keep our crunchy bowls full at all times. She has been rather rude in this last job lately. She keeps putting this nasty green powder on our crunchies. 
            She read this Feline Food Enhancer would be good for us, especially me. I tend to throw up a lot. Personally, I think I am purging my system of toxins. She thinks I am sick. I wonder if she thinks I have a touch of anorexia, but I don’t. I am a svelte fourteen pounds, all muscle. I outweigh all of the others by two to eight pounds. I need the weight to keep the others in line. Especially my flashy sister, Mystic and the social misfit, Samson. I just have to look at Gracie and she behaves. I have power in my stare.
            Mama can hiss and spit like a cat. If she didn’t pull out her whiskers, she could look really ferocious. She can hiss and spit like a cat. 
She also keeps her claws rather long and shiny. I don’t understand why she puts that colored stuff on them. She keeps taking it off and putting different colors on. Find one, for heaven’s sake. Mine are beautifully long and sharper than hers. She must be jealous because she keeps making Daddy or our human brother Bubba help her trim cut our nails. Truthfully, our nails are prettier and much more effective than hers. I have taken our servants down with one good swipe when I didn’t want my manicure. 
Mama has some strange ideas. Since her last cat, Ramona was brain injured by inhaling a bot fly, an evil insect from South America, Mama refuses to let us outside anymore. We eat her indoor plants. We need the fresh greens in our diet. Her prized Walking Orchid is quite tasty. I think Mystic ate the last bud yesterday. No flowers this year.
Mystic and I were found at a trash compactor by Bubba. We will forever be grateful he got us out of the parking lot. The traffic was awful. It is better living here where they wait on us, which is what the servants are supposed to do. I like to go outside, though. I love fresh grass. That stuff Mama grows in the pan for us is inferior. Monkey grass has the most vitamins and minerals. It also makes the best patterns when I throw it up.
Mama thinks she has so much to do. I don’t know why “tax time” stresses her out so much. She is causing a problem for us superior felines. Grandmama’s dining room table is our place for viewing what goes on in and outside of the house. Now Mama has covered it with papers and folders. The pencils are okay. We like to knock them off on the floor and hide them. She fusses when we skid across the top of the table and papers fly everywhere. Gracie, the baby, loves it. 
Gracie can jump so high. Her favorite sound is paper tearing and glass breaking. Old glass makes a very satisfying crash. Mama also makes a strange nose to accompany the sound of breaking glass. You should have heard her when her grandmother’s vase hit the floor. Those high pitch whines are not good for my delicate ears.
Daddy went ballistic last night. Daddy hardly ever gets upset. Daddy organizes all the “financial tax things” which is just a bunch of paper. Then Mama does all the “tax stuff.” Daddy had been wasting hours of time placing all those papers into specific stacks. Mystic hit the table with one magnificent leap. I was very proud of her acrobatic skills. Gracie and Samson stood up and batted at papers as they flew through the air. It was great fun. Of course, that kind of behavior is beneath me. I watched from the top of the Queen Anne chair, one of my thrones.
Mystic loves Q-tips. If the drawer where the Q-tips are kept is left slightly ajar, she can pull it open. She lifts one Q-tip at a time out of the cup. Last night, she pulled them all out. She likes to throw them in the air and spin around with them. When she gets tired of them she hides them under the furniture. Mystic was so happy. Mama had refilled the cup yesterday. 
Back to Mama’s hissy fit. She is good at them. She is trying to get two books completed for a deadline. I am SO TIRED of her talking about the plot in the ghost story. She needs to make the cats roles much more prominent. The second book is like her first. This one will have lots of essays glorifying the four of us, too. I do resent that crack she makes about tumble fur weeds. It is her fault. If she paid more attention to us and combed us more often, we’d have less loose fur to soften the look of the house.
This morning she was carrying one of our food trays into the kitchen. She feeds us in two different places. When Samson, the psychotic, found his way here, she fed him in her bathroom to keep him isolated. Truthfully, she should still keep him in isolation. Samson is a Scardy Cat and a bit odd. When he is upset he uses the bathroom in inappropriate places. Heck, I can stand up and look at him and he will lose it, usually under Mama’s desk.
Yesterday, I managed to get outside. That made Mama mad. She kept yelling and trying to catch me. I finally ate all the grass I wanted and came in. And, I had to wait for her to come back to open the door for me. I mean, she didn’t want me out so why didn’t she stand at the door waiting. I was only out 15 minutes or so.
The monkey grass doesn’t have any tender shoots up yet. I was forced to eat the old foliage. I supplemented with some of the Walking Orchid leaves. During the night, I blessed her with not one, but TWO, large throw-up spots right where she walks from the bedroom to the kitchen. They were well textured and patterned puddles, too. There is third one, but she hasn’t found that one yet. 
Mama doesn’t wear shoes. She likes to be barefoot. Well, so do me. I can’t blame her for that. This morning, she must have been in a particularly hazy state of mind. She put one bare foot in a puddle and slid. To regain her balance, her other foot came down in the second artistically designed gift. The food and water on the tray went in one direction. Mama went in other. Thank goodness Mama was wearing her pretty panties this morning. Everyone got to see them.
Fussing and cussing Mama got up off the floor. She did not show any cat-like gracefulness, either. She kept slipping and sliding. Daddy can’t hear thunder, but he felt the whole house shake. Mama is the one who should be eating that gross green powder. She needs to lose the weight.
 Daddy and Bubba helped Mama up. We gave our support from afar. Everyone started picking up broken glass, cleaning up the floor, the wall, and the counter tops. Gracie and Mystic did their part by knocking the dry food all around the kitchen and den.
And then, Bubba realized all of his work pants were in the washing machine. He forgot to turn the machine on yesterday. We don’t fool with that silly pants stuff. We are beautiful without them. And so much softer than the naked humans.
Mama was trying to de-slime her feet and legs. Something about not walking vomit all over the house. Bubba asked Mama why she didn’t wash his things. Daddy was snickering. I didn’t know Mama’s eyes could pop out like that. Mama got real quiet. That is never a good thing. Silently, we smart ones left the room. 
Samson has been upset recently. He has been sleeping at Mama’s feet. Mystic sleeps at Daddy’s feet. Gracie sleeps in that old chair in the bedroom. I have my own room, in which I allow Bubba to sleep. Yesterday, Samson was on the couch asleep. He was between Mama and Daddy. I decided I should be in that place. I got up there and Scardy Cat jumped down. He wasn’t happy. He would retaliate. Not my problem. 
When Samson is unhappy, he believes he is punishing us, his sisters. His doo-doos on the scratching pad. Makes no difference to rest of us. We use the chair in our parents’ bedroom to sharpen our nails; the one they think is so wonderful because it is really old. It belonged to somebody who has been dead for eons of time.
During the night, Samson did his thing. You know those house shoes Mama doesn’t like to wear? Yep, Samson got both of them. After she took the second bath of the day to rid herself of all my throw up, she put her feet in the slippers. 
That’s when Mama sat down and pitched the fit. There was this really low grumble. The whole house got quiet. Mystic was toting her “baby” around and talking to it. She likes to do that. She wants to mother everyone. Mama gave her a ‘baby” which is just a ball of softness. Mystic talks to it. When she heard Mama, Mystic stopped and laid her baby down. Gracie who had been running through the house and over the dining room table trying to make all the papers explode again, stopped. Samson went into hiding. We haven’t seen him since.
Bubba got dressed in some other black pants. He very quietly got his stuff together and went to the car. Daddy walked in and said “What’s the matter?” Big mistake, Daddy.
Mama carried her house shoes to the toilet and emptied Samson’s gift from them. Then she threw her shoes into the trash can. Her eyes were real squinty and she was talking in a tight voice.
“I’ve had it.” OOOH, it is never good when Mama Talks in that low voice. “The ironing is backed up. The house is a wreck. Laundry needs to be done. I have a deadline on this book. I need to do all the taxes. I have to work tomorrow, and I have just stepped in cat poo-poo.” Mama used a nasty word there, but I cleaned it up for you.
Mama got back in the shower. That was the third bath of the morning. Humans really like that spraying water and stinky soap. Personally, I think it is awful. A few licks and her feet would have been clean.
She got dressed and stomped off into the sunroom. She really needs to work on her sulky walk. Cats glide. Mama thundered through the house. Daddy and Bubba left to take Bubba to work. I don’t know if Daddy is coming home soon. I wouldn’t if I were him. If they would let me out, I’d have gone with Daddy.
Gracie is in Mama’s closet. She is on the floor under all of Mama’s clothes. It is a good hiding place. The closet is so tight you can’t get anything else in it. Mystic took her baby to Daddy’s closet. They are on the shelf behind his suits. He never wears his suits so she can make her nest there. I don’t know where Samson is. He is the best hider of all of us. He should be in hiding. I think his poop is the straw that broke the camel’s back. Stupid expression. We don’t have a camel here. I, on the other hand, am on my pillow in Bubba’s bed. That is my space in my room. I will sleep until Mama calms down.
Then I will go to her. When I do my little moo dance, she stops what she is doing and pays attention to me. She’ll talk that insulting baby talk to me. Then she will give me my just desert, one mini-moo of half and half creamer. While she pours it, Mama sings Blue Moo, I saw you standing alone or Moo over Miami to me. She doesn’t sing very nicely, but she means well. And I get my moo, so I put up with her.
You see, as the Queen, I have made everything okay.