My Writing
CLEOPATRA
It was my bowling league night. Between frames, I turned and saw a little girl awkwardly holding a tortoise shell kitten and whining to her mother, "Mommy, look at what I found in the little girls' room! Can I have it?" After a couple of firm noes, the kitten was placed behind the counter.
A kind hearted waitress found some milk, put it in an ash tray and set it in front of the kitten's nose. It quickly disappeared. Minutes later, I looked again. In spite of the noise, people yelling, pins banging and clanging, the little kitty was fast asleep with her head cradled in the ash tray.
As soon as I could, I went up to the counterman and told him, "Save that kitty for me!" There was a creature that knew God would never give her more than she could handle.
Immediately after the game, I claimed her. On the drive home, she snuggled and purred. I carrier her to my apartment and placed her on the floor. She took one look around as if to say, "So, this is my new home". And once again she was purring.
In time, I provided companions for Cleo. Caesar was a cute little black kitty, slightly retarded and very, very loving. He shared our home for about two years before his untimely death. Several months later, I went to the pound and found what I truly believe was the most beautiful calico cat I have ever seen. I named her Sheba. She and Cleo developed a very special bond, but my brave little Sheba died from cancer when she was but a year and a half old.
During her whole life, Cleo had only one toy she truly loved. It was a little white chickie with a yellow bill. The morning after Sheba died, I awoke to find that little chickie on the pillow next to me. Cleo recognized that I was devastated. For some time after that, she offered her beautiful, warm comfort in that manner. And, of course, I knew she was reminding me that God would never give me more than I could handle.
A few months later, I brought home two little males, a short-haired half white and half tabby and his brother and litter mate, a long haired fawn colored kitty. A couple of years later, I added an abandoned, abused cat. He was beautiful black long-haired green-eyed very frightened and would not allow anybody but me to touch him.
Cleo, in her own special way, helped to make all these changes possible. We all became a very close family.
During her lifetime, it was necessary to move several times. Although the "boys" took time to get adjusted to their new surroundings, Cleo always greeted each new place with her, "So, this is my new home!" outlook.
When I was undergoing therapy for cancer I was always tired. As I reclined on my couch I had a cat to the North, East, South and West of me. Cleopatra chose a spot just above my head and every now and then I would feel a paw, patting me ever so lightly on my head. There was no doubt she was reminding me that God would never give me more than I could handle. Of course, she was right.
When she was about 15, we started out what turned out to be a very special routine. Late in the evening, I would call out, "Bedtime for the babies!" Then I would prepare for bed, fluff my pillows, and place one pillow slightly on top of the other. As I got in bed, I would say, "Come on Cleo, your pillow's ready!" With that she would jump up and lie down on "her" pillow awaiting her ear rubs, tummy scratches and caresses. I would fall asleep to the sound of her purring.
Far too soon for me, Cleo began to weaken and a night came when she could no longer jump up on the bed. Two days later, a couple of months after her 16th birthday, I picked up my ailing girl and placed her on the couch next to me. I stroked her and told her how much I loved her and how blessed I was to have had her in my life, but it was okay for her to go to rest. Suddenly, she took two deep breaths and she was gone.
For one last time I held her, rocked her, kissed her and told her I would always love her. I could not hold back the tears as I buried her under my lilac bushes.
I'm sure she went to the white light. And I'm just as sure when she got through the tunnel, she looked around and said, "So, this is my new home! And, by the way, thank you for never giving me more than I could handle." -Doranne
HAPPY SWEET POTATO
Once upon a time, not so very long ago, a little sweet potato was born. He was a very happy sweet potato so, of course, they named him Happy. Happy dearly loved the beautiful field that was his home. It was all covered with lovely green leaves and there was rich red earth peeking through the leaves. He had some wonderful close friends there and didn't ever want to leave. One day, as the little potato was basking in the sun, he heard some of the other potatoes talking. Much to his surprise they were saying they had heard that full grown potatoes were taken to a market and sold and some became boiled mashed potatoes, mashed potatoes, baked potatoes or maybe even French fried potatoes. Oh woe! Well, the little fella thought about this for a long, long time and decided when he grew up he didn't want to be a boiled potato, or a mashed potato, or a baked potato or maybe even a French fried potato. He wanted to be something better. Happy was growing. And he grew. And he grew. And he grew! One day, when he was full grown, the farmer came along and gathered up all the potatoes in the field. Happy was so afraid! He looked at the farmer with his big potato eyes (all potatoes have eyes, you know) and begged, "Please, Mr . Farmer, don't send me to the market with all the other potatoes. I want to be a special potato. I don't want to be a boiled potato, or a mashed potato, or a baked potato, or maybe even a French fried potato. I want to be something better." The farmer didn't even notice Happy. He just tossed him into a big sack with lots of other potatoes and sent them all off to the market where Happy and the others were thrown into a great big bin. Poor Happy looked all around and his big potato eyes filled with tears. He cried and he cried and he cried because he was so afraid that someone would come along and take him with some of the other potatoes that were going to become boiled potatoes, mashed potatoes, baked potatoes or maybe even French fried potatoes. Now, not too far from the market where Happy was, there was a lovely little house. It was painted a soft yellow (like a baby chick) and had a pretty green lawn and white picket fence around it. A dear, sweet little old lady, named Sadie Smith, had just moved in there. She was so nice and loving, but really, really lonely because she didn't know anybody in the neighborhood yet and nobody ever came to see her. One day she decided to go the market where she bought her groceries and where she could be with other people. Even if nobody talked to her, even if she didn't know anybody, she could at least be with some people. In the store, she walked up and down the aisles, singing to herself. It was so nice to be there. And she smiled to the people she passed and they couldn't help but smile back. Sadie was just about to pass by the potato bin when she saw Happy. He was leaning up again some other potatoes, fretting and worrying when he looked up and saw Sadie looking at him. He looked right back at her with his big potato eyes and he thought really, really hard, "Please, won't you take me home with you? I just know you would be good to me and I don't want to be a boiled potato, or a baked potato, or a mashed potato or maybe even a French fried potato. I want to be something better!" Well, Sadie looked down at Happy and at his big brown eyes and for some reason she couldn't explain she just had to take that little, sweet potato home with her. She picked him up saying "My, my you are a good looking one . I think I will take you home with me. When she got home, Sadie took Happy out of the bag and said, "I wonder just what we can do with you. Somehow you seem so different, so special that I don't think you should be a boiled potato, or a mashed potato or a baked potato or maybe even a French fried potato. Now let me think." Suddenly she smiled. She knew exactly what to do! She knew how to prove that he was special. If he would work, if he would help, he wouldn't have to be a boiled potato, or a mashed potato or a baked potato or maybe even a French fried potato. He would be something special! She went to her cupboard and found a pretty glass, filled it with water and, with the help of some toothpicks, she propped Happy on the glass. Then she placed him on the window sill in the kitchen where he could sit and see the sunshine and look at the front yard and the pretty green grass and white picket fence. "Now then, my little sweet potato, let's see what you can do!", she said. "I will see to it that you have plenty of water but the rest is up to you". So, Happy thought really, really hard and then he worked even harder. And what do you know up popped a little green sprout. "O-h-h-h, look at that, thought Happy. So he thought harder, and the harder he worked, the more sprouts popped up. In no time at all, the sprouts were growing and turning into beautiful leaves. Soon, Sadie carefully arranged the pretty leaves all around the window. They looked so lovely! Sadie's neighbors soon saw the beautiful leaves in the window and they went to visit her so they could see Happy even closer. And they found out that not only was Happy special, but Sadie was too. No longer was Sadie lonely. She made many new friends, thanks to Happy. And Happy was in potato heaven. All his dreams had come true. Now he would never, ever have to worry again about being a boiled potato, or a mashed potato, or a baked potato or maybe even a French fried potato because he was something better. He was a very special very beautiful potato vine.
