Nice? Yuk. -- by KittCat

Last Monday Mom didn't get the noisy, rug-eating monster out. She didn't wash stuff and make the house smell like bleach. She sat at the computer, instead—working, nice and quiet all day. Nice.

The Saturday before that, Mom had friends in. They started out poking fun at how a lady I’ll call Mrs. Rude cuz I forget her name, was really rude to Mom. Wow. I couldn't believe all the things three women could do to make Mrs. Rude wish she hadn't been tacky. I was thinking the next time Mrs. Rude saw them, she might wish she’d never been born.

But then they got serious and agreed the witch was in worse shape than a soggy kitten caught in a storm drain. Poor thing was not creative, not too smart, not pretty, not ever dressed nice, not from a happy home, and if her husband is nice, for sure the one before him wasn't  Poor Mrs. Rude. Sad, really. Worse. Pah – thet – ic. They said.

They might have joined hands and prayed for the poor woman, but Mom spoke up. “All those nots are not an excuse to act the way she does.”

As fast as I was thinking the talk was swinging back, it speeds forward. Or maybe “up” is a better word, cuz Mom added something about being thankful for blessings. Next thing I hear is how they can take the “high road.” It took me a bit, but I learned it was different from a highway, and “no more barbs” didn't mean dolls. Get this—they would be nice if they saw Poor Thing again. In fact they were finished with jibes (they’re not dances) and all forms of being catty about anybody, anytime.

When I heard “catty,” I took it as a pass for me. If catty is not so nice, but that’s how folks say cats are, I asked myself why I was on the floor instead of checking out the goodies on the coffee table. Oops! Guess I didn't catch on 100%. The “paws off the edge of the coffee table” message filled the air pretty much not-so-nice.

Well, except for Mom’s comment about my paws, she’s been real nice lately. I think she didn't trust herself, though, cuz she didn't get out much last week. She sat by the computer all day a week ago Monday, so I didn't get to write anything. Then later, she thought the computer got a germ, so she couldn't write tacky emails. As it turned out, the computer was OK, but the telephone company had gone crazy.

I didn't get to write yesterday cuz Mom had to call about the computer. She was nice on the phone, nice to the guy who came out, even nice to me when I sat on her best printer paper.

Nice. Nice. Nice. Wanna know what nice really is? --Boring. Boring, boring, boring. 

(c) 2012, Bernice W. Simpson

Friendship and Stuff -- by KittyCat

I’m confused.

First, my tabby friend, Snook says I spelled it wrong: soshell—it means really nice and friendly. OK, so I’ll spell it her way, but lots of times I don’t know when to believe her, cuz Snook’s favorite topic is talking about what she does better than me. I think when she runs out of real stuff, she makes things up just to bug me.

Thought I knew what social means, but now am confused about that, too. A man, Mr. President, was on TV one day—just smiling and talking to folks, real friendly like. A guy visiting us said something about Mr. President being the socialest. That’s gotta mean more social than anyone else, but the guy frowned, like that wasn’t such a good thing. “Anymore and he’d be red” said this guy.   

Well, I didn’t see Mr. President getting all red faced, and why should he? Nobody said anything to make him look stupid. In fact he was the only one talking. Red? Maybe the guy can’t see color so good. I’ve heard TV people say Mr. President is black. Mom says he’s half black and that makes him half white, and what does it matter anyhow?

Dad doesn’t say much—you can’t tell for sure if he agrees or disagrees with people. Mom’s different. She said “red” was a little strong, but Mr. President did lean to the left. Maybe I missed it, but he stood up straight when I looked. I’ve never seen him leaning left, but he does look real funny getting off his airplane. He holds his hands just like dogs do their paws when they’re begging.

Mom said Mr. President is begging—for votes, but he won’t get many from her friends, cuz Mr. President is turning lazy people into freeloaders.

About the first thing Snook ever said to me was that I was a freeloader. “And I’m proud of it,” I said, knowing she was jealous cuz I moved in. “And if I’m one, then you’re one, too,” I said. She tried to tell me how her getting adopted by Aunt Pen was different than my moving in here, but I drowned her out by saying “freeloader” over and over. She jumped at me, so I went to the door to escape outside.

Snook can’t go outside much because this doctor had a big student loan to pay off, so he talked Aunt Pen into letting him take Snook’s front paws’ claws. I can’t see why anyone would buy them. What good’s a claw without a paw?

Snook’s on vacation with Aunt Pen. I guess I do know what social is, cuz I miss her. We argue a lot, but sometimes we just sit or snooze in the same room, and like it cuz we’re more than social (if that's how you spell it)—we’re best friends.