The Cat and the Preacher - Part 1

When I was a youngster, every Saturday we couldn't wait for our favorite serial movie, Flash Gordon (Buster Crabb) and his arch villain, Ming the Terrible. After 25 minutes, we'd be left with a cliff-hanger scene, and we'd have to wait for the next week to see how Flash and Dr. Zarkov got out of their impossible problem. Well, here' my current project I plan to show in bits and pieces, so you'll have to see what happens to the hero "next week." Be sure to buy Kellogg's Sugar Corn Pops and get strong 12 ways with every vitamin and mineral known to science. And enjoy the show.

The Cat and the Preacher
Richard A. Burns

After the thud of her sudden fall, uttering an understated, habitual, “Oh, my!” and the interminable struggle back up, her long scrawny fingers of her left hand curving over in a desperate dance, clawing the edge of the bedroom end-table, her right hand gripping the mattress hard through the bed covers because she was afraid the hand-knitted bedspread might give way, she managed to hoist herself up, first on to her bony knees. Pausing there, swaying like she was about to be blown over, white-haired Matilda Graham then pushed, grappled, and strained, surprised to finally be standing, surprised she could stand at all steadily. It was only her second fall that day, and she was glad it was over a thick carpet on a wood floor.
She yelled out to her companion: “Oh, Cinnamon, where are you?” Whenever the cat was with her, it always gave her a sense that everything was okay, as it was meant to be, rather heavenly, in fact. "Come here, kitten!" Her high quavering voice could still carry quite far, but no cat, no kitten, no anything.
Then, the “Yeow!” of her pet, loud as any fire truck siren, emminated from somewhere on the other side of her bed, a modest twin bed that looked out of place in the large expanse of her master bedroom. A louder “Yee-oww!” made Matilda step faster, but gingerly around her bed, feeling for the edge of it to make sure she stayed stable. Around the corner, perhaps from the master bath; that’s where its coming from, she thought.
“Oh, Lordy, Lordy, girl. Why don't you come to me when I need you?" She let go of her bed and turned the corner into the vanity. The kitten–she called the cat her kitten–sometimes would be curled up there in the sink, rubbing its whiskers on the clean, dry marble sink in a strange, cute, friendly way, but Matilda didn’t see Cinnamon anywhere in the vanity.
The cat squalled, clearly from the shower room now, and that kind of scared the elderly lady. Too unusual.
"Cinnamon, come here, right now, girl.” She tentatively let go of walls and walked with care through the vanity area and on into the shower room. She heard the wail of her Cinnamon another time and Matilda braced herself with the door frame. No cat on the toilet. Not in some corner on the floor of the smallish toilet-and-shower room, either.

(Have your mother buy Bosco chocolate syrup, boys and girls. Stir it into ice cold milk. Tastes great! And it's nutritious, too.)

Click link below to continue reading this furry story.
http://writerichly.blogspot.com/2010/02/preacher-and-cat-part-2.html