Jamie
10/6/2019
9:44:32 AM | |  | | | Click on the picture |
Hello, Cheryl and Mel.
I did not grow up on a farm.
However, I do have an addition to this thread.
When I was a child, I had a really NASTY cat named Butterscotch. For reasons that still bewilder me, my mother used to let her sit out on the front porch with a long leash wrapped around one of the pillars. One day, Butterscotch managed to wrap herself around that pillar one too many times and just about created a noose for herself. When my father rescued her from near asphyxiation, Butterscotch literally ripped his arm to shreds; he was a bloody mess after being a Good Samaritan. That’s how mean that cat was, my very first pet.
Anyway, my sister and I used to torment her, which may have played a role in why she became so ornery. We had a playroom downstairs in the house, and we had a baby buggy for our dolls. We used to dress Butterscotch in baby clothes and strap her into the buggy, face and belly up, so that she could not move while we wheeled her around the house. It’s a miracle that Butterscotch did not scratch us within an inch of our lives when we wrestled her into dresses and baby bonnets. I can easily recollect the look of sheer misery on her face, unable to wrestle her way out of captivity.
Butterscotch is likely in kitty hell (she really was NOT a nice cat!), but she was incredibly beautiful—white with butterscotch-colored spots.
I wish I could go back in time to when I was a little girl, just for a day. I’d give her a big hug and kiss on her little kitty nose.
Jamie
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