Category Archives: Southern humor

Cat Training

I have a fluffy white cat, she is long haired; an heirloom cat. The cat is heirloom because I inherited her. This cat originally belonged to my parents and then to my older brother, all have passed on – yet the cat is still around. My parents got the cat the year before my father passed on and kitty was my mother’s best friend until she died; then my brother adopted the cat and he passed on. A friend suggested maybe I did not want this cat due to her track record with owners. Me being me, I just couldn’t give her away; she was a good friend to half of my family. I have two additional siblings; both have cats and refused to take her. I was very hopeful when I picked her up that my greyhounds wouldn’t eat her, as she bears a strong resemblance to a rabbit (they haven’t)

The cat had the unlikely moniker, Sweetie Pie. I can still hear my mother with her Southern accent  in a high pitched voice exclaiming “she’s my little Sweetie Pie”. My husband decided having a cat named Sweetie Pie would not enhance his masculine reputation and we began to call her Miss Kitty, which was fine with the cat as long as she was provided with ample treats.

The poor cat, after surviving the loss of two humans and a terrible case of fleas came to our house, half bald and weighing six pounds, and was presented with two very large dogs. I took her to the vet first thing and she was fine, but I wasn’t – she had put her claw through a tendon in my hand as I was (foolishly) trying to comb the dead fleas out and my hand was getting infected. So, I took the cat home and took myself to the human doctor. I was given antibiotics and told to immobilize my hand for three days. Of course it was my right hand and I use that one most.

Coincidentally, I had been wearing an Ace bandage on my foot for an ankle problem and I ended up with one on my hand as well. I saw the vet later and he said I looked like I had been to Afghanistan. No, I had not been to the Middle East. It was a minor skirmish in the kitty wars.

The cat took one look at the dogs and went under the nearest bed. The dogs didn’t seem to bear her any ill will – they just wanted to smell her to see what she was. I think. I was concerned because one of the dogs had tried to eat a couple of small animals (no house pets were ever harmed-a snake had an unfortunate demise being trampled to death by 70 plus pounds of Greyhounds at full speed). Eventually all was well and the dogs figured out it was OK and they shouldn’t bother the cat. The cat stayed under the bed for about six months until we went out of town for a couple of days.

We came back, opened the front door and the cat was there to greet us, yowling. She turns out to be quite vocal to the point I had to put a set of steps up to the bed so she could sleep by my head. She was waking me up 5 times a night yowling so I would put her on the bed. My husband sleeps right through it. I have actually trained the cat to use a step stool so she can come and go as she pleases without disturbing me. Or did Sweetie Pie (Miss Kitty) train me? Hmmm…

Here’s the kitty now, she is flea free and weighs over 9 pounds. The weight may just be the fur.

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10 Reasons why I am a Bad Southern Belle

A properly arranged bridal shower tea

A properly arranged bridal shower tea

I was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia, attended and graduated from Tucker High School followed by the University of Georgia and lived in Georgia for 50 years. I have a great deal of experience in being Southern.

That said, I am not a good Southern Belle.

For those of you who are uninformed about Southern ladies; there are a lot of rules. Things that must be remembered and feared, lest you provide fodder for gossip.

My mother was a Greatest Generation Southern Belle raised in South Georgia who believed in and followed the rules. She did her best to imbue me with the knowledge of how to be a proper Southern Belle. It worked better on my sister.

While many people have been impressed with my memory; these rules did not stay with me.

Here are the ten reasons I am not a good Southern Belle:

1. I like dark meat chicken salad.  Go figure, an old friend of mine (a gay man) from extreme southwestern Georgia told me the women in his hometown gossiped about ladies who use dark meat in chicken salad. I can believe it.

2. I have limited variety in my shoe wardrobe and I hate white shoes. To be properly southern you must follow shoe color restrictions during certain seasons. It is considered very bad form to wear white shoes or certain articles of white clothing before Memorial Day or after Labor Day. Winter white is an exception, but there are additional rules for that. Patent leather shoes are another big deal. In my opinion, if you are in high school you are too old for patent leather shoes.

3.  I detest Euphemisms: no Southern lady ever farted, pooped or sweated. They “make smells”, “have a BM”, and “glow”. I find Midwesterners very refreshing in this regard. They call it like they smell it, hear it or see it. I married one.

4.  I like wearing black to weddings, black is slimming. If you are truly a Belle there is no wearing of black to weddings,  with the exception of shoes and accessories, that is OK.  The inference (supposedly) is mourning of bride or groom’s mistake. Really, the little black dress should go everywhere.

5.  Vulgarity in many cases is amusing. Southern ladies say “Don’t be vulgar”…why not? It’s fun.

6.  I enjoyed swimming as a teenager, but was told “Women of your breeding don’t go to the swimming pool”  I was always flummoxed  by this; especially since there was no air conditioning?

7.  I believe health problems should be recognized for what they are. We have no alcoholics or addicts; there is “hardening of the liver” or “a little problem” I have heard someone say “his liver is like a hockey puck” Colon cancer is not considered a topic for polite conversation.

8.  I am pretty certain all women go through menopause. Southern ladies just don’t admit it. I can remember seeing my mother sweating profusely in the middle of winter and asking her about it. “Nothing was wrong, Daddy had the thermostat set too high”, she said.  Then she told me it only took her one day to go through menopause and it was no problem. I am still choking on that one.

9. Not freezing at Easter; I think this is a good idea. A proper Belle breaks out and wears their spring clothes at Easter regardless of the weather. You would think this is where winter white would be a good idea. I think you have to stop wearing winter white before Easter. But I really never got the whole winter white thing.

10.  The best reason is the last. My father was from Connecticut. My mother explained Southerners should always marry Yankees to assure the viability  of the gene pool. It gave me a good reason to wear white in October and go to the swimming pool. My Yankee genes must be dominant.