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Miss Kitty!
Are you busy?
“Who me!” I answered in-between my moment of frenzy. My mother sometimes had the knack of calling me when I least needed to hear from her.
“Yes you!” Stated Miss Kitty.
Now, I need to stop here to let you know that Miss Kitty is my mother. Her full nickname is Miss Kitty of Gunsmoke, two guns in the holster, to shot you up bang bang your dead aka the Drill Sergeant. Fortunately, these days, she is just known as Miss Kitty, my mother.
“Who else would I be talking to? What are you doing?” Miss Kitty’s voice came over the phone loud. I had to hold the receiver two notches away from my ear.
Of course, I didn’t want to answer that question. It meant going into GREAT detail as to why I was on the floor scrubbing gum off four sections of the tile in the kitchen. There was NO WAY I was going to confess that one. MISS Kitty had a way of getting information out of you when she was the LAST person you wanted to give information to. She had a look and technique that Father Confessor would die for. I mean no one else in the neighborhood struck a cord of fear throughout the neighborhood, just by her appearance.
My girlfriends would look and approach her with awe.
The baddest boy on the street bowed his head down to her in reverence.
The adults would rat us out to get into her favor, which landed them on her "hum" list.
Miss Kitty’s sidewalk was the cleanest on the whole street. Folks were scared to step on it. The plowman would shovel her sidewalk. In the summer, the sweeper cleaner would clean in front of the house twice.
The mailman delivered her mail 8:30 a.m. sharp.
The major would stop by and bring her coffee. He stood on the outside of her fence and she stood on the inside. They would discuss the issues of the neighborhood.
She had a “No Stay After School Policy” (which my middle sister abused to the limits) and had it enforced every school term. To this day, I never knew what transpired between my second grade teacher and Miss Kitty after she kick the door in. (My teacher wanted to reward me for my good behavior). Needless to say, after that I was always the first student in line to go home.
The dog on the corner as mean as he was would not bark at her when she strolled by.
Oh, and let’s not forget the practical jokes that were played on us. I fell for the fake cupcakes. My brother had the rubber frogs and spiders planted in his room.
When I wanted to go to my first party, it took two of my twelve moms to convince her that it would be all right.
Miss Kitty never saw any of our pay stubs, but you can believe she could tell each one of us, how much we were making when we started our little summer jobs.
Yup. That was our introduction of Miss Kitty: my mother.
“Mom, if you must know, I am trying to figure out how to do something that I haven’t figured out.” I responded. I’m trying not to make any movements as she could probably pick up on the background noises. (It’s also called how not to answer your mother with a straight answer)
“Well, it looks like you don’t have time to talk.” She uttered.
“Okay Mom. I promise to call you in about an hour.” I stated with a sigh of relief.
“Oh about the gum on the kitchen floor. I still ain’t telling.”
Ps. Miss Kitty, now you are truly famous!
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