Chapter Two: Lady Sara, Queen of the Cat Kingdom
I decided to call my cousin, Sara, to see if she could help figure out a way to make Suzy like the mailman. Sara is in my homeroom class, but is actually a year younger than me. She moved to Bradford from Alabama last year when her dad accepted the head basketball coach position at the high school. The position came open when the former coach, Coach Doyle, left to help his wife start their new soup company. Mrs. Doyle made the best Doodle Soup in the whole world. She had won first place at the Bradford Doodle Soup Festival for the past nine years.
Unfortunately, when the Doyles moved to become rich and famous, their daughter, Autumn, had to move with them. Autumn was my best friend. Autumn and I had many adventures together, including starting our own snow cone making company that helped me raise money to go to the Paris Fish Fry last year. Dad says that our exploits are legendary. Legendary or not, I really miss her.
Although we are cousins, Sara and I have become best friends since she moved to Bradford. Sara is different to say the least. While I want to become a chef, scientist, and a veterinarian, she simply wants to become a cat. The first time she told me that she wanted to become a cat, I chuckled and asked her why. “Because cats have nine lives,” she calmly replied.
I still don’t know whether to take her seriously or not. One thing is for sure, though, Sara loves cats. She has eight cats of her own. Their names are Happy, Dopey, Sleepy, Grumpy, Prancer, Comet, Cupid, and Blitzen. If the names sound familiar, it’s because she named them after her favorite movie, Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, and Santa’s reindeer.
I’m not sure what her fascination with cats is all about. Before Suzy came along, I used to have a cat named Kitty. Her real name was Precious, but it would only come to me when I hollered, “Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.” Kitty and I never clicked together the way that Suzy and I have. I always thought it was because she was so selfish. I thought Kitty really liked me at one time. I remember once when she jumped in my lap, began purring really loud, and began rubbing her face against mine in a show affection. I thought it was affection anyway. After I fed her a can of food, she began slowly walking back to the bedroom. I called her to see if she wanted to sit in my lap where I could pet her and rock her to sleep. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, turned to look at me, then turned back around and kept walking to the bedroom where she promptly made herself comfortable in the middle of my dad’s bed. Maybe it’s just me, but I thought that was just plain rude.
Eventually, we gave Kitty to a neighbor that I affectionately called Aunt Sue because she often gave me a ride to and from school when I was running late. She even invited Autumn and I over for cookies several times. Aunt Sue’s children had all graduated and she thought Kitty would make a nice companion in their absence. Whenever I go over Aunt Sue’s house, I usually see Kitty snuggled up in the middle of the recliner sound asleep. I’m not sure how the selfish cat makes such a great companion, but Aunt Sue said Kitty reminds her of her late husband.
I explained my dilemma to Sara and she told me to come over her house and she would help me think of a solution to my troubles with the mailman. Despite Sara’s goofiness, she is one of the smartest people that I know. Recently, she won first place in a spelling bee that included students from first through fifth grade. In a few weeks, she will be representing Andrew Jackson Elementary School against students from neighboring towns in the county-wide spelling bee at the Doodle Soup Festival.
Sara answered the door wearing a purple cape, a crown that looked like the ones that are given to contestants in a beauty pageant, and her Kozmic Kitty costume that she wore last Halloween when we went Trick-or Treating.
“What’s with the costume?” I asked.
“I am Lady Sara, Queen of the Cat Kingdom,” she proclaimed.
“It’s a good thing that I didn’t bring Suzy along. He might not recognize you in that get- up,” I teased.
“I’d hate to have to use my super cat claws on him,” Sara hissed as she swung her hand in the air like a tiger tearing into its prey.
“I’d hate that too,” I said. “In the meantime, have you got any ideas on how I can make peace between Suzy and the mailman?”
“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I’m starving. “Let’s go inside and fix something to eat. We can talk it about it over lunch.”
We went inside to Sara’s lair. Although her house was nice, the sight of cats everywhere made me nervous. There was a big, furry monster in the window sill, a calico colored kitty on top of the TV, a Siamese cat asleep on the headrest of the couch, and a solid black creature rubbing against the bottom of my leg. Normally, Sara’s parents do not let her keep the cats inside of the house, but Sara’s parents were both out. Sara had let them in while she pretended to rule over the cat kingdom.
Sara removed the bread from the kitchen cupboard and began preparing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for us both. After spreading the peanut butter on the bread, she proceeded to insert the peanut butter infested knife into the jar of grape jelly.
“Are you not going to clean the knife off before you put it into the jelly,” I asked.
“Why?”
“Because you’ll get peanut butter inside the jar of jelly. You’ll make a mess,” I replied sounding like my dad.
“It’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They’re supposed to go together,” she said as she spread the jelly across the bread already covered with peanut butter.
Sara held the knife up before dipping it back into the jelly for another sandwich. The edgeless knife was now covered in a mixture of peanut butter and grape jelly.
“Peanut butter and jelly aren’t meant to be separated. They stick together like glue,” she explained. “Pretty soon, I’ll have enough peanut butter in the jar of jelly that I won’t even need to use the jar of peanut butter when I make a sandwich.”
“You can buy it already mixed together. I think I saw a jar of it at the grocery store. Why don’t you just get a jar of it to save you the trouble of having two separate jars?” I asked.
“They don’t use the right kind of jelly in those jars. This is Grandma Becky’s homemade jelly. It’s the best jelly in the world. I won’t use anything else in my sandwiches.”
She was right. Grandma Becky definitely makes the best jelly in the world. If she would mix it with peanut butter like those other brands, she could sell it at Wal-Mart and become rich.