Kitty in the Straw

Found a tiny kitty in the calf building this morning.  It appears adorably fluffy and cute, but hisses and spits when approached by giant humans like me.

“Kitty in the Straw” led me to think of “Turkey in the Straw”, the song I plunked out on the piano for my first recital, circa mid-1960’s.  The momentous event took place in the hushed sanctuary of a white clapboard Baptist church in a small town a few miles from my family’s farm.  We grade-school-age students sat in a row in the first pew, nervously awaiting our turn to perform at the piano up front.  Most likely I was spiffed up in church clothes, which in those days meant a dress, knee socks, and patent leather shoes. 

Our piano teacher was a very short lady, barely taller than us kids.  She wore a hairnet and had a moustache thing going on.  She gave piano lessons in her home, a big, old white house which was filled with Victorian-style antique furniture and the rhythmic ticking of clocks and metronome.  Often, while waiting for my lesson to begin, I would sit on a red velvet settee, paging through the several Jack & Jill magazines which were always there.  Sometimes, I would tiptoe to the ornately-woodworked doorways of other rooms to take a peek at the contents.  (I’ve always been intrigued by how houses and rooms are designed and furnished….a fancy way of saying, “I’m a SNOOP!”)  Sometimes, I got caught---the piano teacher, who was giving a lesson in an adjoining room, would notice me wandering about.  She would cease her counting out of beats to the measure and would tell me to please go back and sit down. 

Sadly, my old piano teacher’s house is no longer in existence, having been torn down a few years ago to make way for the construction of a rest home.  I often wonder what ever became of that velvet settee and all the other interesting antiques.