Notes from Candice Ransom

Happy Thanksgiving . . . from Atticus!

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Read my face: disgusted.  I’ve been living in this house almost a year but if the people here don’t shape up, I’m leaving.

First Mama got sick.  They say cats love sick people, and it’s true to a point.  Nothing better than a warm body in the bed, somebody bringing food.  But Mama kept emitting noises.  Disgusting.

Then Daddy got sick.  And nobody was taking care of the cat!  Some mornings I didn’t get breakfast until 8:30!  Unacceptable.  Treats?  Forget it.  Whenever I wanted to play, Mama just coughed and told me to go away.

Today is Thanksgiving.  Daddy, who has done all the hunting and gathering of food, bought an already-cooked turkey, already-made mashed potatoes, jars of gravy, cans of cranberry sauce, an already-baked pumpkin pie.  We have had Thanksgiving every night since Monday!  I am sick of turkey!

Yesterday Mama crawled out of her death bed and said it was time to take the Christmas card pictures.  I was thinking she’d make a good Halloween card, with her hair looking like she’d been pulled through a hedge backwards and her pale green face.  But no!  She meant me!

“Last year,” she said, hacking, “I put Winchester in that chair, told him to look sweet, and snapped one picture.  That was the card!”

Do you know how many times I’ve heard about that other cat?  “Winchester never carried on like you do.”  “Winchester had his own blog.”  “Winchester took the best pictures.”

And Winchester never messed up as many pictures as I did.  Hee-hee.  “The worst Christmas card we’ll ever send,” Mama grumbled.

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You know what?  Something funny happened to Mama this year.  Last year she kept saying how much she didn’t like Thanksgiving and hated Christmas.  She didn’t want to put up a tree, or bake cookies, or drive around and look at the lights.  She took the decorations down on Christmas Day.  I hardly had any time to play with all that stuff.

Me, last year. Aren't I cute?
Me, last year. Aren’t I cute?

Then Mama and Daddy went to New York City a few weeks ago (where Mama picked up those germs, serves her right, leaving me here by myself except for the neighbor who fed me).  Anyway, between nose-blowing, Mama talked about Christmas.  She sounded kind of excited.  The decorations were already up in New York.  Must have put her in the mood.

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So yesterday, Mama and Daddy went to Walmart.  They bought lights for the bushes and a lighted wreath and stuff for the porch railing and little lighted trees.  Mama has never put up outside decorations before.  Blue lights on the bushes!

I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t get a Santa Claus for the roof and reindeer for the yard.  After that already-made Thanksgiving dinner they’ve eaten all week, it’s obvious their taste is all in their mouths.

Now that I think about it, I’m grateful Mama and Daddy rescued me from the SPCA, even though I was very popular and would have been snapped up in a heartbeat.  Still, I’m glad it was Mama and Daddy.  And I kind of wish I’d met Winchester.  I bet the two of us would have kept Mama on the run!

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Guess I’ll stay after all.  Happy Turkey Day!

11 thoughts on “Happy Thanksgiving . . . from Atticus!”

  1. Happy Thanksgiving, Atticus! I liked your story and think you should have your own blog just like Winchester and that your Mama should write a book about you. 🙂

    Your friend,
    Cornelius Bear

    • I hope you-all aren’t having haggis! We were in Edinburgh one Thanksgiving many years ago . . . ate a terrible tuna sandwich on the train and wished (but only for a second) we were home.

      Happy Thanksgiving from us all, even that rotten Atticus.

  2. Glad to see Atticus had your backs and got you feeling better.
    I hope you have a happy and healthy Holiday Season!

    Thankfully yours,


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