The Curious Case of Captain Cuddle-Wuddles (Prequel)

It is much to my dismay, gentle reader, that I say the following: over the past month, numerous letters have poured in expressing a growing dissatisfaction and criticism with my poor coverage of local events here in Rocky Top. Marcy Fisher, wife of local cricket farmer Jiminy "Cricket" Fisher, expressed her dissatisfaction in no uncertain terms, complaining that their "cricket farm was on the verge of bankruptcy due to the lack of local news updates" and threatened to "tar and feather" me if I "didn't get my head on straight" and "get the latest gossip from Ralph's". Ouch. Even the newly appointed Tennessee Governor, Mr. Haslam, expressed his concern, although in a much more diplomatic fashion, warning me that his "media team is currently re-evaluating the validity of this news site, and are possibly considering a downgrade from its current top-tier news source status to a third-tier tabloid status". Yikes. But, the most scathing of them all was sent from none other than the old grizzled Grumpy Frank Van Popple himself, who lives in the green mobile home on the outskirts of town. Below is an short excerpt from his rather lengthy 7 page letter:

"...leapin' lizards, if it ain't ol' sweet Sally himself! You call this news coverage, city slicker? Spit! I check this blasted website for news updates every dad-gum diddley day, and what do I see? Horse manure! Gobbledygook! You think just because you won that high-flutin' award last year for 'Tennessee's #1 News Source of 2010' or some other hogwash, now you can just ride high on the horse, huh? Well, you listen to me, young buck..... I've hung a man or two in my life, and that don't make me no judge or nothin', but phooey! If you call this chickenscratch 'news', then you're fuller than a tick on stump-liquor! .... Hey, if I were you, I'd call it quits and pick up some trade you might be good at, like quilting or crocheting, sissy boy! I'd call it quits and put it down like I put down my old housedog Rusty last year! He sure was a good dog, ol' Rusty was. Trusty Rusty, we call'd him, and I'd bet you a can o' beans and my wooden leg he could do a heck-of-a-lot better job deliverin' the news than you ever could. We outta tie a millstone to your feet and hurl you into the dad-gum Tennessee River, you snake-oil sellin' Yankee..."

Well, what can I say? One day, the people adore you and want to place a laurel around your head; and, the next day they want to tar and feather you, tie a millstone to your feet and hurl you headlong into the river. But, perhaps some of this criticism isn't without justification? If I were to enumerate every talent a human being could possibly have, extrapolate those talents linearly onto a spectrum, and then analyze where my own talents fall on said spectrum, they might look something like so:


As one can see, my one (and only) true talent in life is foraging, which, despite its playing an essential role to the survival of our distant ancestors who subsisted mostly on berries and roots, is not exactly an area that is likely to be considered "indispensable" by most modern societies. That is to say, my most innate talent in life places me in the same category as it would a small rodent, such as a squirrel. Or, maybe a chinchilla. This may or may not be a surprise to you. What will certainly be a surprise, however, is my second most innate talent, which was more of a recent discovery - rescuing stray cats. And, it is one that, unlike foraging, still retains a high degree of practical application here in the 21st century. All this to say what?

Allow me to elucidate, dear readers, the dramatic and redemptive story of Captain Cuddle-Wuddles, the prodigal kitten. Perhaps then, Mr. Van Popple, Mr. and Mrs. Fisher, Governor Haslam and the thousands upon thousands of other blessed readers south of the Mason-Dixie line and east of the mighty Mississippi, perhaps then you will understand and maybe even forgive my apparent unexcused absence from the wonderful world of local news.

It all began on the incredibly uneventful and unremarkable morning of...

(to be continued...)