Thursday, February 5, 2026

Book Review: Little House by Boston Bay

Book Review: Little House by Boston Bay

Author: Melissa Wiley

Date: 1999

Publisher: Harper Collins

ISBN: 0-06-440737-3

Length: 195 pages

Quote: “This Francis Scott Key is a fine poet. My hired man says folks have set it to music already—you know that old air ‘Anacreon in Heaven’?”

Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote nine books about her early life. Although fictionalized enough to preserve people’s privacy (in real life there were six children, in the books only four), the books were based on facts. They were recommended to, and often enjoyed by, middle school readers partly because of their wealth of accurate historical detail. Eventually the books inspired the Little House on the Prairie TV series and enabled Mrs. Wilder’s nieces and nephews to preserve a family museum as a tourist attraction.

Nieces and nephews had to operate the museum, because Mrs. Wilder’s one daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, had no children. Mrs. Lane did, however, bond with younger protegés, particularly with Roger Lea MacBride, who produced the TV series and later wrote his own series of stories based on the childhoods of Rose Wilder Lane, of Caroline Ingalls (Laura’s “Ma”), and of her mother and grandmother. Well ahead of their time, these women had learned to read at an early age and left enough letters and diaries to allow book-length reconstructions of their childhood memories.

The ancestor of Rose Wilder Lane who was a child when “The Star-Spangled Banner” was a new song was Charlotte Tucker, born in 1809. In this book, she’s a little girl just starting school, much interested in songs, recipes, and war news...the kind of thing it takes to make a five-year-old’s sheltered little life into a book older children and adults will read.

As a fictional character Charlotte lacks some of the individuality Laura Ingalls Wilder was able to give herself and sister Mary, even when she wrote about them as five-year-olds. Wiley has, however, given her a thoroughly researched historical background. Her story is recommended to middle school readers who prefer their history dramatized rather than simply narrated. 

Book Review: The Light Fantastic

Book Review: The Light Fantastic

Author: Terry Pratchett

Date: 1986

Publisher: Harper Collins

ISBN: 0-06-102070-2

Length: 241 pages, plus appendix, crossword puzzle, and ads for otherr books

Quote: “The very fabric of time and space is about to be put through the wringer.”

There are lines in The Light Fantastic, like the quote above, or like the opening—“The sun rose slowly, as if it wasn’t sure it was worth all the effort. Another Disc day dawned, but very gradually, and this is why...”—that could be mistaken for Douglas Adams’. Don’t be deceived. Discworld is a different, more optimistic place than Douglas Adams’ ultimately tragic universe.

Then there are lines like, “‘Rincewind, all the shops have been smashed open, there was a whole bunch of people across the street helping themselves to musical instru­ments, can you believe that?’ ‘Yeah,’ said Rincewind, picking up a knife and test­ing its blade thoughtfully. ‘Luters, I expect’,” that could be mistaken for Piers Anthony’s...but although Anthony was the one who steered me to Discworld back in the 1980s, Discworld is a different, ultimately less optimistic place than Xanth.

Anyway, this is one of the long, rambling Discworld comedy/fantasy series. All of Discworld is threartened, although you have to read ar good way into the book to find out by what it’s threatened this time, and it must be saved by Rincewind the incompetent magician, and Twoflower the planet’s first tourist, and Twoflower’s Luggage, a rather appealing creature in its own right...and since the suspense in this kind of book consists of finding out how they all reach the improbable happy ending, that’s probably as much as a review should disclose.

This book is recommended to (a) readers who don’t know Discworld yet, but enjoy logical nonsense, and (b) readers who came to Discworld late and need the early volumes (this is volume two) to complete their collections. 

Long & Short Reviews: No Plans to Watch the Super Bowl

This week's Long & Short Reviews prompt asks whether we plan to watch the Super Bowl; why or why not.

Well, that's good for a short post. I don't plan to watch anything in my TV-free home. There have been years when I've been enticed into someone else's home to watch a professional sports event. The local lack of popularity of the teams involved makes it unlikely that that'll happen this year.

I am seriously interested in sports events when the kids playing, or cheering, or playing in the band, are related to me or to close friends. Otherwise, I can take them or leave them alone. 

I do have some tiny residual vestige of preference for some teams, based on where they call home, who's playing, and who else used to cheer for them in my family:

The Washington team, even in sports I don't watch, because Washington is my city. I even knew a few of "our" players; in fact a Washington Redskin who played for one season and then became a school coach was a masseur to whom I used to refer some clients.

The Green Bay Packers, because my father and an uncle used to cheer for them.

The Baltimore Ravens, because my husband used to cheer for them when I was cheering for "our" Redskins, just to make things interesting, he said.

The San Francisco 49ers, because the boyfriend used to cheer for them and they were a good team, that year, having both Jerry Rice and Steve Young.

The Indianapolis Colts, because my Significant Other used to cheer for them, because it was politically incorrect to like them. A colt is a young horse, a lovable lifeform that makes a good mascot, but the Colts got their name from a man whose ancestors might have raised or trained colts--who knows?--who made his fortune selling firearms. 

But, Seattle? New England? A team based that far away would really have to own a sport to have any following here, and they've not done it. Yet.

Web Log for 2.4.26

Rain at least compacted the snow, and cleared enough space on the road that the odd jobs man's utility vehicle was able to come up just as the animals in the neighborhood started to run out of feed. The cats got an inferior grade of kibble, explained as the only kind left in the store, and were glad to see kibble of any grade again. I'm low on human food, but if no more snow falls I expect to be able to pick my way out with a stick when I run out of human food. Deliveries will certainly be welcome; dangerous heroics are not necessary.

Books 

Would you, too, like to receive more free romances than you can read? Click here.

Tolkien and his dragons...why he called the big bad dragon Smaug.


Bookshop is doing a promotion of new nonfiction for Black History Month. I recognize only a couple of reprints in their list. Let's just say that all books by Zora Neale Hurston are interesting--she was quite an interesting person, and a gifted writer--and may become your favorites, and all libraries for grades seven and up need a copy of Martin Luther King's Letter from Birmingham Jail. The others, well, they're on sale and may be good. Buying them through the link below will help the Cat Sanctuary.


Cybersecurity 

Whatever did I say that multiplied my readership by five? Satisfactory numbers of readers are in the US, in Germany, and in Brazil, but why are four or five times as many in Vietnam? Heads up, Google! Masses of views from a country that one has not been writing about, where one does not know a lot of people, tend to come from organized spammers and scammers. If people in Vietnam are actually reading this blog, that's a different thing, and they're welcome. But I suspect these views are coming from digital malware.

Health News 

Currently used MMR vaccine does not necessarily give immunity to measles:


And some scientists think some vax really can trigger autism in some patients, though the explanation of why they don't have that effect on most patients is strictly theoretical.


Politics

(The rant was written in response to some headlines that didn't really need links; you've already seen them.)

The hush of the snow dampens the clamor of politics, and for those who turn on the news the brawls of idiot Yankees are there to distract attention from what our Spamburger is quietly doing with the legislature--ramming through all the new legislation we do not want, including "sanctuary cities" rubbish so we can reenact the Minneapolis civil war right here. 

The Left are gushing emotion in that hammy, fakey, out-of-touch way that make me wonder how much, if any, of it they actually feel and, if so, how much of it actually has anything to do with the events they rant on about. Oh, oh, woe and wail, poor little Renee Good was so good and poor little Alex Pretti was so pretty and we just know they are in Heaven now, though if anyone on the Right mentions Heaven they're the first to sneer at the antiquated fairytales to which we bitterly cling. It gets nauseous.

Renee Good was a homicidal motorist. She may not have seen herself that way. Most of them don't. They're just a little bit careless, had just one drink too many, didn't think it would matter, until they've hit somebody. We all saw the video: Good's car, or would you call it a van, SUV, whatever, bumped the agent. Good's driver slammed on the brakes. Good squawked "Drive, baby, drive." At that point the agent shot her and, fine man that he undoubtedly is, he let the driver live, which is more than I would have been likely to do in that situation. Are the Left grateful? They are not. Though according to someone at Quora Good's last words were "I'm not mad at you." Did she mean the driver or the agent? Who knows? Who, actually, cares? Somehow I don't think the hysterical left-wingnuts do. I think, if Good had been a Republican and had hit a street cop when not protesting an order given by President Trump, the people screaming loudest about her death would be celebrating it.

Alex Pretti was, we are told, a nurse. On what hospital's payroll, then? Oh, he was a volunteer nurse. Maybe he was. Maybe there's a hospital that doesn't snap up a young healthy male nurse who is qualified. The financial situation in most American businesses has been deeply weird since the COVID panic, so I'm not saying it's not possible. Anyway what we all saw on video was Alex Pretti kicking in the taillight of a motor vehicle. Approached by policemen, he ran. Surrounded by policemen who ran faster than he, he reached for a loaded handgun, putting left-wingnuts into the position of having to defend his right to bear arms. His apologists claim he had been trying to "comfort a woman." That wasn't on the video. In the last minutes of his life Pretti was not concerned about comforting anybody.

But it may be true. Alex Pretti may have been trying to comfort a woman who wanted to keep beside her some man who had just been loaded into the vehicle he was kicking. Renee Good may even have been trying to feel whatever she thought forgiveness to be toward the agent who shot her. 

Nicki Minaj, that well-known spiritual teacher, outraged some people who preferred her when she was singing, or screaming, whatever, about sex and drugs. She supports the President. Roseanne Cash, a quiet and independent musician who doesn't need to try to be a celebrity like her father, outraged some of her fans, too. She supports the protest. 

Let's put it this way. Some of the "refugees" and "would-be immigrants" the Left wanted to bring in to prop up Social Security are, in fact, the scum of the earth, not welcome back in their native countries and not welcome here, and if they're loaded onto leaky ships no one will shed one tear. And then some of them are the salt of the earth, and have more right to be here, more right to be breathing up oxygen in this world, than some people who were born here. I am, Donald Trump, related to an outstanding example of just how vile it is possible for a Virginia gentleman to be. Why don't you send him to Somalia and give some "immigrant" who is willing to work a decent job that pays White man's wages.

I don't hate Nicki Minaj if she wants some creep who's been stalking her deported. I don't hate Roseanne Cash if she wants some friend of hers to be able to stay here. What's going wrong with all of us, anyway, that we're letting ourselves be so "polarized' about this? Who benefits from our being "polarized," anyway? Well...the cause of global tyranny does. The cosmic Evil Principle does. Do you believe anyone else does?

Faith of our fathers! we will love
Both friend and foe in all our strife...

Where are the Christians loving and supporting one another across this present strife? 

Tom DeWeese asks whether the Rs have a plan to win elections this year:


I think practicing good will toward our foes in this strife (which does not mean letting them win any elections) might work.

Zazzle 

A new trend is giving bags of coffee as favors at parties that may run far into the night. For each gift-sized bag you buy, $1 goes to help protect butterflies and their habitat.

Brother Guinea

For some months now I've had sitting in a folder the Roads End Naturalists' best wildlife photos from their visit to South Africa in 2024. 


Everyone who goes there always photographs lions and zebras, so what caught my eye was the photo of a guineafowl in its native glory, strutting among the lions and zebras. 


(Photo from the Mother Earth News)

This bird is often kept with free-range chickens in the United States as a sort of watchdog, or watchbird. It is less lovable than the chickens, or even the ducks and geese. Guineas never become pets, even if they're reared indoors and snuggled and fed from your hands. They never seem to like chickens, ducks, geese, or turkeys much either. They stalk around pecking at ducks and chickens, dodging geese and turkeys. They make loud noises when they are contented, talking to one another, and even louder noises when they are startled; they really grate on the ear. 

But in Africa, long ago, people noticed that these birds could be useful when they are semi-domesticated, or domesticated to the extent that their very limited ability to learn anything new will allow. 

The story of how guineafowl could be useful developed into a folktale I've heard and read a few times. More authentic printed versions used to be available in the folktale collection sections of public libraries, before the War on Nonfiction Books started. The tale of Brother Guinea is obviously exaggerated for comic effect, but also obviously based on fact...

Once upon a time there was a good, hardworking woman who couldn't have children. Because she had no children to help her in the garden she couldn't raise as many garden crops as others in the village, and was consequently poorer than they were. Even her husband left her for another woman, who was lazy and mean-mouthed and not even pretty, but she certainly did have children. Horrible spoiled children who ran over the childless woman's property and damaged the crops in her little garden. And when the childless woman told them to stop, the mother of these brats came out and called her names. So the childless woman, through no fault of her own, felt very unhappy and, not having heard of Christ, she went out into the forest and begged the forest spirits for help.

The names of these women have been lost to history. Let's call them Righteous Rosie and Nasty Nellie. Being Africans, they lived in little round houses they had built for themselves out of wood, mud, and straw. Everyone in the village, even the children who were big enough, had his or her own house. Being married to the same man, however, Rosie and Nellie built their houses close to his, so they saw more of each other than either of them really wanted to see.

As Righteous Rosie finished venting her feelings to the trees and sat down on a rock to rest, up came a guinea fowl and spoke to her. 

"Nasty Nellie's children call me an ugly bird and chase me away," he said. "I will help you if you will help me. I want you to fix me a pen in your little house." (Everyone in the village, even children once they were big enough, lived in little round houses they had built for themselves out of wood, mud, and straw. No two people really lived together except for little babies who stayed with their mothers.) "I want you to put a perch at one side of the pen, and a dish of grain and a dish of water at the other side, so that I can be safe with you. I will go out to work all day just as all the humans in the village do. You should call me your brother--Brother Guinea. Even though I can't build a house, you will find me as good as a real brother."

If this bird could speak, Rosie thought, who knew what else it might do? So she went home and did what the bird asked. Brother Guinea went into his pen, ate his meal, drank his water, and slept on his perch all night.

In the morning he followed Rosie out into the garden and picked out weeds and insects, tilled and fertilized the ground, and had soon cultivated a few rows of soil where Rosie planted some more vegetables. She was delighted to have the help and thanked Brother Guinea as she set out his evening meal. They got on very well. Rosie raised more food to preserve and sell. 

The clothes she wore to market were worn and faded, quite embarrassing, so she bought a new dress. It came from the same place as one of Nellie's dresses, but it was obviously a different dress--for one thing it was a few sizes smaller than anything Nellie could fit into. For another thing Nellie's dress was getting old and faded, too.

One day Nellie scolded one of her children. He was behaving just as disrespectfully toward her as he did toward Rosie, and Nellie was not going to have that! The child went back to his house, thinking that it wasn't fair, that his brother was doing something that was just as bad, and their mother just liked his brother better than she did him. "I'll do something about that. I'll bring her something she likes," he thought. "But what does she like? Well, she liked that dress made of the same kind of material old raggedy Rosie brought home from market. Maybe she'd like to have Rosie's new dress. Rags are good enough for Rosie." Nellie had never taught him not to steal. He sneaked around Rosie's house and watched as she lay down to sleep. He started to sneak into the house.

"Yak yak yak! What's that naughty child doing now!" screamed Brother Guinea.

The child ran back to his own house, and did not try to steal anything from Rosie's house again. Though he was still a spoiled brat who stole food out of any garden he might happen to pass by, or more likely run through.

Rosie and Brother Guinea kept working. When the farm work slowed down Brother Guinea went back to the forest and found a wife. Rosie built a house for the family the guineafowl soon began to raise. By now most people respected the birds, and most animals respected the people, enough that the guineafowl were safe and could rear their families, which is not so easy for wild guineafowl to do.

"Who ever heard of building a house for some ugly, nasty birds," said Nellie. Actually she would have liked to have had a Brother or Sister Guinea, but none of the birds would talk to her as they all did to Rosie. 

Next season Rosie and the guineafowl family put out a big garden, planted lots of vegetables, and had a fine crop growing. Nellie's children came out to raid the garden. The guineafowl pecked and bit their legs and chased them back home. It was hard to tell whether the scratches on their legs came from guineafowl bites or from running through fields, but their legs certainly were scratched up, much more than usual. "Tend your own gardens," the guineafowl hissed as they came back to work with Rosie in their garden.

Now those horrible brats had a grievance. They caught a few guineafowl by their stringy necks and killed them before the other guineafowl drove them away. 

"We'll eat these birds and then we'll come back and get you," one of Nellie's sons threatened.

In reply Brother Guinea pecked his eye so hard that he could hardly see out of it for the rest of his days. Still, the children went home, built a fire, and roasted the guineafowl they had killed. They ate the poor birds' flesh, though they didn't think it tasted very good. 

That night the murdered guineafowl came back to life. They pecked and scratched their way out of those children's bodies. Some say the children died; some say Nellie was able to sew them back together, but they were very sorry for what they had done and never bothered Rosie or the guineafowl again.

Rosie and the guineafowl had more money than they needed. Rosie gave some of their money to poor people in the town. With some of it she bought some meat and had a big barbecue party. Her husband was sorry he had left this wonderful woman. Rosie told him to try to be a good father to his children and teach them the morals and manners Nellie was failing to teach them. Maybe he did. Maybe they even had the great good fortune to meet a missionary, though at the period of history when this story takes place it would have been a Muslim missionary. Maybe they even learned how to read.

Rosie and the guineafowl lived happily ever after, and so may all people who are kind to guineafowl.

Tuesday, February 3, 2026

Book Review: Second Chance Class Reunion

Why are today's posts so late? Need you ask? This is the Big Freeze. We still have solid ice under six inches of slippery powdery snow. In Virginia even one inch of snow puts things on a "snow schedule." Today's posts, and likely tomorrow's, are running on a snow schedule.

Title: Second Chance Class Reunion

Author: Kit O'Neal

Date: 2026

Publisher: CRB

Quote: "She hadn't known he had a son."

In high school Daisy and Jake were a couple. Daisy stayed in their small town, running her family business. Jake moved away; Daisy heard that he'd even become sheriff of a town about an hour's drive away. Now he's back for their class reunion, and both of them have been with other people, even had children, but they're still single. Daisy doesn't want to get involved with Jake unless she knows he's going to stay around.

And, because this is a sweet romance, he is. He's going to fit into her family business like a hand into a glove. Jake is my kind of book boyfriend; no babbling about sex, no crazy ideas about her leaving what she has and flitting off to chase some dream of his, no attempts to appeal to "feelings." He just rents a room for himself and his son, gets to work, and gets things done, showing what an asset he can be. There should only be more men like that in the real world.

I enjoyed this short, clean romance. If you like short, clean romances, so will you. Watch for it on Amazon in a week or two. (I received a review copy with a few typos toward the end. You'll get a better copy than I did, no worries. Typos didn't spoil the story.)

Petfinder Post: Thinking Outside the Litter Box

Yesterday was the coldest day I personally have survived in my own home. A colder day occurred in my lifetime but I wasn't here that day. From time to time a little rattle outside would indicate that enough warmth was escaping through the roof for a little water to drip from the eaves. Other than that nothing melted; the snow that had started to melt in the sun, the day before, was a little denser but not even really crusty. The snow was deep enough for Silver's head to stick out if she held her head up high, which she does not normally do. Hello? This is the little princess who decided, after spending last winter as an indoor pet, that she didn't want to be outside when temperatures were even refrigerator-cold.

"Isn't it time you went out for a break?" I asked the cats.

"NO," Serena nonverbally said. "I already had mine." Serena had spent most of the morning keeping Drudge company in the cellar. 

"I need one," Silver nonverbally said. I went to the door. "I'm not going out in THAaaat," Silver nonverbally said. 

"Well, I suppose today is enough of an emergency that you can use the emergency litter box," I said, going back to the computer.

The cats have a small litter box in the office, which Serena has actually used, and a bigger, newer one they have agreed not to use. They reached this agreement by giving each other the evil eye when either one approached it. Silver approached it, sniffed, and apparently decided to wait.

I should have known,..

Serena was sitting beside me on the bench in front of the desktop computer.

Silver quietly walked around to the bench, but went under it rather than jumping onto it...and the next thing I noticed was an odor. Quite a strong odor for a young female cat. She must have been holding in for a day or two. That, or she's picked up something worse than the worms that apparently responded to Worm-Eze, during her summer as a feral cat.

"Silver!" I yelled. "What is WRONG with you?"

Silver scuttled back to the litter box and pointed. 

Serena had used the litter box. After months of detente, when Silver had probably thought she was entitled to use the new box first, Serena must have used it quietly, one night, not wanting to wake Silver and me. The litter had absorbed the odor and most of the dampness, but Silver knew. And her way to vent her feelings about Serena's having left her odor in the box was for Silver to leave her odor right...below...Serena's nose!

Cats have strong feelings about that sort of thing.

"I wouldn't have a cat," said the odd jobs man, whose sister has a Cat Sanctuary several miles from here. "They are nasty animals. They run into the house just to make a mess on your floor."

"If they do that, there's a problem," I said. 

"Yes, there's a problem," he agreed. "The problem is that they are cats!"

Actually it's not that bad, but there are indeed situations that cause indoor cats to leave messy messages outside the litter box. There is always a message. You will want to clean up the mess, and you really don't want to do permanent harm to the cat, whatever your emotional reaction may suggest...but you don't want to ignore the message either. The cat is telling you something you need to know. Some common possibilities:

1. Your cat is male. Males don't leave solid waste where they eat and sleep unless there is a problem, but they scent-mark their territory. The simplest solution is not to let a male cat come inside the house. (This does not solve the problem of what they'll do on the steps, porch, paths, fence...) If you do want to keep a male cat indoors, have him neutered before he's really noticed that he's male, as early as the vet will do the operation. If it's too late for that, you can try giving him a selection of litter boxes all over the house and cleaning them regularly so that he wants to scent them first, but resign yourself. You will be doing a lot of sniffing and scrubbing. A mild bleach solution, like the one with which Chlorox Wipes are saturated, will react with the mild ammonia solution the cat has applied to the house, producing a mild whiff of vapor that would be dangerous in stronger concentrations and a chemical reaction that removes urea and, often, paint and other surfaces. Expensive enzyme formulas are more efficient and less likely to eat into the surfaces of your walls and floors. 

2. Your unaltered cat wants to attract a mate. Cats don't go to bars, so the quickest way they can tell other cats they're available is to leave hormone-saturated personal odor at the edges of their territory. Outdoor cats usually do this in places where humans don't notice it. Indoor cats sometimes do it in the house, sometimes near a door. If you don't want kittens, winter is the best time to spay a female cat. (Males can be neutered at any time of year. Females are more likely to have started kittens already, complicating the procedure, when the weather is mild or warm.)

3. Your cat is sick, usually either as a result of eating something it caught outdoors (most birds that cats can catch will make the cats sick), eating human food it found indoors, or reacting to chemical pollution in air, water, or even cat food. Sick cats often try to eliminate the problem as close as possible to their humans, or where they're sure their humans will find it. They're asking you for help. If the mess shows evidence of something other than simple food poisoning, like worms or blood, get the cat to the vet as fast as you can. If it looks like simple food poisoning but persists for more than an hour or two, you may feel better later if you rush to the vet, but person may be as baffled as you and cat are. Food-grade charcoal powder (one capsule as sold at Wal-Mart emptied into a cup of water, stirred up, given from a syringe) will adsorb most toxins and infections right away and even relieve symptoms of feline panleukopenia, improving the cat's chances of survival. Taking the cat to a place where it will do relatively little damage, such as its carrying cage, for observation will show the cat that you care. 

4. Your cat is expressing irritation with something you or another cat did. The mess will probably be where you or the other cat is, and the cat may make a point of showing you what it's doing. A cat who is really ticked off may climb onto your lap or shoulder and express its indignation right down your clothes. While moments like this can test people's commitment to keeping the cat, or at least to keeping it indoors, it can be helpful to put the cat in "time out" for a few hours while reflecting on your sins and considering what to do differently. 

5. You didn't clean the place where the cat made its mess before. Cats react to faint traces of their own bodywaste odors as territorial markers, and may think they need to refresh those markers as their scent begins to fade. Then again, while even cats who share food may like to have their own litter boxes, which are certainly marked with their scent, cats will abandon a litter box when its odor gets too strong; daily cleaning with just a little fresh litter is better than less frequent cleaning with more. Scrub thoroughly this time, and consider applying an odor cats hate to targets other than a litter box. Original formula Listerine, a mix of mint, thyme, and eucalyptus, is good because it's repellent to cats (toxic if it gets on their skin or into their mouths) and it keeps black mold from growing where urea may have soaked into wood.

6. Your kitten wants to share a proud moment with you. Kittens are not born with the ability to excrete bodywastes on their own; for the first few weeks someone else has to help them. When they toddle out of their nests and nibble on solid food, their mothers stop helping them and they have to exercise their growing ability to control their internal muscles. The first few little puddles and piles a kitten makes are a source of pride. Kittens are usually content for their immediate families to see what they figured out how to do, but if they're already pets they may want you to see, too. They look up at you exactly like a child saying "Look, Mom, I'm riding a bicycle!" Say something like, "Well, aren't you clever," and take the kitten to a more appropriate place in case it has more to excrete. Female kittens learn fast. Males learn fast, too, about solid waste, but never lose their feeling that their bodies' liquid secretions have the best smells that ever were or will be.

7. A new cat has joined the family. A cat who is willing to share part of the house, but claims some places as its own, will draw the line for the newcomer with bodywastes in places it claims. Cleaning will not defeat the cat's purpose and may in fact please the cat, since its odor will linger in the air anyway and no cat wants to live with piles of dung. 

8. The new cat itself may be staking out its territory, if a senior cat is not present to do that first. Commercial cat litter has a subtle scent that speaks directly to cats' instincts, saying something like "Squat on me," so kittens who have not seen a litter box before can usually figure out what it is, but sometimes their instinct to mark their territory is even stronger than their instinct to claim a brand-new litter box as their own. Clean the spot and redirect the cat to its very own litter box. (It really is good, for cats as well as for storekeepers, to buy a new box and new litter when you adopt a new cat.)

9. Some cats will share one litter box, which is very convenient for their humans. Many cats, however, really prefer to have one of their very own, and giving each cat its own box can reduce the spread of infections and parasites among cats. Sometimes a cat who wants its own box will refuse to use a litter box another cat uses. A puddle right beside the litter box may be a cat's way of saying "I want my own litter box." In the case of an extra-large cat (like our long-ago Queen Graybelle) it may be the cat's way of saying "This box is too small." Manx and Maine Coon cats are especially likely to reach a size where they really can't squat comfortably in the smaller-size boxes sold in stores.

10. The bathroom is a logical place to park a litter box and let cats use it at will. Many cats show an interest in how humans use toilets and, if the seat is left down and the lid is left up, will learn to make a plop (or splash, in houses that still have water-flush toilets) all by themselves. This is super-convenient for their humans. Few if any cats will ever learn how to flush, but to me that seems like a small favor to ask in exchange for going litter-box-free. So is wiping the seat with disinfectant before sitting on it. Some cats, unfortunately, give up on using the toilet because they'd rather use the sink, tub, or shower as their own personal water-flush toilets. I would at least try applying Listerine to the appliance before putting the cat in a shelter, but we all have our own boundaries about this kind of thing.

No doubt there are other possibilities but this short list covers most of the reasons why cats may soil the house that they regard as home. Sooner or later all cat people have to deal with this problem, but (except in the case of long-term illness) it's not a problem most of us have to deal with in every single year.

Dogs, on the other hand...I've never personally known an indoor pet dog who didn't present one or another of these problems in every single year. Probably more than once a year, given the frequency with which the problems presented themselves to visitors. Dog people either resign themselves to doing a lot of scrubbing, or keep their dogs outdoors. Dogs can learn to use their version of a litter box in the house, but they don't learn easily, and because their instincts don't include any aversion to their own excrement even if it made them sick, they do forget easily. A dog may go to the corner with the absorbent mat in it to please its master, which dogs do instinctively like doing, but many other things may distract the dog from the goal of pleasing its master--and the dog likes its own mess. This is why several of the world's religious and cultural traditions, not only Muslims, teach that dogs should be kept outdoors.

But humans are about as likely to have unsanitary "little accidents" as female cats are

Here are some female cats who instinctively like to be clean, and some dogs who have at least learned that doing things in the cleanest possible way pleases humans.

Zipcode 10101: Definitely Not Our Serena from NYC 


She was probably dumped, and was certainly recognized and brought into a shelter, because of that tumor. It's been biopsied and pronounced benign. They think this large, youthful, dominant cat is not merely a Queen Cat, but naturally suited to being an Only Cat. However, she likes humans and purrs when approached by shelter staff.

Starburst, Whose Foster Humans Call Him Bingo, from Long Island 


His web page sounds as if those New Yorkers have only just seen for the first time what a wonderful pet a coon hound normally is. Easy to look at, easy to live with, they don't demand a lot of attention but are almost always up for a walk or a game. (Or a hunting trip, if you're into that kind of thing.) They sound as if it's surprising that Starburst, or Bingo, is housebroken and gets on well with the other dogs, the cat, and the child in his foster home. The one reason why some people don't want a coon hound is the size. Starburst is about a year old and already weighs 44 healthy pounds. If you need a lap-size dog, keep looking. If you have room and time for a dog who can run about as far and as fast as you can, this may be the dog for you.

Zipcode 20202: Duchess from DC 

Just another summer kitten brought in (with four siblings) by someone who didn't want kittens and didn't do what prevents kittens happening. (Do it before the thaw!) Duchess may be a Queen Cat but is young enough that she's likely to learn to get along well with other cats, dogs, children, or other animals. They don't insist, but they recommend that you adopt one of her siblings too. They say nothing about discounts.

Lola from Houston via DC 


Lola is thought to be about two years old, more retriever than anything else. She was found living with puppies. She didn't show a protective instinct but wanted to be rescued by any human she could persuade to rescue the family. So, she chose the wrong job. She may not be suited to be a feral mother dog, but her foster humans think she'll be a wonderful pet. She weighs about 45 pounds. They will deliver her to any state or to Canada if video chat convinces them that you can offer the right home. They will want a Zoom chat with you in your roomy fenced yard. Lola is used to having plenty of room for exercise. 

Zipcode 30303: Concha from Atlanta 


She won the photo contest, hands down--she is an Amber-Eyed Silver Tip. But she's fallen into the hands of the Humane Society. Use judgment. Concha is young and may grow bigger; currently she's a small cat. She was only recently "rescued." Not much is known about her.

Mia from Bogue by way of Atlanta 


She won't win photo contests for long. She is a Black-Mouth Cur, not a pretty breed, but they can be good pets. At ten months old Mia has already learned to use the "bathroom" and "bedroom" spaces humans tell her to use, sit, stay, and shake. She behaves well with other dogs and children, too. Mia is currently living on the Carolina coast and could be delivered to other places, as well as Atlanta, for a fee.

Link Log for 2.2.26

The cats and I braced for another single-digit night. Well, at 7 a.m. on the morning of 2.2.26, in Kingsport with the heaters cranking all over town it's four degrees below zero Fahrenheit. That's twenty below zero Celsius. That's so cold that with the two small space heaters that are all the office's one electrical circuit will run, the desktop computer's monitor shivers visibly when the wind blows. 

And the cats are about to have rice for breakfast. We're out of kibble and down to one packet of rice. There's money to buy food in the house, but that's like there being a delivery truck in town. A few miles of snow on either side separate the money and the truck from the store. And the stores were running out of staples, because more snow separated them from their corporate suppliers, a week ago. And nobody's asking anybody to drive anything on a mix of four to eight inches of powdery snow, some of which melted in the sun yesterday, and solid ice underneath. So the cats get the last packet of rice for breakfast and the last kibbles and crumbs in the sack for dinner and, if the sun doesn't perform unexpected wonders this afternoon, who knows what they'll get for breakfast. Cornbread or lentils or maybe I can rinse the chili sauce off a can of beans. 

(Drudge came out to report that the cats were able to sleep comfortably through the night, cuddled together in their fur in the cellar, but they are tired of snow up to their chins and want it to melt away the way all snow in Virginia is supposed to do. Snow here is supposed to melt the day after it falls.)

Oh woe, oh wail. Even our Canadian readers will have to allow that this is cold, though they get to add that they've seen colder temperatures and we're a lot of whiny wimps, but this is the South and it's not supposed to be this cold here. 

And I am the Grandmother of Blankets and, with the blankets and the space heater as close to the bed as it could get without actually touching blankets, I was quite cozy all night. Though I am now sitting between two space heaters and pausing between paragraphs to hold my hands out to the one in front. 

In 1985 when the all-time record for an overnight low was set, I was in Washington, in a house with central gas heating, and didn't have to go outside or even into the basement where I could feel any effects of what I could see out through the double-paned windows. Right now...

If you're feeling this freeze this way, Gentle Readers, enjoy it. This is one to tell our grandchildren about some day...

--Oops. I mean, for those of us whose grandchildren aren't already here to enjoy and remember it for themselves. 

Animals 


(Photo by Ari Kankainen.)

Cats like this have been around for a long time, though they've always been rare, but only in 2024 did geneticists discover that this shade of grey is genetically different from any other shade: The cats are basically tuxies, with shorter hairs in the usual black and white pattern, but the longer black hairs on their backs and tails are black at the root fading to white at the tip. The mutation has been given the name salmiak after the trademark of a snack sold in Finland, where the cats' genetic distinction was discovered; it translates as "salted licorice."

People had just been calling the cats "marle" or "roan," but now you don't have to borrow those words for dogs and horses with similar coloring.

Education 

It's good to go back and see how things turned out sometimes, plus revisiting this old news story gives me a chance to explain something many people misunderstand...


What happened? The idea of closing dozens of public schools was discussed with the intention of deciding which of those schools to close, not closing all of them. Several schools were temporarily closed in the fall of 2024 because of the hurricanes. All schools reopened in 2025 and six are going to be closed, or rather "consolidated" together with other schools, this year. 

Now, about charter schools. Charter schools are public schools. When the number of students justifies it, the States have been issuing "charters" allowing private people and organizations to organize the new schools the population demands. Charter schools may or may not have a special flavor; sometimes they're run exactly like the overcrowded public schools from which they allow a few students and teachers to spill over. (When I was writing about this for an international web site, a question readers submitted about one charter school was "What makes this school special?" and their answer was "It offers room for the older school nearby to expand." Seriously. That was all they advertised. Sometimes charter schools can at least advertise a new building--or an old historic one.) They're allowed to offer an emphasis on a particular subject, sometimes a subject that's not adequately presented in the older public school; some charter schools are "magnets" for those who want or need special help with math or English, or want more foreign language, vocational, art, or music courses, or don't need to spend as much time reviewing as the public school class needs to pass the same tests. There can even be an ethnic flavor--some charter schools specialize in the history, literature, and culture of a group's heritage--but, if people who don't belong to that ethnic group want to attend those schools, they have to be made welcome. There are charter schools with Black American, Greek, Chinese, and other cultural minority concentrations, but they are public schools that use the regular public school textbooks and curriculum, plus whatever cultural education the teachers can work in. Charter schools are in no way to be confused with church schools, nor with the sort of private schools that are planned primarily for the founding family and their friends.

Electricity 

If mine's not working, which thank goodness it is, I don't have time to sit around trying to "reframe" the experience. Not at this time of year, anyway. Without substantial repairs to both chimneys this old wooden house does not have a safe alternative heat source. In normal cold weather I might be able to dance around a fire out in the yard until the lights came back on. In this weather I'd have to try to squeeze into the cave with the cats, or else scoot boots down a long, icy hill and hope I got into town before I froze solid. Most people don't even have caves. We need to break up that grid before damage to power lines a hundred miles away costs us any more human lives.

But for those who can enjoy being off the grid, even in cold snowy weather, Sherry Marr offers a lovely way to reframe the moment:


Zazzle 

In blog housekeeping, I noticed that Google was showing some Zazzle images again. Can it be? Let's see. Zazzle has pulled down some of my designs as outdated non-sellers (well, yes, the 2024 calendar isn't likely to sell now) but this one's still showing:


You know you want to buy one. Gentle Readers, the Save The Butterflies campaign is global. I saw a lovely Asian design with Ceylon Rose butterflies (remember https://priscillaking.blogspot.com/2023/03/butterfly-of-week-ceylon-rose.html ?) and would like to see more designs, as Zazzle becomes available in more countries, showing people's appreciation of their own butterflies. The ones on the blanket are all North American. You do you. Feature butterflies appropriate to the wildlife conservation efforts your designs are being sold in aid of.



One for each car seat if you plan to travel this February! 

What provoked me to revisit Zazzle was that they've added a new product, or they file it as a new product: thank-you cards. These cards are exactly like their other cards, only in a separate category on the web site. 

Monday, February 2, 2026

New Book Review: I'll Watch Your Baby

Title: I'll Watch Your Baby

Author: Neena Viel

Date: May 2026

Publisher: St Martins

ISBN: 978– 1– 250– 28916– 2

Quote: "Selling children is the natural order."

In the mid-twentieth century a woman whose original name was Martha Louise White became infamous under one of twenty-some names she used, "Linda Taylor," as the "Welfare Queen." Her many hustles, which included various victimless crimes as well as welfare cheating and allegedly included fraud, theft, child trafficking, and possibly murder, may or may not have made her a millionnaire. Nobody was ever sure. Nobody ever proved most of the charges against her; all that was known for sure was that, in the early 1970s, she was taking welfare money under a few different names, claiming more children than were actually found living with her, covered in furs and jewelry and owning three expensive new cars. Welfare payments were supposed to be for women abandoned by men, but "Linda Taylor" had several beaux on her string. For a woman who lived mostly in the North she was quite the Southern Belle. She claimed to be Black, White, or other things as suited her purposes; usually White when she was claiming to be married to a White man. She might have been a sociopath. Ronald Reagan's speeches about welfare reform often referred to the one crime that was proved against her, the welfare fraud, and often suggested that others were doing the same thing. There has never been any shortage of welfare cheats but neither has there ever been a confirmed case of welfare-cheating on anything comparable to the scale on which "Linda Taylor" did it. She was unique.

In order to be the supreme scam artist of her time Martha Louise White had, as Neena Viel brings out in this horror story base on her, to be intelligent (though she had no education to speak of) and charismatic; some of her identities were spiritualists and at least one claimed the title "Reverend." Photo evidence shows that she was pretty, a femme fatale. She could as easily have been a heroine as she chose to be a criminal. She was truly a legend in her own time.

This web site's first Black History Month book pick (tomorrow we'll look at a Valentines Day romance) is based on the legend that was "Linda Taylor." Viel's antiheroine, Lottie Turner, seems made of equal parts of Cassy in Uncle Tom's Cabin and Scarlett in Gone with the Wind with a sprinkling of Marie Laveau. Her most significant long-term relationship is with another classic motif in the American literary tradition: the haunted site where bad things done in the past have attracted a malevolent spirit. This is a horror story, though for most of its beginning it deals with natural, if very unpleasant, events in the lives of living, if unadmirable, people, and seems like a gross-out story. The ghost isn't named as a ghost until the last quarter of the book. The gross-outs seem attributable to human nastiness, drinking and drugs. The ghost may remind you of the more malevolent ghost in Stephen King's Bag of Bones, as the vivid (and nasty) sensory details may remind you of Stephen King's horror stories generally. One of Lottie's admirers may remind you of Inspector Javert in Les Miserables, too. Those are strong characters that tap into enduring archetypes. The effect of mixing those archetypes in one novel is intense.

Lottie is obsessed, and the younger people who gather around her in her old age become obsessed, with red-eyed white flies. Lottie thinks she remembers them from her childhood in Tennessee, sees them everywhere she goes, and seems to be projecting them into the minds of the young people. Houseflies have red eyes, but there are no red-eyed white flies in Tennessee; what gardeners call whiteflies are something different. Those unnatural white flies and their white larvae appear wherever Lottie goes throughout the book. There's a red nightgown that keeps popping up in spooky ways, too, and a photo of a woman with a baby and anywhere from one to ten other children.

The story starts when Lottie, fleeing the scene where she's been convicted of welfare fraud, becomes the friend of Phyllis, "Filly," a woman for whom she works as a baby-sitter. In the 1970s tuberculosis was treatable, but Filly apparently does not benefit from the treatment; lots of TB gross-outs lie ahead. "Linda Taylor" may or may not have murdered a family for whom she worked and burned down their house. Lottie at first remembers being poor, lonely, and aggrieved when she was young in Tennessee, and occasionally thinks she hears an inner voice warning her not to have "another friend." Then Filly's husband confronts her with the fact that she's the Welfare Queen, escaped from justice. Lottie thinks  of killing him, thinks of fleeing, but hasn't done either when her dying friend "turns into a werewolf." Lottie recognizes that although she didn't want to kidnap and sell Filly's children, for the sake of friendship, and didn't need the money, something wanted her to sell the children; Filly says she's arranged for Lottie to "get the children and the house," but something makes sure that can't happen. 

Later some younger people go to a big house in Tennessee where an old woman who calls herself Mrs. Gibson is dying of tuberculosis. The two young men and two young women are friends, almost siblings, not couples. They are, of course, children Lottie trafficked. One of them wants to do to Mrs. Gibson all that she believes Lottie did to her family. Others just want to cheat the old woman out of money. But things get weird. The young people think some of them have drugged, changed the clothes of, damaged the property of, others of them. They are wrong. They're being led to meet the ghost of a slave who was especially badly treated. Her name has been lost. She's the Queen of Flies.

Exactly what's going on isn't always clear. Lottie has a vivid imagination and often speaks metaphorically. Some major events and some details are hallucinations, dreams, or drug trips, and some are metaphors, and some are part of fictive reality. When a character describes something bizarre you have to wait and see whether other characters saw it too, or whether the character describing it expected that they would.

In an afterword Viel identifies Martha Louise White with her mother--whether she's confessing any literal physical relationship, or only saying that her mother took welfare and may have taken more than she was entitled to, she refuses to say. Thus Lottie can't be the cheerful sociopath many like to imagine that "Linda Taylor" was. For Viel the welfare-cheating is trivial, and it's important to Viel to establish that Lottie hated the child trafficking she did, didn't actually commit the murders people thought she did, and didn't particularly relish the sex offenses she perceives as being done to her. 

If you want a real Tale of Blood and the Supernatural, I'll Watch Your Baby is one that will be hard to forget. If you have a sensitive heart and/or a sensitive stomach, read something else.

(How can I be reviewing a book that's supposed to be published in May when it's only February? As regular readers know, publishers sometimes send advance copies of a manuscript they're going to publish to reviewers in order to generate publicity before the book is available in stores. This review is based on an advance copy.)

Butterfly of the Week: Shaped Like a Common Swordtail

Not much information is available online about Graphium policenoides. That's because even its scientific name merely describes it as shaped like Graphium policenes. Some sources mention that it's also very similar to Graphium liponesco and to G. biokoensis


Photo from the Belgian Biodiversity Information Facility.

In English, some African scientists named it the Gabon Striped Swordtail, but people are not familiar enough with it to have made this a "common" name. 

Found in Cameroon, Congo, and Gabon, Graphium policenoides has two different wing patterns. One, sometimes called subspecies nigrescens or  "darkening," has much darker wings, mostly black with only a narrow band of pale spots. The other, sometimes called G.p. policenoides, looks more like Graphium policenes, which was last week's butterfly. The spots are only slightly different. To be sure that these were distinct species, at first it was necessary to kill and dissect the butterfly; internal parts are different enough that policenes and policenoides don't crossbreed, though  they live in the same places. Once the different species identities were established, however, people who had studied policenoides said that it can't be mistaken for anything else, close up. 

Torben B. Larsen explains the differences among Graphium policenes, G. policenoides, and G. liponesco


Nevertheless, people seem to feel less confident about identifying photos of Graphium policenoides on the wing. The butterfly is not known to be endangered, and dead specimens are offered for sale, but pictures of it seem to be taken in museums.

It is not easily photographed while living. It lives in deep dark woods and rarely comes out. Museum specimens are usually males caught at puddles, but policenoides doesn't spend nearly as much time at puddles as policenes does. Larsen suggested that living in wet forests gave them less need to come out and seek water, fresh or brackish.

Sunday, February 1, 2026

Link Log for 1.30-31.26

"Heavy snow" is expected this weekend. That means it may warm up a little--it's been too cold for more than powderings all week--and also means more damage to power lines and/or Internet cables. It means that posts after today, except for the Butterfly of the Week, may not show up on time. 

It does not mean, y'know, heavy snow. Virginia has never seen heavy snow.


This is a photo that's circulating...Google says it's been circulating since at least 2019, but it's a good visual definition of heavy snow. Some of you may have seen what's reported to be a new video from Kamchatka showing forty-foot snowdrifts there. If I see it again I'll try to snag a link this time.

Computers 

If "artificial intelligence" (PLAGIARIZED information) is meant to bring us this kind of thing, should government shut it down, or should corporations have the sense to kill it first?


History 

Did you, too, learn in school that an ancient Roman's villa was expected to have a room called a vomitorium for people who had overindulged at those legendary Roman feasts to go and...? Would you, too, be glad to learn that vomitorium meant something different to the ancient Romans?

I'd like to see the historical evidence for both explanations, but Gene Weingarten is a fairly authoritative source:


Politics 

I think that for some Trump fans it may be about the man, and I'm sure that Trump would like it to be about the man, but...


Relationships 

When American parents consented to their children "dating" rather than meeting at well chaperoned social events, only, until the girl's father had vetted the boy and consented to an official "courtship," the rule was that what happened on dates would be socializing and kissing. This evolved into a guy culture where guys at least bragged about having touched different "bases" and got closer to "home" (making babies before marriage) on each date, and girls were annoyed. Did we look like baseball fields? Then, mercifully just before my time, were the years when some people thought sexually transmitted diseases were easy to cure with new antibiotics so all women should be "on the Pill" and doing what makes babies should be the new way to shake hands with a new acquaintance. During the years when older people fretted about my showing no interest in dating and men my age thought a date with me meant a chance to enlist me to advocate for them with someone who looked less like a child, we were all learning about AIDS, and during the years when I was dating grown-up men who were not Seventh-Day Adventists the rule was that anybody could touch anything as long as there was no exchange of bodily fluids. Women, at least, liked that rule, although the baby supplies industry sponsored a lot of dire warnings that we might have "biological clocks" that would make us want to quit our jobs just when we'd reached middle management level and rush home and have babies, and wails from women who said they'd be happy to have babies if the men they were dating would only "commit," meaning get married or at least get a job that would pay child support. (I did not personally know any of those couples. The only woman I knew who wanted a baby belonged to a German Jewish family that had lost a lot of people in the Holocaust.) 

But this apparently deprived men of the chance to invest enough effort in pursuing women that they could feel sure that they were "in love," so they started whining that they felt that flimsy little objects made it "safe" to do what makes babies without actually having babies and, if they paid for those objects, they shouldn't even have to pay for dinner to get the privilege of doing what makes babies. If we really liked them. Which was what songs like this one were about, although back when the song was written the situation was more likely to have been that the girl wanted to play the dating game by 1950s rules and the boy wanted 1960s rules. Springsteen was more of a shouter-through-noise than a musician, but the words he was yelling, if guys looked at the record cover to see what they were meant to be, did express the emotional feelings of stupid, "entitled," hormonal guys. That is the only logical explanation of how he ever sold a record.


Here's the rule, nieces: Although his hormones are indeed screaming that he wants "it all" right then and there, that's not what he really wants, nor is it what he should have. For his sake as well as your own, when young men start making this kind of noises, they need to be told, "Nothing at all, then. Go home!" They need to hear the door slam. They need to wonder whether we're crying (which is a normal hormone reaction and should last half an hour or less) and reconsidering "breaking up," or talking to the next young man on our list. They need to have to make the move toward reconciliation, if such a move is made. And the apology. The apology should not find fault with your behavior in any way. It should sound like "I'm sorry, and I beg you please to forgive me for acting like a stupid, selfish piece of trash. Please give me another chance to show you that I am trying, with the help of a Higher Power, to become a decent human being."

Here's the rule, nephews: If haggling or "negotiation" sets in, there are women who will still have sex with the man (if they really think they're "showing" someone else something, or the man has a lot of money), but it will not be "good" sex. Not only will she dump him at the first opportunity, she'll tell everyone she dumped him because he was a lousy lay. Don't even kiss a woman when your relationship is antagonistic rather than synergistic. And, if you want respect, don't even consider making babies before marriage. Don't even consider exchanging bodily fluids, e.g. kissing on the mouth, before the engagement is announced.


(Google credits the egg to Kylie Jenner and the quote to Arnold Glasow.)

Weather 

How nice people behave in a snowstorm: 


As a guess, Mr. Good Neighbor will have a job with the city government before next winter...

Northerner explains what really cold weather feels like. This web site offers no apologies for describing single-digits-Fahrenheit as cold, but yes, it is possible to be colder.