Memories of My Mom

As the empty nesters were hiking Arch Canyon, the sweet signs of spring were abundant.

Pussy Willows!

I couldn't help but think of my mom. When I was a little girl, she would sit me on her lap, take my arm and while slowly walking her fingers up my arm; she would recite this little poem. It is recited going up in a C scale and when you get to the "meows" you go back down the scale.

I have a little pussy

Her coat is silver gray

She lives down in the meadow

Not very far away

She'll always be a pussy

She'll never be a cat

For she's a pussy willow

Now what do think of that

Meow

Meow

Meow

Meow

Meow

Meow

Meew

Scat!

Thanks Mom!