The Catt Box


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Primitive Black Sheep Of The Farm!



She was the only black lamb on the farm. It was said that she was alone most of the time, and that she preferred it that way.

The other lambs and sheep of the ovine community stayed away from her.
She was truly the black sheep of the farm in the truest sense of the word.

Every day... day in and day out... the lone 'black beauty' would study the other sheep.
"Look at them!"... she would say to herself. "They are so blind and gullible."

She quietly observed their daily activities and general cattiness. She watched them follow one another around in little fluffy huddles that moved about in the barnyard like mounds of cotton being blown by the wind.
None of them would make a move without the other.

"Coffee-House sheep!" she'd mutter to herself..."All of 'em are doing exactly what they think they should be doing.
This is how they deem themselves as 'normal'.
This is how they garner acceptance from one other. If they can keep up with THIS group and do what THEY do, they'll be thought of as successful.
They constantly hang around that water trough, the most popular StarSucks on the farm, and evaluate one another, making sure of who they are and that they are doing everything just right."

These thoughts flooded the black lamb's mind non-stop.

The 'Coffee-House Sheep' didn't like the little black lamb. She was different...darker....more reserved, and definitely NOT mainstream.
She stood only about 10 inches in height, but she was a power-house of brains and deep thoughts of her own.

On observing the masses one day she thought of those other sheep and how they blindly followed an unknown lead.
"Sheeple....that's what they are....peach-people sheep.....Sheeple, and they are being led around mindlessly, obeying everything without question."


From that day on the lone black lamb called herself Not Sheeple. She even made her own black name tag to wear. It hung from her beautiful black ribbon collar.
That was the act that caused her to be known as the bane of the barnyard.
The Sheeple gathered daily at the watering trough and gossiped about Not Sheeple.

But, instead of retreating to the shadows in shame, Not Sheeple flaunted her 'differences'. She rolled along the barnyard on her wooden spools. She also attached long black cording to her black collar and donned a beautiful pewter bead at the end.


Not Sheeple took it a step further by wearing a beautiful black rose under her chin.
She was so Goth!

And while the other 'mindless-wonders' stared straight ahead with their glossy black button eyes, Not Sheeple made her observations through wooden buttons.
It was a step 'up' in high fashion among Sheeple, and not everyone could carry it off with class.

Not Sheeple had a nice tail, too. All the men sheep secretly watched her as she wagged it across the barnyard.
They were little more than male Sheep Sluts.

One day, to break the boredom, Not Sheeple had an ornery idea. She had been viewing the clusters of wall-to-wall beige wool as they gathered and separated themselves from everything else. They saw themselves as so superior and untouched by badness.
Not Sheeple went so far as to imagine those sheep as having the whole 'Coffee-House lifestyle'.
She just knew that under all that beige fluff she'd find pairs of Hunter Green hooves tapping around in the dirt because, after all, those were the colors of success in the middle-sheep bracket.
And none of them would be wearing socks.

She was sure they'd be engaged in deep-sheep conversations while rolling their eyes at the annoyance of ever-important beepers going off.
In the Sheeple world, of course, they would be known as 'bleaters'.

They would also have to be listening to some form of Coffee-House jazz. A five-piece ensemble in the corner of the barnyard blaring out an abstract song that was being 'written' as it was being played.

If you are one of the Coffee-House Sheeple, you HAVE to like HAVE to. Even the Sheeple that secretly didn't care for it would NEVER divulge that secret to a living soul.
So, they'd tap their hooves and sway their heads and pretend to really get into the flow of that unstructured song.

Last Wednesday afternoon, during a heated gossip-fest about Not Sheeple, Splendid Wendy accidentally blurted out an order to an unknown Sheeple at the watering trough. She said, "I'd like an Espresso with steamed milk, some hazelnut, a splash of Irish Creme & Cherry, and top that with whipped cream and sprinkles. Oh, and can I have a large Danish Cheese Pocket with that please?"
Silence befell the huddle of beige wool and they stared at Splended Wendy ... they were astonished.
She stepped back in embarrassment, got her foot caught in some wire, and then she laid down and died.
Sheep do that.

Not Sheeple saw them all as always having the right haircut, the right color of wool, the right friends, the right sheep-skin backpacks, and they probably ate their grain 'blackened'.
......although that was sooooo 1980's.
The Sheeple carried their babies in body-slings and discussed areas of the barnyard where they KNEW the grass WAS greener on the other side of the fence.


Not Sheeple's ornery mood produced a cross charm to hang from under the collar around her neck.
She was just messing with 'em.
My goodness, this had all the Sheeple freaking!
It goes without saying that 'Sheeple-freaking' was a favorite pastime of Not Sheeple. They were so easy.
They were practically asking for it!
Who says all Sheeple need a Border Collie in order to congregate them to a specific area? All you have to do is flash one little cross and they all run anywhere you want them to, in unison.

On a special day during the spring, something happened that changed the barnyard forever.
A large white panel truck appeared in the barnyard.
No one knew what it was.
No one knew where it came from.

With all the attention towards the mysterious truck, it didn't take long for the drove of Sheeple to gather around the white 'center of attention' and claim it for themselves.
They stood right out in front of the back doors and acted as though they were authorities on the oddity. They knew that if anyone looked at the white beast, they'd have to look upon the Sheeple, as well.
They had laid claim on the truck and suddenly they were prominent and important and felt as though they had their finger on the very pulse of what was happening in the barnyard.
Not Sheeple didn't go anywhere near the clique of Sheeple. She wasn't quick to follow mainstream ways of thinking and acting. She was content to quietly observe.


Their smug, puffy faces mocked at Not Sheeple as she stood off to herself and watched the circus of events. The Sheeple had turned the white truck into a virtual Sheeple Coffee-House of gathering, eating, and the endless bloviation of pontificational bleating.
*snicker*......bloviating....say it, just rolls right off your tongue.

Suddenly, and without warning, the creaking doors of the white truck opened. The sun streaked across the doorway and dust particles floated around in the sun beams like planets in another universe.
The whole barnyard grew so silent that you could practically hear the hay shifting under the hesitant hooves.

Nothing happened.
The Sheeple merely stood there blinking.
No one remembers who started it, but eventually the Sheeple began to herd themselves into the back of the truck, staking their claims to the limits.

They were feeling cocksure and belligerent towards the other barn animals, especially towards Not Sheeple. She was still standing against the barn watching...observing....waiting.
Soon the obnoxious Sheeple began to push the other animals back, not letting them into the white truck Coffee-House.
They were demanding segregation.
They saw themselves as intelligent, successful, superior beings and as far as they were concerned everyone else could just go eat dirt.
Then the Sheeple would poke at each other with their stick legs and bleat-giggle.

It was during one of those so-called bleat-giggles that the unthinkable happened. The doors to the white truck slammed shut, trapping the entire flock of Sheeple inside. Suddenly the engine started up and the white truck drove away.

The barnyard animals were silent once again, all except for Not Sheeple. She could be heard snickering and quoting...."Broad and spacious is the path leading to destruction.... idiots!"

I don't think I need to explain the moral to THIS story, do I?


Copyright April 18, 2004 and August 24, 2005 and June 2, 2006 Cathy Palmer- Scruggs / Catt Alexander


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My dolls are not for everyone, they are my art. If you are offended, I suggest you hit the back button. It will not do you any good to write me 'hate mail'. 

In spite of the dolls I create and the stories I write, I do not use recreational drugs, I don't smoke cigarettes, and I don't even drink alcoholic beverages.