The Catt Box
Click here to see dolls that are ready for immediate sale!!
The only dolls for sale on my website are the ones marked FOR SALE.
I will not be making any more of these dolls, I'm retiring her. The doll I'm offering for sale now has a different hat, different color dress, and one or two different things on the tray. Otherwise, the dolls are very much alike. When this doll is gone there'll be no others.
The young couple was having another argument in their spacious penthouse apartment in New York City. It was during the small hours of the morning.
Debbie slammed the door and headed out into the streets to walk and think. She could see her breath against the crisp night.
Her walk was hours long and she decided to rest on the stoop of an old abandoned building.
It wasn't quite dawn.
The cumbrous man-hole covers belched it's dense steam. The vapors rose eerily under the dim street lights and lingered.
As the steam thinned she saw a figure approaching slowly....it came from the dead-end street like an ethereal being.
She didn't run. She somehow sensed no threat or harm.
As the figure became more visible Debbie saw that it was a woman...an old black woman, and she was carrying something. It became apparent that it was a tray of wares for sale.
Debbie instantly remembered an old song from elementary school....the old woman reminded her of the Irish song Molly Malone....
In Dublin's fair city where the girls are so pretty
I first set me eyes on sweet Molly Malone
She wheeled her wheelbarrow through streets broad and narrow
Calling "Cockles and Muscles - Alive-Alive-Oh!"
She died of the fever, and no one could save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
Now her ghost wheels her barrow through streets broad and narrow
Cryin' cockles and mussels alive, alive-o
Debbie smiled at the thought. She wasn't in Ireland and the old lady didn't have a wheelbarrow.
The old woman stood a fair 34 inches from the top of her black hat to the bottom of her black wooden stand. Her name was Affy Jacobs.
She was the famous street peddler from many years ago.
And tonight she would make another visit to the streets she knew so well.
As she inched her way closer Debbie could see the old woman's face a little better. She had rich green eyes and and generous lips. Her face betrayed her in the telling of her age. She was a woman who lived too long.
Debbie was amazed at the sight of Affy Jacobs' abundant tray. It measured about 13 inches from handle to handle and 9 inches wide.
It was most enchanting.
And in spite of the many decades that had come and gone, nothing in the tray had tarnished or aged.
Only Affy Jacobs herself had turned gray with maturity.
Her wild nappy hair was tamed with an old Sunday-Meeting hat with faded pink roses.
And Affy's black coat kept her warm on winter nights. She also wore a crocheted scarf around her neck.
Resting at the feet of Affy Jacobs was a small charming wooden suitcase filled with various sewing items. Apparently Affy did some sewing as well as sell her wares.
Debbie looked at the contents from afar. She could see fine lace, a basket with pins and a pair of scissors. There was a wooden needle case, real silk ribbons, and an array of vintage patterns.
There were more items, but they were too deep into the box to see.
As Affy Jacobs continued to slowly walk towards Debbie her coat moved aside and revealed a small beaded purse with Affy's money...it was kept safe from thieves and muggers.
Upon closer inspection of the contents of the wicker tray, Debbie could see a small wooden suitcase with various labels. Inside were all kinds of interesting things like a Bible, wooden plates, a small red bucket, a blue pitcher, a deck of cards, and other things.
The treasures of the wicker basket were the most interesting things Debbie had ever seen.
Debbie found herself leaning closer to the old peddler. Her eyes widened as she saw more and more items in the seemingly magic tray.
Everything in the wicker tray was wonderful....the utensils, candy jar, the many pails and baskets. The old peddler and her wares were serving as a nice distraction for Debbie. She felt an inner calm...a peaceful feeling. The argument earlier that evening melted away and she no longer felt angry.
The dawn was arriving, and in the misty twilight, when everything seems to be the same color, the old peddler disappeared just as mysteriously as she appeared.
She faded away....and among the dying echoes you could hear Affy Jacobs chuckling to herself and humming the tune of Molly Malone.
....crying cockles and mussels alive, alive-o...
Copyright © May 8, 2005 Cathy Palmer-Scruggs
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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.