"Uncle Al, the kitties' pal," my dad used to say to the young, precocious child I used to be, who continually tried to rescue worms from a mud puddle, baby birds from the flower bed, not to mention -- of course -- the more domesticated menagerie of strays I longed to take under my little wing.
"What a great title for a nursery rhyme!" I used to think, imagining a tale of a benevolent, kindhearted soul -- not a prince, because they have princesses and not kitties -- but maybe a duke or an earl, who had a house and yard full of loving and grateful furry charges. Surely his good deeds were known throughout the land, and some clever use of anthropomorphism would bring his fuzzy and winged friends to life.
And his name was Al -- my name is Al!
I never knew the rest of the rhyme, but I longed to hear how Uncle Al and his kitties all lived happily ever after! As I outgrew the allure of fairy-tale references, though, my urge to find the rest of the story waned.
But it never disappeared entirely. I finally figured out who Uncle Al was, and as it turns out, his fairy-tale image was anything but. Uncle Al was not a duke, he was a clown, which frankly, is about the creepiest profession an uncle could have. And he wasn't the kitties' pal, he was the kiddies' pal (which is something else entirely) on some 70s T.V. show that I'm not quite old enough to remember.
Well, Mother Goose, you really dropped the ball on this one! So as not to let a title with such a nice cadence (and connotations) go to waste, allow me to offer up a verse or two on this magnanimous character about whom you neglected to write.
Uncle Al, the kitties' pal
Was known throughout the land.
While his felines purred,
to injured birds
He lent a helping hand.
Or how about...
Uncle Al, the kitties' pal
Was good and kind and nice.
The cats were content
but not the mice;
they paid a heavy price.
Or something like that. I'm a writer, but I never claimed to be a poet!
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