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 Category:  Humor Non-Fiction
  Posted: March 6, 2020      Views: 133
 ...Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12... 

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Barb works at the local food bank volunteering her time at the country market. Barb has lived just about every profession there is to do. She has had a wild ride in her lifetime and uses poetry to tell everything. She is a cancer survivor. She hates - more...

She is an accomplished novelist and is currently at the #25 spot on the rankings.

She is an accomplished poet and is currently at the #8 spot on this years rankings.

She is also an active reviewer and is holding the #90 spot on the top ranked reviewer list.

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Chapter 8 of the book Prose 2020
contest entry
"He Took His Job Seriously" by Barb Hensongispsaca

My home street in Canada had its wide collection of feral cats. Attitudes varied and many times there were disagreements that broke out between warring parties. Little squabbles were usually broken up by the loud banging of a door, followed by a loud and obnoxious human voice. More serious territorial battles were solved by the use of a garden hose or a paint gun. This was Jackson's territory.

Jackson was a strapping security guard - er- cat, that held the title with compassion and vigilance. As he prowled the neighborhood, he issued warnings to the rowdy and offered condolences to the not so fortunate. Jackson was a mountain of a cat, as cat sizes go, and he was loved by everyone fortunate enough to live within his boundaries.

One summer day, a family of four moved in next door to where I lived. Jackson took a shine to the two little girls and they returned the love. Eventually, Jackson moved into the house but still remained the guard of the neighborhood.

Anyone that trespassed Jackson's territory had to undergo the normal inspection to be sure that everything passed his trained eyes. Therefore, any working crews on the street were nicely asked if they would please check their trailers and work trucks for any unwanted passenger before they closed for the night.

As I was packing my car for a visit to my family in the states, Jackson made his usual inspection of my luggage arranging skills and the outside of the vehicle for any smells that should not have been there. Satisfied, he proceeded to walk to his porch where, with passive interest, he watched me finish loading the car.

After gassing the car, I headed toward the border on my usual five hour trip. I put an audio tape in the player. The one I chose was "Relic" by Preston/Child. About an hour into my trip, as the drum sounds on the tape increased to announce the approaching horror of an evil deity, a black flash from the bowels of hell launched itself over the back of the passenger seat. It came to rest on the seat beside me, where it sat there, looked at me, and ... meowed.

After finding my nerves again, I laughed as I looked for an exit to turn around and take my unscheduled passenger back home. My five hour trip just added two more hours; but I was glad Jackson did not wait until I reached the border to announce he was ready for something to eat. The border guards really don't have a great sense of humor.

Non-Fiction Writing Contest contest entry

The book continues with Had His Luck Changed?. We will provide a link to it when you review this below.

Author Notes
448 words
I don't have a picture of Jackson, but this is as close as I could get.
Susan F. M. T. Thank you for permission to use your picture.

Pays one point and 2 member cents. Artwork by Susan F. M. T. at

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