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You have quesions; Lucy has answers

I routinely review fan mail from dedicated readers and pass complaints on to a grievance committee, which evaluates each one for validity, recommends remediation, and sends readers a full report of the investigation. Expect results, but don't wait on tenterhooks, as sitting on them over an extended period of time can create oozing sores.

Some of you, however, merely pose questions. These I can answer in the breadth and depth of this column.

Dear "Miss" Lucy,

You mention cats quite often. Perhaps you can aid me with a feline problem of my own. You see, several cats have taken up residence under my steps, causing the entry of my abode to smell like a squatting ground, if you catch my odiferous drift.

I would like to move the brood to my barn, where, hopefully, they will develop into marvelous mousers. Unfortunately, the scratching, hissing, clawing critters won't come out, unless I open the front door, and only get feistier when I poke them with a stick.

Any ideas?

Sincerely, Kitty Lettier

Dear Ms. Lettier,

Here, here Kitty, Kitty. The way I see it, if you can't get the litter out of the box, throw on more sand; if you catch my devious drift. I offer the following suggestions:

a) Shoot them; then pick them up and move them to the barn.

b) Crouch inside the front door holding a burlap bag. Casually swing the door wide enough for the cats to dart directly into the waiting sack. Cinch the sack, twist your mustache, and consider the endless possibilities.

c) Perhaps you have a problem with mice, not cats. Set traps in your barn. The cats will eventually return to their haven under your steps anyway, and you will still have to shoot them.

Dear "Miss" Lucy,

I think my mother lost her mind. I'm in third grade, and over the course of my nine years she seems to have deteriorated rapidly. The other day she picked us up from school, brought us home and fed us cookies and milk. (Doesn't she know this is 2005. Kids eat Twinkies, drink cola and watch TV after school. Duh!)

Shortly thereafter, the phone rang.

My mom lifted the receiver and blurted, "Oh, this must be the school. I'm so sorry. I completely forgot to get the kids. I'll be there right away." Then she hung up, turned around and startled when she saw me.

Is my mom losing it?

Truly yours, A. Cy Lumn

Dear Little Lumn,

She needs you and your siblings to clean your rooms every day, do the dishes every night, quit bickering forever, and give her privacy in the bathroom.

Try this, and I assure you that when your youngest sibling leaves for college, she will fully recover. In the meantime, Twinkies and coke will rot your teeth.

Dear "Miss" Lucy,

My family has an on-going argument about acetone. None of us can agree on its meaning. My dad says it's ant killer. My sister says it's nail polish remover. My grandmother says it's fitness equipment.

Could you end this dispute once and for all? (P.S. I've got money riding on this.)

All the best, Ace

Dear Ace,

You and your family members have missed the target on this one. Acetone describes a physique. For example, when a hot chick walks by, you might shout, "Ooh girl, your acetone!" Or the auctioneer at a donkey sale might lead the bidding by saying, "We've got a strong specimen here, folks. This acetone."

By the by, your wife told me that, because you bet on this ridiculous disagreement, your acegrass.



Web posted on Thursday, July 14, 2005











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