Every morning, come rain or come shine, the local townspeople went to 9:00 Mass at St. Gabriel’s. Each neighborhood was populated by many traditional Catholic families.
One Ash Wednesday, the local black cat finally got fed up with it all. “Get a load of that,” he whined. “No fortune tellers, no horoscopes, not even so much as a ouija board to be found!” After a moment, he added, “Whatever happened to the days when a self~respecting black cat could count on at least some form of ignorant superstition?”
Today’s being Ash Wednesday, I couldn’t help a Lenten reference. Welcome back to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers. It’s her basement, her rules, her game show, the quiz mistress of 72 Whooping Cough Lane. The esteemed and distinguished C.E. Ayr has provided this week’s photo so it has a distinctive burr.