I remember images of living on Sixth St. Not long after we went there we were visited by a tiny kitten. Gray and white, and we all felt that we had been chosen and were very happy with her. Mother said we could keep her if no one claimed her,and so we set about trying to fatten up what seemed to be a starving, lost creature.
We fed her bread and milk, and whatever table scraps she could handle, and within a couple of weeks she seemed to be gaining weight and loving the attention. At the time, there was a radio program called "Baby Snooks", which was very popular, about a young girl who was always getting into trouble, which we all thought fitted her description, so my sister Barbara named her Snookie.
She was the center of attention for about two months, and slept in a cigar box beside our bed and Mother loved her as did we all.
We would allow her to go outside, as it never occurred to any of us that she should have a litter box,but she never stayed out for long, and would come scratching on the screen door 'til one of us heard her and let her in.
There came a time when we all felt she had been out longer than usual, and we all went looking for her. After combing the neighborhood we finally gave up when it was getting dark, and resumed the search the next morning. Still no luck, and although sad, the best we could hope for would be for her to find her way home,or be taken in by someone who would match the love for her which we had felt.
Outside our back door, there was an inclined cellar door, so typical of that time. Mother kept some mason jars full of corn, green beans, or maybe picklelilly which she had canned, and when she needed something she would send me down to get it. On one of these occasions I happened to notice a pile of old loose newspapers lying in a corner, and for some reason unknown to me, I went over and moved them aside. There was Snookie, all curled up in a ball, where she had gone to die. She didn't appear to be hurt in any way, so we never knew why she had died. I picked up her stiff little body and carried her up,to let every one know the truth.Mother said maybe she had gotten into some rat poison, but since we had put none out, I couldn't understand how this could have happened.
We had a funeral for her in the back yard, buried in the cigar box that she had nearly outgrown. We placed a flat rock over her grave on which Barbara scratched "Snookie" and said the words that all of us had said to my mother at bed time, from as far back as I can remember.
"I love you up to the sky and down to the ground, for everlasting love"

Life on sixth street had it's highs and lows, and I remember good times there. At some point, my sisters and I came up with an idea to put on a "show" and charge admission, the proceeds going to "our fighting men overseas" as they were called then.
I have no memory now of what the show consisted of, but I believe there was a lot of youthful patriotism. My sister Rosemary read poems, Barbara recited the pledge of allegiance, some kids from the neighborhood sang Yankee Doodle Dandy, I believe I sang "When Johnny comes marching Home Again". We had blankets hung on the clothes' line to use as curtains to pull back and present the various "performers." Eventually all the spectators got into the act and as I remember everyone had a good time.
Someone from the block had enough interest to notify Amelia Hydell,the lady at the Gazette who wrote about community affairs and social issues,what we had done, and since we had no telephone, sent someone 'round to invite my sisters and I to come to the Gazette building, to have our pictures taken and explain to the city what excellent young citizens we were. We all put on our best clothes, such as they were, and were photographed, as I handed a grand total of one dollar and ninety-seven cents,to Miss Hydell, to go toward the purchase of as many packs of cigarettes as that would buy, to be sent to our troops.