The little old lady who sang to her cats.

There once was a little old lady who sang to her cats. Well, she wasn't that old. Really just in her 40s and in need of a makeover, but nobody took enough time to notice.

Every day her cats purred as they heard her soft voice carry through the house. The broom sweeping the porch in time with her tune. The birds chirping the melody. It was a lovely life.

It was a lonely life, too.

The little not-so-old lady had never been married. She'd lost touch with her friends. And her cats, being lazy as cats are, never spoke back. She bought a television.

Sucked in to the glowing glory that was prime time, she soon discovered she could be famous. Why, her voice was better than those gals in the short shorts, whose voices had to be distorted by machines. She packed her bag up right then and there - a sweater, a turtleneck, a skirt to the knees and a kitten or two.

When this little not-so-old lady walked on stage in her matronly wear, with her hair curled back and wild, the crowd sniggered. She had heard such reactions before. She merely smiled and began to sing.

Now that little not-so-old lady who sang for her cats may sing for the Queen. And she'll never be lonely again.

It's not an Ugly Duckling story - she's still the same lady with the same little old lady style; it's a story of measuring something worthy and ignoring what's superficial. The duckling doesn't need to be a swan. It just needs to have talent and confidence that shines.

Goodnight kids.

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