For Women Only. Feb. 6, 1947

              FOR WOMEN ONLY By Maggie
• Haines says I write too much about animals. So far I've confined my remarks to "Midnight," the 777-black cat, and George, the Carleton mongrel, but today we're going to defy Mr. Cook and consider some anonymous squirrels and cats.
What brought this on? Well, if you drive out past my domicile some sunny day next spring you're liable to see a healthy green corn stalk growing up beside the chimney or sprouting from some of the eavespouts. The gray squirrels have a virtual treasure trove of corn on our roof.
My room is tucked under a sweeping slant of the roof which is shingled with a hard asbestos product. The acoustic qualities are nearly the same as the old-fashioned tin roof our parents tell about. Early in the morning I'm sometimes awakened by the playful capering of squirrels - often they run races down the gutters and eavespouts. But usually they're engaged in cramming whole ears of corn in any nook and cranny they can find.
It's no mystery how the squirrels get on the roof with their agile, near-flying ability. But for many years the cat tracks on the deck in front of our dormer windows went unexplained. In fact, when I was a baby, a cat walked into one of the bedrooms one wintry night.
The height of everything came recently when my slumber was interrupted by a heavy footfall on the roof over my head - not quite heavy enough for a man, but it did sound like a good-sized mountain lion. Suddenly came a bang and the noise of a land slide. I bounded out of bed soon enough to sight a good-sized Angora tom cat sliding down the heavy blanket of snow the full length of the roof right on his seat. His ears were back and he was madder than !*&?! He gained control and footing when he reached the eavespout and clambered down the rose trellis by the front door. The next day we found his dirty foot prints - up and down the trellis!
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I'm in a bad mood this week. These cracks men make about the contents of our purses. While hunting for a pair of pliers the other evening I looked in the most logical place, my father's dresser drawer. You know, the small one in the top of the chiffonier. It was the first time I'd looked in there for several years and somehow it was a challenge. I found:
Washers, screws, drawing compass, three jack knives, two pair of sleeve bands (remember those?), an old alarm clock, a discarded bill fold, two metal rulers, a com, an American flag pin, five discarded cloth bow ties, a large chip of wood, a price tag, spikes, a 15 watt rose-colored light bulb (burned out), synthetic sponge, leather watch strap, old bullets, carton of hard phosphor bronze bearings, part of a box in which mother and I gave him a necktie pin in 1926, two birthday cards, band-aids, a booklet on how to adjust a storm collar, a half dozen handkerchiefs, a knit tie, atomizer tip, cuff links, a nail set, Meerschaum pipe in case (he quit smoking in 1918), two old glass cases, one old pair of glasses, two shoe lace wrappers, flannel rag, several shoe laces, garters and parts thereof, THE PLIERS, several keys, a money order receipt from Oct. 18, 1945, a birthday gift enclosure, watch chain, South Dakota duck hunting license and hunting area map, coin purse, 1944 Minnesota bird hunting license with a clipping on hunting conditions written by Jimmy Robinson in the Minneapolis Star-Journal of Sept. 19, 1944, a  statement of Nov. 2, 1945, and a receipt from Nov. 15, 1943, loose matches, book matches (he doesn't smoke), numerous pencils, a leather bow tie, tag off a raincoat, two old straight razors, north woods combination salt and pepper safe, compass, can opener, Blue Cross contract, a rubber band, button, boyhood Elgin watch and two celluloid collars. All in a drawer 36x15 inches, three inches deep!
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