See Liza Bean Run. Run, Liza Bean, Run.

“Pearl.”

Hmmmm?

More insistently:  “Pearl.”

I awake as if swimming to the surface of a vat of warm syrup and cleverly perceive a cat on my chest.

“Liza Bean?”

Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, a small pawed stealer of laps, a feline with a conviction for loitering in 40 of 50 states, a cat who once got arrested at Mardi Gras for jumping on a float (her man MCA has a beard like a billy goat), peers down at me with eyes that glitter like newly discovered secrets.

“I’m going to do it,” she says.

I stare up at her, blink slowly and deliberately.  “Do what?”

“Run.”

I roll over, knocking the cat off me in the process.  “Good,” I say, pushing my face into a pillow, “why don’t you just run over to the alarm clock and make note of what time it is.”

“Oh, Pearl,” she chuckles.  “A moment of great import concerning the presidential election has arrived and you want to write it down, don’t you?”

A strange feeling creeps over my limbs.  I flip over, sit up.  “Presidential election?”

The cat grins wickedly, a flash of gleaming, pointy teeth.  “Look at you,” she says, “catching on so quickly.”  She casually twists back and licks a shoulder blade.  “I think the public is ready for a feline candidate, don’t you?” 

“What makes you think that?”

She stares at me.  “You’ve seen the other candidates, have you not?”

“Well, you have me there,” I say, smiling in spite of myself.  “So do you have a platform?”

“Oh,” she says, “it’s far too early for that.  I’m thinking we need a fundraiser first, don’t you?  A dinner, perhaps, or a concert or two?”

“You could sell tee-shirts. Or postcards.”

She laughs, the sound of champagne being poured over ice.  “How delightfully campy,” she says.  She shakes her head.  “Postcards.”

“Well, it’s grassroots, isn’t it?” 

Liza adjusts herself so as to lick her back leg.

“What about a running mate?” I say.

“Hmmm,” she says, between licks.  “This is the truly delightful part.  I’m going to ask Dolly Gee.”

I did not see this coming.  “You hardly even like her!”

“Dolly Gee Squeakers –“

“—formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers –“

“—is Every Cat.  She’s pure of heart, she’s undeniably attractive, and she hasn’t a thought in her head.  She’s perfect.”

I watch as Liza Bean flops onto one side, starts to lick her belly.

I finally laugh.   “Genius,” I say.  “Does Dolly know about this?”

Silence.

“Liza?”

But Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, now consumed with her grooming, is done talking.



This storyline dedicated to Indigo Roth, an enormously amusing and supportive friend who has graciously created the artwork.