It is 10:30 on a Sunday morning.
Coffee in hand, I go looking for the cat.
Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, having attended her third fundraiser in as many days, is found asleep in the pool of sunshine currently warming a particular spot on the living room rug.
“Liza,” I say, “Liza Bean.”
The kitty stirs not.
“Tuna,” I whisper. “Tuna and cream and tiny bits of stolen bacon.”
“Huh?” The cat snaps awake, emerald green eyes blinking rapidly.
Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, a tiny example of symmetrically striped impudence, a cat with a time-share in Val d’Isere and the ability to curl up, undetected, on your lap, rises and yawns elaborately.
“I’ve had the most exhausting week.”
I bend down. Anticipating the petting, she lifts her little face, closes her eyes as I run my fingers on one side and then the other, from nose to cheek, from nose to cheek.
She smiles. “That was lovely, Pearl. Thank you.”
“How’s the fundraising coming?”
“Well,” she says, “I think the people are ready for a serious candidate.” She picks up her right front paw, flexes and detracts her claws.
“So a return to the gold standard?”
“A thoughtful discussion of the merits of a four-day work week?”
“A return of multi-mouse housing units in the Executive Branch?”
She smiles. “Can there be any doubt?”
I lean over, pick her up. She resists, as she always does, then relaxes. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you? You’re really running?”
Liza Bean purrs loudly, closes her eyes. I rub my nose against the top of her head, between her little ears.
“Remind me,” she says sleepily, “to tell you about last night’s dinner.” She yawns. “The most ridiculous people show up to political fundraisers.”
“I can’t wait to hear it,” I say, grinning. “Whatever it was, I hope you’ve managed to keep it out of the press.”
But it’s too late: Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, is sound asleep.
Bitey/Squeakers 2012 buttons and postcards available through Zazzle. Why not take a gander?