Part One: Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, Once Drove a Cab, You Know

My wrists are killing me.

A repost, if you don't mind.  In several parts.

By the time I arrive at Psycho Suzi's, Liza Bean is two gin and tonics in.

The evening is on her, payment for her having borrowed my car the other night.

“Pearl!” she shouts.  I scan the deck, an elaborate bit of planking and grass-hut roofing overlooking the Mississippi River, to find the cat seated next to the waterfall, a tiki-inspired water feature near the center of the action. 

Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, a cat with a degree in Marketing and a penchant for sushi-grade tuna, has her glass in the air.  The waitress – a Betty-Paige lookalike with a tattoo of a devil flexing his muscles running the length of her arm – appears from the shadows with a fresh drink in her hand, sets a gin and tonic at the table in advance of my arrival.

I watch the cat slip her two dollars.

I wend my way through the tables.  The crowd at Psycho Suzi’s is a particularly hip one, and I note that I may be the only one present without a tattoo.

I sit down.  “Have you ordered something to eat?”

The cat shrugs a delightfully small shrug, leans over and wraps tiny black lips around her straw.  “I’m thinking the tater tots,” she says into the drink.

I stare at her.

“What?” she says, mock-offended.  “They’re barrel-shaped potato products, they’re campy, and I love them with all my heart.”  Here she winks at me.

She knows how much I love that.  I wink back and set to squeezing limes into my drink.

“So what’s the occasion?”

“Does a kitty need an excuse to visit with her favorite human?”

My hand goes automatically to my purse, where I feel around for my wallet.

Still there.

The cat chuckles, a light-hearted sound with a hint of larceny.  “Really, Pearl,” she says.  “Do I look like a pickpocket to you?”  She laughs again, holds up a paw, whereupon our waitress appears.  Fishnet stockinged legs beginning in practical shoes and ending in a red-and-white gingham-ed mini-skirt, she pulls a pen and notepad from her vintage, 40’s-era apron. 

Liza Bean smiles, teasingly, up at her.  “Are the tater tots fresh?”

The waitress barely contains a yawn.  “They’re frozen, but then they're cooked, so I'd say they're fresh.”

Liza Bean stares at her, blinks slowly.  “Yeeeeeeeees.  We’ll have an order of tots, and – Pearl?  You want the usual?  The pickle roll-ups?”

I lift my drink, by way of acknowledgment. 

“And the pickle roll-ups,” the cat says.  “Oh, and two more gin and tonics, if you’d be so kind.”

The waitress skitters off, and the cat and I smile at each other. 

“So,” the cat says, leaning forward, green eyes sparkling.  “Did I ever tell you that I used to drive a cab?”