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Friday, April 25, 2014

Part Three and Finale: The Softer Side of Liza Bean

Part One was Wednesday. 

Part Two was Thursday.  

Haven’t read them?  You go ahead – I’m just going to go get a cup of coffee.  We’ll meet back in five, okay?


The cat laughs, her small, striped shoulders bouncing.  “Oh, honestly, Pearl.”  She lifts a tiny, pink-toed paw, wipes her eyes. 

“You tax me, cat,” I say, half-exasperated. 

“Our interactions are a high point in your day,” she declares.  She sighs contentedly, closes her eyes, a small smile on her adorably black lips.  She leans toward me, and I run my hand along the top of her head.

Liza Bean Bitey, door-to-door vacuum cleaner salesman and professional hairball provider, straightens herself, reaches toward the coffee table for the gin and tonic – four limes – crystal-clear ice cubes slowly melting.

I lift my own glass.

Clink.

“So,” I say, setting my drink down.  “My car was taken last night.  Can we both agree that that is the least of this story?”

Liza Bean extends one terrible claw, chases a wedge of lime around her sweating glass in clockwise circles.  “He –“

“Juan Diego?”

“Yes.”  The cat’s face softens.  “Juan Diego de la Patas Oro.”

I sip at my drink.  “Juan Diego of the Golden Paws.”

She smiles, sips her own drink.  She speaks around the rim of her glass.  “Yes.”

There is a moment of silence as both of our faces soften.  Golden Paws.

I look down to discover my drink is gone.

And as I am noticing this, Pupples Old Bean comes trotting out of the kitchen, a fresh one in hand.  Pupples, scrawny, vest-wearing toady to Porkmuscle J. Hamfat, can best be described as nervous.  Physically approximating a cross between Art Carne and the Taco Bell Chihuahua, the cat places a coaster on the coffee table in front of me, sets the new drink down, picks up my old one.

He raises an imaginary hat.  “Pearl.”

I nod briskly.  “Pupples.”

Liza Bean looks at me pointedly.  I refuse the challenge.  If she wants to tell me why there’s a cat in my kitchen with a bottle of gin, well then she can just tell me.

Instead, she shrugs, and I pick up my new drink.

“Go on,” I say.

The cat smiles with the memory.  “He contacted me,” she says, “via Pheed.”

“Feed?”

“Oh, really, Pearl,” she says.  “Do try to keep up.”

I make a note to “keep up”, a mental to-do immediately following “beat ungrateful cat”.

“It’s a social media site,” she explains.

“Ah.”

Liza Bean looks at me as one looks at a clumsy, pudding-stained child. “And so,” she says, as if winding up a long story, “I took your car.”

I sip at my drink.  Delicious.  “We know that,” I point out.  “Where did you go?  What did you do?”

The cat shrugs.  “My affairs,” she says, “are my own.”

I am about to protest when she laughs.  “We went – “ she pauses.  “Did you know, Pearl, that Minnesota has the largest ball of sisal twine, wound by one man, in the world?”

I laugh into my drink, set it down quickly.  “You went to see the world’s largest ball of string?”

The cat sits a little taller, offended.  “We certainly did,” she says.

“And then you came home and got drunk, right?”

The cat picks up her drink, smiles around her straw.  “Maybe.”

There is another moment of silence.

“Wait,” I say.  “That’s in Darwin, right?”

The cat nods.

“That’s, like, 60 miles from here!  Are you telling me that you put 120 miles on my car last night?”

“Oh, no,” she says.  “It was closer to 200 by the time we were through.”

I am struck by the vision of two cats in a car, heading west, fuzzy little paws on the steering wheel, that broom she uses on the pedals…  I pick up my drink.  I really should know better than to have set it down in the first place. 

“So,” I say.  “Do you think you will see him again?”


Liza Bean smiles serenely, pulls a wallet from somewhere under her left arm. “I should think so,” she says.  “He’ll need his cash card at some point, don’t you think?”

27 comments:

Shelly said...

My head is full of images of little cats with long brooms driving big cars, and that will entertain me for the whole live-long day. A masterpiece of a story~

Dawn@Lighten Up! said...

Each and every day, I get little phrases, words and sentences from you that make my day. Today's: “You tax me, cat,” "hairball-provider," and "I make a note to “keep up”, a mental to-do immediately following “beat ungrateful cat”.
:)

joeh said...

This still feels like a "To be continued."

One can hope.

Ms Scarlet said...

I don't think Juan Diego knows what he's let himself in for!
Sx

Connie said...

"a clumsy, pudding-stained child"

Ahahaha! :D You always make me smile, Pearl. Happy weekend to you and Liza!

vanilla said...

Oh, that sly Puss.

Pearl said...

I get the feeling that Juan Diego will call, don't you? :-)

Watson said...

Pearl, you have the most interesting cats I know!

Steve said...

Taking the card. Shame on her.

Anonymous said...

Old Golden Paws doesn't know what he's signed up for. So....shopping?

Pearl said...

Now that she's got the card, I wouldn't be surprised to find her adding the "good shrimp" to the grocery list again -- and maybe this time, she'll pay for it!

jenny_o said...

I sense a weak spot in LB's armour - the mention of a ball of string. Think hard: how can this be used as leverage at those times she appropriates your stuff (eg. car)?

Jono said...

I know about that ball of twine. You're going to need to clean out your car, too. Have you ever felted hairballs?

Yamini MacLean said...

Hari OM
Oh Juan the man - hook line and sinker. You too for that matter... but by association, we the reader too. Oh dear. YAM xx

Anonymous said...

And then they'll take the car again.

Elephant's Child said...

They will certainly take the car again. Which is a story I am longing to hear.
Liza B is always a winner, and we are winners too each time we learn about her exploits. As are you, since she graces your life. Hairballs included.

Gigi said...

Your way with words delights me to no end.

Sioux Roslawski said...

The biggest ball of sisal twine wound by one man...isn't that the 8th wonder of the world?

Jayne Martin said...

Dee-lightful series. How could Liza Bean resist unrolling the largest ball of yarn? Uh-oh. She doesn't read these comments does she?

Joanne Noragon said...

That cat continually outdoes herself.

NanaDiana said...

You are too funny- and too good at this. I feel I know that cat personally now. xo Diana

River said...

Two cats and a giant ball of string...uh-oh. I most certainly hope they didn't unravel it. Or even a little bit of it.

Commander Zaius said...

You have to wonder about cats who drive. The cat, named Spock, that graciously allows my family and I to share his house does like to rest on the roof of my car at times. So much that he will only leave after the car starts to move.

Jo-Anne's Ramblings said...

Damn you're funny I loved these reads

Twisted Scottish Bastard said...

Hi again Pearl.

Have you considered some sort of anchor to reality?

I can understand a cat using an ATM, but their paws can't possibly reach the gas or brake pedals, and if my old cat's behaviour is anything to go by, a driving cat would go up buildings, though intersections the wrong way, and stop at every flower bed to "do their business"

Lucy Corrander Now in Halifax! said...

I was asked if I'd like to review a ball of string this week. I didn't feel qualified. Perhaps I should have suggested they post one to your feline companions.

Dr. Kathy McCoy said...

You continue to amaze and delight me with your story-telling -- especially when it's a story about Liza Bean! I had no idea she was driving with the aid of a broom. Brilliant!