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Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Why The Cat Creeps Into Your Room

“Pearl.”

I grunt in my sleep, vaguely aware that my name has been called.  A fog blows in over the picnic I was about to sit down to with a man who has offered to brush my hair afterward.

Don’t go…

“Pearl.”

I sigh and open my eyes.  I roll over and look at the clock-radio next to the bed.

2:34.

I sigh again and roll to my back.  “Cat – “ 

Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, a smallish striped animal with a penchant for umbrella-ed drinks and trolling political websites smiles in the dim light of the bedroom.

“I hope you don’t mind terribly,” she drawls, “but I’ve invited a few friends in.”

I close my eyes.  “A few?”

“Stumpy,  Pupples, Snowball, Henry.  Shall I keep going?”

I shake my head, confident that the cat is watching.  She is.

“You seem resigned, Pearlie.  I must say, I’m a little disappointed.”

“You want I should get up and make a fuss?”

The cat laughs, the tinkling sound of, perhaps, an elf with a hand reaching for your wallet.  “You’re re-reading that Chabon novel, aren’t you?”

I smile, but faintly.  “Maybe.”

“Well done, you,” she says.  We laugh, both of us prone to mimicking whatever author we’re reading at the time.   Liza Bean was last seen reading Wodehouse.  

Suddenly I’m Jewish and she’s British.

“So let’s cut to the chase, Kitty Cat.  It’s late.  I’m weary.”

Liza Bean leans over, bites me quickly on the chin.  “You are adorable,” she says.  “A-Dor-Able.”

“You’re wondering where the gin is,” I say.

“Exactement,” says the cat.

I close my eyes for the last time of the night.  “The pantry,” I say, “behind the kale chips.”

“The kale chips.”  The cat chuckles.  “Your best hiding spot to date,” she says.

And Liza Bean drifts out of the room to the muffled applause of a living room full of anticipatory cats.


And I drift back to sleep, where handsome men with hairbrushes are pouring gin and tonics, and domestic cats with sparkling eyes offer me fat, juicy limes. 

13 comments:

Shelly said...

Add to the dream: Chabon brushing your hair whilst he reads The Yiddish Policeman's Union to you and Liza Bean serves you kale chips and guac.

vanilla said...

You must be a very good girl indeed, to be granted such delicious dreams.

Delores said...

I have a feeling that dreamland is a safer place to be than a living room full o of cats no offence Liza. Sorry for any tyhpos...typing blind.

Eva Gallant said...

I'm never disappointed when I drop by!

joeh said...

I would never think to check behind the kale chips.

ThreeOldKeys said...

Maybe Liza needs an assistant. A subtle Jeeves could serve the gin whilst keeping his eyes open. So you could sleep, knowing he is discreetly monitoring the party (along with any party poopers).

jenny_o said...

It's the beginning of the end; you know that, don't you? Cats know just when your defenses are at their weakest. Insist on breakfast in bed. And no kibble on the tray!

Yamini MacLean said...

Hari OM
never mind the dream... were you at the gin first??? There's an overwhelming sense of impending mayhem arriving over this side...YAM xx

River said...

Kale chips? Urk!

NotesFromAbroad said...

My dreams lately have been locking Minette into a soundproof box at 5 am ..

the walking man said...

I honestly thing you need a little cat sized dog who has been in AA for at least 4 years.

Jo-Anne's Ramblings said...

Who has Kale chips...........yuck
Could say the same for Gin as I am not a Gin drinker

savannah said...

your dreams are so much better than mine have been, sweetpea! *where is my copy of the yiddish policemen's union? ;) xoxoxoxo