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Saturday, October 9, 2010

Wherein Liza Bean Leaves Me A Present

As I expected it would, the post the other day about Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) caught not only her eye but the eye of our little self-grooming hot-water bottle of a cat, Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers).

Dolly Gee, aka, Here Kitty Kitty, aka Holy Crap Grab the Door Here Comes the Cat! came to us via the Humane Society. She is what appears to be a long-haired Siamese of some sort, a beautiful animal with stunningly crossed eyes.

“We think she’s about a year old,” said the woman at the Humane Society. “Of course, her eyes are a bit crossed, and she can’t seem to jump beyond, well, beyond standing on all four feet. And she does appear to have some sort of periodontal disease…” The woman paused. “She was dropped off in our night deposit box just two days ago, you know.”

As an aside, did you know you could do that? Drop an animal off via a night deposit box?

And periodontal disease? Well, what’s a little gingivitis amongst us beauties, eh? Perhaps she’ll grow some new ones. What do I know?

At any rate, she was just too beautiful, we thought, too friendly, too perfectly suited, size-wise. She’ll be a lovely companion to Ms. Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys).

And that was our theory.

In reality the two detected deep flaws in each other immediately. Words were exchanged, claws exposed. Dolly lobbed the first insult, derisively labeling Liza Bean an “indoor feeeee-line”. Liza Bean retorted by describing Dolly in such detail and with such vehemence that all I can recall are the words “polyester-pantsuited alley roamer”.

Liza Bean responded to the new arrival by perching herself atop Willie’s head for the next six weeks.

Dolly Gee responded by eating enough to triple her size in half that time.

How she managed to do that with four teeth, I have no idea.

And now, of course, Dolly Gee has seen my post regarding Liza's upcoming birthday, followed the links and now knows that Liza Bean and I have gone out for a couple of drinks.

Look. I’d have taken her, but if you think Liza Bean can’t hold her liquor, you should see Dolly. Dolly’s got the morals of, well, a cat; and after a couple beers she’s up on tables, dancing suggestively, eventually disappearing with some Tom only to re-appear in the morning, looking sheepish and then drinking all the Fresca in the house as she nurses her hangover.

It’s embarrassing.

Liza Bean is furious with me.

“Running out of material?” she purred viciously. “Needing to write about me now, are you?” She narrowed her bright green eyes at me. “Do you know what I deal with, every day, while you’re out, doing God knows what…”

“I hardly think that going to work constitutes God knows –“

Liza Bean was not to be dissuaded. “It’s horrible. Horrible. She sits there in those Daisy Duke shorts, humming entire Disney soundtracks – do you know she uses your eyeliner? Well she does. I have other places to go, you know. I don’t have to stay here.”

She lit a Virginia Slims – in the house! – and exhaled toward the window.

I promised her I would take care of it, that I’d find a discreet way to talk to Dolly Gee Squeakers (of the Humane Society Squeakers) about the sanctity of a peaceful home life.

“Well see that you do,” Liza Bean demurred.

There was a brief pause.

“Frankly,” she said – and is that contriteness I hear in her voice? – “I didn’t think this conversation would go as well as it has. Hmm.” She paused, seemed to visibly run several thoughts through her head before dismissing them all.

She shrugged, took a drag off her cigarette. “You might want to check the inside of your shoes before you go running out the door tonight.” She blew a smoke ring toward the window.

I cocked my head at her in anticipation.

She shrugged again, stubbing her cigarette out. “I left a little something in one of them for you.”

“Not the new ones!”

She closed her eyes, dismissing me. “The same.”

And Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) fell asleep.


Simply Suthern said...

As my dear ole Grand Pappy used to say, "I oughta swap you for a goat and then shoot the goat". He was an endearing fellow.

That said I believe I would be hinting around at swapping these two in for a couple of Neon Tetra's. They don't say much and it's awlful hard to light up underwater.

Jeanie said...

A gift in your shoe, as if smoking in the house wasn't bad enough.

Fragrant Liar said...

Uh-oh. The smoking gun? Yikes, hope it was, um, fragrant as flowers at least.

KathyA said...

Ah felines can be so....well, feline!

Your kitties are so articulate!

Irish Gumbo said...

Ouch. Pearl, I think you got pwned.

The mad woman behind the blog said...

I bow to your creativity and your delightfully vocal cats.
I think mine only hurl, bitch and eat copious amounts of kibble.

Anonymous said...

A gift from a cat. And they so often are not able to show their feelings. Seems as though your two are very comfortable in showing their emotions.

Symdaddy said...

I talk to my animals (3 dogs, 2 cats and 2 children) all the time and I have started to read your articles to them in the hope that they will provide me with enough material for my own articles (posted over at my place).

They refuse to provide so much as a "poo in a shoe" (their words, not mine) until they each get an iPod and are allowed to make bus journeys.

HulaBuns said...

Great post! I envy your creativity! You're a great writer. :) BTW, I imaging Liza Bean Bitey to have a very raspy cat voice due to the smoking. lol

Cloudia said...

You make everything sound smart and interesting!

Warm Aloha from Waikiki

Comfort Spiral

Notes From ABroad said...

Ahhh, Dolly and I have a couple of things in common~

Maybe you should start posting in Code.

Notes From ABroad said...

ps- our little man just sat and waited patiently for us to return home and come up the stairs to the bedroom to find him with the Prize .. a dead vole , on the husbands side of the bed... but on the floor.
He was a fastidious little cat .. no dead meat on the bed.


I'd get a dog and really shake her up!

Stacy Q said...

Not only are your felines very communicative, they are so creative! I love "polyester pantsuited alley roamer."
Our dog only barks or speaks Wookie, which I unfortunately never learned.

SparkleFarkel said...

*dons headband with attached cat ears and begins singing like Morris Albert* Felines, nothing more than felines...

That was pretty bad, wasn't it? Sorry!
Love, SF~~~~~*

Murr Brewster said...


My cat Tater still uses a night deposit box. Works good, too. The fibroids pushing against my intestines are about two centimeters away from making me get a night deposit box of my own.

I like the idea of nighttime cat deposits though, anonymity assured. Too bad they didn't have those in Moses' time.

Indigo Roth said...

Hey Pearl! I'm glad I'm not the only one with animal issues. Not that I'd wish them on anyone. Erm. Consider yourself lucky it doesn't involve half eaten zebras. Indigo