I Have No Idea What That Cat's Up To...

This week? I'll be working on my new book.

While I do, Monday through Thursday will be dedicated to Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) and Dolly Gee Squeakers, formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers. Friday, of course, will be the continuation and second-to-the-last installment in our serialization regarding one-time neighbors, the Beverage-y Hillbillies.


Liza Bean Bitey (of the Minneapolis Biteys) has gone too far this time.

Last night, she took a phone call in front of me. (That is not the gone-too-far part.)

I left the room, partly out of consideration and partly out of confusion.

Not that she actually said anything. She was clearly listening, however, and paced from one end of the living room to the other.

When I came back into the living room, I surprised her in the act of lifting my car keys. One paw was closing the clasp to my purse as she stuffed my car keys into her backpack with the other one.

We stared at each other as she backed out of the room. Neither one of us said a word.

It’s not, after all, the first time she’s taken the car.

I went to bed shortly after that. She’s fully grown. She can do what she wants. True, she should’ve asked for permission to use the car, but she tends to return it with a full tank. With the way gas prices have been lately, I’ve been willing to overlook her rudeness.

I heard her pull up at 4:00. I waited until 4:15 until I went outside.

I started the car, primarily because it’s dreadfully cold at 4:15 but also because everywhere she goes she leaves CDs. I used to find cigarette butts – and I’m so glad she quit smoking! – but now it’s music. I find that her taste in music often lends insight into what she’s up to.

Sure as hell, Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. That seems about right.

But if her choice in music didn’t surprise me, what I found in the backseat did.

Scuba gear. What is all this stuff? A rubber suit, flippers, two tanks – why two tanks? Was someone with her? Who dives in Minnesota in November?

By the time I came back in the house, she was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Again: silence. She watched me take off my coat, and by the time I’d gone to the bathroom to collect my wits in private, she was where she always is at 4:30 in the morning: curled up behind Willie’s knees. Willie snored softly. I crawled back into bed.

Willie didn’t move, but I saw Liza Bean Bitey’s half-lidded eyes glinting in the dark.