You Can Take the Cat with You, But You Probably Shouldn't

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) is an absolute hoot, albeit a cruel one.

But what do you want from a cat?

“Don’t look,” she hisses, her paw covering her mouth as she sips delicately from the Mai Tai she insists she have with lunch. “But I think I saw that woman over there suspended by guy wires and sandwiched between Mighty Mouse and a high school marching band at the last Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.”

Of course this sort of thing always makes me spit my beer out with laughter, even if it is inappropriate.

But what do you want from the world’s most dangerous kitteh?

How else would I describe her, aside from “dangerous”? She is a small-pawed and symmetrically-striped kitty, a stealthy and bright-eyed kitty, a kitty capable of lifting your wallet while winding herself about your ankles.

A kitty with sharp eyes and a sharper tongue.

Sure we’ve had our issues. She has repeatedly cost me money (usually in the form of financial settlements in lieu of litigation) and she once dangled a gerbil on a string out the front window just to see how high the neighborhood cats could jump (for the record, the answer would be “quite high, really”).

We are sitting at Psycho Suzi’s, on the Tiki Deck. Summer has arrived, and with it Liza Bean’s penchant for umbrella-ed drinks. She sips, the straw held delicately between her little black lips. Tiny white teeth appear and disappear as she talks around the straw.

“I mean, really,” she says. “Are those pajama bottoms? One goes out in public, and one dresses for the occasion.” She laughs behind one well-manicured paw. “How much will you give me to go over there and tell her naptime’s over?”

How much will I give her? Nothing, of course, as I’m afraid she’ll do it for free.

The last fight she got in cost me the money I was saving for a flatscreen TV.

“Oh, never mind,” she purrs. “It’s too lovely a day.” Her eyes, half-lidded in the afternoon sun, glow an emerald green.

“We have cream at home, don’t we? I do so enjoy a little cream in the afternoon.” She sighs. “I just love these little outings. We really should do this more often.”