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Saturday, August 18, 2012

That's It. No Treat for the Kitty.

A re-post, from a colder and gentler time.

I’ve been had.

And just as soon as I thaw, I’ll tell you about it.

But no. No, no, no. The story needs telling now, while it’s fresh – and before Liza Bean tells her own version of the tale…

Thursday started as many non-work days do: with an alarm clock I set, out of perversity, to go off at 7:00. I derive pleasure out of turning an alarm off and going back to sleep. Look at me! I’m getting away with something! Hee! Hee!

Twenty minutes later, however, I awoke to Liza Bean sitting on my chest.

Liza “Bean” Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, is a small-pawed creature, a cat of exquisite taste and refined bearing, an animal on a first-name basis with the police. Symmetrically striped, a skilled mouser and a red-hot violinist/vocalist, Liza Bean Bitey is both the cat you wish you had and the cat you wish would get off your back.

I awoke to find her sitting on my chest.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says, casually.

“Why are you on my chest?”

“Oh, is this your chest?” She yawns, doesn’t move. “I just happened to look out the window there, out on to the porch? and noticed a number of small dark chocolates…”

I sit up, knocking the cat on to her back. “Dark chocolates?”

“Just so,” she murmurs, picking herself up and repositioning herself next to me. Liza Bean has been reading Wooster and Jeeves lately and little British-isms have been creeping into her speech.

“Well what’re they doing out there?”

“Freezing, I would imagine.”

I stared into the porch. Were those Godiva chocolates? “Maybe I should check on them. You know, just to make sure they’re okay…”

“Excellent idea.”

Dressing quickly, I was half-way to the door out to the three-season porch when I heard Liza Bean pointedly clearing her throat.

I turned around. “What?”

“Perhaps you should put your coat on?”

“Hey, I was born in Minnesota. I don’t need a coat to step on to a porch.”

“True, but what of the neighbors? What have they done to deserve a glimpse of you in – what are those?”

I look down. “Yoga pants.”

There is a quiet, polite cough. “Yoga pants.” Her tiny pink nose wrinkles. The words taste bad in her mouth.

She points one graceful paw at my down coat. “Please,” she says. “For me.”

Not wanting to further embarrass the cat, I put my coat on, step out on to the porch, reach for the chocolates – and hear the door’s bolt slide into place.

“Liza! Liza Bean!!”

Her pretty little face appears in the picture window next to the door. She is sitting on my bed.

She is dangling my car keys from her left front paw.

Her green eyes shine.

“Liza! No! No, Liza! Bad kitty!”

Liza Bean winks at me. “I’ll let the neighbor know that you’ve fallen down some steps and need help.”

“No! Not Bart! Don’t send Bart over here!”

Liza Bean smiles, her pointy little teeth shining in the morning light. “He’s the only one with a key to the house.”

Dammit! Bart always has spit in the corners of his mouth and always overstays.

Liza Bean is no longer visible through the window. I run back to the door and press my ear against it. There is the almost imperceptible sound of my keys jingling as she runs down the flight of stairs leading to the front door.

I watch from the second floor as Liza climbs into the car, turns the engine over, adjusts the seat, and plugs in her iPod.

I open one of the windows, lean into the cold air and shout,“You’ll at least return it with more gas than when you left, right? Liza Bean! Right?!”

She raises a paw to me, waves jauntily, and pulls away from the curb.

I pop a chocolate into my mouth and wait for Bart.

That’s it. No afternoon treat for the kitty, that’s for sure.


http://howtobecomeacatladywithoutthecats.blogspot.com said...

I have a feeling Liza Bean is going farther than the corner store... I do hope she has her passport.

Meeling said...

She is most undoubtedly across the border by now...

joeh said...

You cannot trust any of those Minneapolis Biteys. They are all alike!

I enjoyed reading your misery...sorry...I did.

Anonymous said...

At least she made sure you had your coat on.

Unknown said...

If they're Godiva chocolates, you must forgive her! I mean, Godiva, after all!

jenny_o said...

No treat for kitty? Why, what more could you want than chocolates, a warm coat, and Bart's attention?


Bill Lisleman said...

Nothing worse than an embarrassed cat. Well maybe freezing to death eating chocolates.

Indigo Roth said...

Hey Pearl! Ooooh, choccy. Even if it IS American. I've got some of the good stuff here - shall I save you a few? By the way, your night-dress is tucked into your yoga pants. I'm just saying. Roth x

Unknown said...

Just So. Sorry, but I read Wooster and Jeeves too, so the cat's my friend!!

Nancy/BLissed-Out Grandma said...

Well, I heard she turned up in England....

Susan Flett Swiderski said...

Aw. come on. No treats for the poor widdle kitty cat? I mean, after all, she baited YOU with godiva chocolates.

Anonymous said...

I think Bart was my seventh grade math teacher. I learned nothing because that spit was so distracting.

Rose L said...

Those Minneapolis breeds think they are so superior. But she must love you as she made sure you had something to eat, had on a warm jacket, and would be rescued.

Pat said...

She's not ALL bad. At least you got some chockies.