The Cat’s Running for President. What Could Possibly Go Wrong?

“Psssst.”

I rise, reluctantly, through the dream that has me winning the lottery despite having never actually purchased a ticket, through the disappointing realization that there is no applause.  I surface in time to hear “pssssst” again and wonder if something in the apartment has sprung a leak.

“Huh?”

I’m verbal like that.

A small paw plants itself on my chin.  “Pearl.  Pssst.  You awake?”

I open my eyes.

Dagnabit, I should’ve never given that cat a key.

“Pearl.”  Liza Bean has ensconced herself on my upper chest and now peers down at me intently. 

“What?” I spit out irritably. Sleep is a precious, precious commodity in my life.  "What do you want?"

“Do you have any Fresca?”

Forehead wrinkling mightily, I am reaching for the decorative pillow I have plans to beat her with when it occurs to me that she's playing with me.

Dang cat.

"Oh, Pearl, Pearl," she sighs, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, "you slay me.  You really do."

"Oh, shuddup," I say.

Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, a small-pawed desecrator of mice and three-time winner of the International Gerbil Dangle and Yo-Yo Invitational, arranges her tiny feet just so, a picture of kitty cuteness.

I prop myself up on one elbow and stare.

“You invited me,” she says.

“I texted you two days ago saying that we needed to talk.  You choose now to show up?”

The cat sits up, spreads her front legs in an expression of magician-assistant scrollery:  Ta-Da!

“Whatever,” I say, sitting up and reaching for my glasses.  “I was just thinking, wondering if your running for president is such a good idea.  They’re going to look at your past, you know. “

Liza Bean Bitey, the cat who once threw the Want Ad section at a bum only to return an hour later with a six-pack, shrugs delicately.  “There are any number of miscreants both running for and sitting in political offices already,” she purrs.  “What’s one more?”

“The American public is a fickle and somewhat puritanical group,” I warn her.  “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Liza Bean chuckles.  “We have potential felons, tax evaders, insider traders, people accused of murder and people accused of harboring Communist sympathies...”

She extends a back leg out in front of her, spreads her little toes contemplatively.  “Pearl, you know I don’t have any sympathies.”

I grimace, a sorry mixture of thin-lipped acceptance and a smile.  “I know,” I say.  “I just worry about you.”

And Liza Bean Bitey, of the Minneapolis Biteys, laughs aloud.  “Oh, my dear, what could possibly go wrong?”



Anyone purchasing a copy of my book "I Was Raised to be A Lert" until the election will receive a Liza Bean Bitey postcard...  Add the word "Vote" to your order and receive $2 off!  Books are available to the right -- choose number of copies and click on PayPal".  Prefer not to use PayPal?  Contact me via e-mail and we'll work something out.